The Loft Game: Elf on a Shelf

I ignored the questions flying back and forth. I had promised. I'd keep that promise. There was no way I was going to reveal how we started sleeping together at a Labor Day weekend down the shore with a bunch of friends. And how the first time we'd done it, he'd come in mere seconds ... the next time too. And after the third time, when I'd said something in frustration that I bitterly regretted one split second after it left my mouth, he had trouble even getting it up.

The situation had resolved itself. A pause for the rest of the weekend. Lots of reassurance. Some private time the next weekend in the trailer we were now sitting in. Things had become just peachy, and they had remained so for the rest of our year together.

But he'd been humiliated then, especially because he'd false-modestied his way through the rest of the weekend, accepting congrats from the other guys—

—Quietly, of course. So girls wouldn't know, they thought. Fucktards. We've got ears and we talk to each other.—

—on bagging me.

And though he'd never referred to it, I thought maybe the fear of it happening again haunted him a little.

Why? His question was mouthed to me only.

Again, I answered out loud. "You tried to hook up with one of my best friends literally one day after we said we should take a break 'cause we were going away to school."

"One day! Her friend!" Julia's look was incredulous. "Serious douchebag move, bro." She turned to me. "Who?" I ignored her; I'd tell her later. I stared him down.

"Who told you?"

I saw the sudden tension at his side. Therese had told me and had been unable to keep the slight hint of satisfaction out of her voice. She was the one who had suggested he was likely banging someone else all semester ... speculation we now knew to be wrong. But Christian didn't see her flinch. "Doesn't matter," I told him. "You didn't play straight, so ..."

His hand strayed toward the vodka.

"Nuh-uh," I said. "Julia, what's the game penalty for not telling the truth?"

"Extreme Torture."

"That's right." I nodded as if I hadn't known the answer. "We'll come back to that. The three of you ..." I flipped the Dare card, not one of mine.

Take off your underwear. Don't leave the room.

Whoever had written that—I suspected Emily—it would have been no big deal in the basement. We had a bar down there that you could go behind if you were sober enough to realize. In the confines of an Airstream?

"Whazzit say?" Anthony asked. We told him. "Oh!" He stood and started unbuckling his belt. A soft cry of "Anthony!" from Therese didn't slow him. He dropped trou and then underwear. Four of us looked on with interest, checking out what was revealed, albeit Therese and Julia with some embarrassment.

"If Hannah were here, she'd ..." I murmured across at my college friend, bringing a choked laugh.

Anthony pulled his pants back on and flopped back in his seat. His bleary look around conveyed "Whaaat?"

I could tell Christian was reluctant. I mean, getting naked in front of others wasn't truly a huge deal. We'd all seen boy-parts and girl-parts. Except when you were the only one doing it while everyone watched, it kinda was. Trust me; I appreciated that fact now. He looked around and realized that where the sink bumped out in the kitchenette provided a little privacy. Not complete privacy and I noticed Therese watching avidly.

While I didn't mind her having her fun, I harrumphed to bring her attention back and waved the card. The girl was rolling lucky tonight: she was wearing a skirt. She half-turned away from Anthony—not that he was noticing—and stripped off her panties. At "all underwear," she shrugged, and the bra came out the sleeve. When Christian came back, I noticed him notice the perkies.

"Now what?" he challenged.

"Extreme Torture!" Julia howled loud enough that the neighbors probably heard.

I pulled out the final card, one I'd kept separate from the pack. Normally, I wouldn't even have written it because we never needed it. But tonight, I was prepared.

"You do what's on that card," Julia babbled. "No drinking to get out of it. Oh God, I hope it's wicked. You're so fucked. What didn't you tell us?" The question was half to him, half to me.

I shook my head. "I promised. It's enough you know he bullshitted." She pouted. Her look said, You'll tell me later, right? I shook my head again. She pouted some more.

Seven Minutes in R-Rated Heaven with inquisitor's choice. The other person's in charge.

"Shit!" I wasn't even sure who said it.

"I pick you, Therese." I waved airily toward the bedroom at the back of the trailer. "Since there's no closet big enough out here."

My sober eyes locked with her drunk ones. You know how some animals freeze when spotted, while some bolt? She was the first type. "I said go for it," I said, quiet enough only she'd hear, "and you owe me." She still didn't move. I turned to Christian, somewhat more clearheaded than she was. "You're hers," I said. "Pay up."

"She put you as her fuck choice, dude." Crude as hell, but thank you, Anthony. It broke the spell. Christian rose. I caught Therese's arm as she stirred.

"Don't come back after seven minutes," I whispered.

"The game's not over."

Jesus, you try to give some people what they want and all they do is fight you.

I fanned the deck of used cards. "Which?" She hesitated. I shook them, insisting. She pulled two cards, looked around, and handed them to Julia who looked befuddled. She looked at the accordion doors that partitioned the back.

"Do those block sound?"

"Yes," I lied.

Then, both because I don't like lying and because it was more fun if she knew, "Not really, but don't let that stop you. You want him; he's yours in there. Merry Christmas." The frozen animal came back. "Everyone here is half-wasted. I'm going to be fried real soon. We'll barely notice, and everyone here already knows you want some of that. Fly your freak flag."

I saw the glance toward Christian's retreating back, the desire. It's easy to get a drunk to go where they want to go, consequences be damned. I gave her a shove in that general direction. She took one stumbling step, then Christian turned and looked at her expectantly. She went.

"She wants him bad," Emily observed.

"Why would you help her?" Julia's question was quiet. "I'm not flooled—" She tried again. "I'm not fooled by you being friendly. You're still pissed at her."

"I wonder how she'll feel when she sobers and realizes she went back there with us all sitting out here listening, and there's only some fabric in between ..." I looked at the two women's faces. Was that judgment? "Don't ever fucking try to label me a whore to my friends." The grins broke out—no, no judgment.

I looked toward the accordion partition, now firmly closed. I didn't add the other reason. Because me telling them to screw ten feet away is kind of exciting.

I turned back at the sharp sound of a shot glass being set down with unnecessary force. Four more cracks followed it. "We've escaped your cell, and now we turn the tables on you," Julia crowed and poured.

"Oh my God! This game is so fuckin' lame," Emily laughed.

"New rule!" Julia shoved a brimming Tito's over at Emily. "Penalty drink for dissing the best game in the world."

Emily was a good sport. I hoped she didn't throw up in my room later. I hopedI didn't.

"Now what?" she asked.

"Now Chips pounds the five Truth Serums and then answers one question for each of us or does one dare we wrote. She can't drink to get out of it."

Julia looked at the two cards in her hand, glanced back at the partition, then turned and looked at comatose Anthony. "You'll and I'll pick from the guys' cards."

Even drunk, Julia knew what she was doing. "Drink," and when I finished, eyes watering, "Another pee break."

"You just want to give the alcohol time."

"Of course."

And that pee break took a second because getting two drunk women dressed, across the snowy yard, taking turns peeing, then grabbing waters to hydrate, then back across to the camper, then insisting they re-strip—hell, I wasn't giving an inch—took time.

By the end of the ordeal, they knew my proclivities when it came to oral sex—a wasted question because they both knew the answer and the only one who didn't, Anthony, was out of it. I wouldn't reveal what I wanted in bed that I was too embarrassed to ask for—which ended with me dressed ... undressed ... the way they were.

They found out that my favorite type of porn was amateur because "pros it's like all formula. She blows him, then she's in reverse cowgirl, then he bangs away in doggy, then cum shot. I mean, that's so stupid. Like, is a guy dying to pull out right then?" I asked plaintively. I realized that five quick shots were making their presence felt.

I, also, did not want to admit that I'd ever peed my pants. I expected that I'd be butt-scratching my way across the floor as they had. "You'll never make me talk."

"Remove one piece of clothing that isn't on your feet."

"Fuck."

Their grins were huge. "At least it wasn't wearing your underwear on your head. We're being nice," Julia said. Then she amended. "I'm being nice. Emily wanted remove all underwear."

Of course.

Even though the buzz was coming on strong, I could read the difference in their expressions. Julia's was: This is wild, girl! Emily's was: Old hat, huh?

I grinned, reached behind me, and popped the hooks, letting my bra drop free. "Anthony's gonna be so pissed when he hears he missed this." We looked at the semi-conscious, eyes-closed man and laughed.

"Now one of hers."

They debated my "worst thing you've done" question until Emily pointed out, "Don't you think she'll say what she did to Therese just now? No, let's go with the kinkiest thing all semester." The grin she turned my way was playfully wicked.

I'd been pretty sure I'd get this question if Emily was still coherent by the end; she knew I wouldn't answer it either. But the remaining dares weren't bad even if I ended up naked. It was just women watching. "You'll never make me talk."

"Any of her dares, right?" Emily asked. At Julia's nod, she reached over and picked up one of the cards and dropped it in front of me.

"No fuckin' way. That's not a regular dare."

"Julia?" Emily turned to her. "It's your game."

"You have to."

I contemplated the drunk Anthony. "How the hell do I have seven seconds, let alone seven minutes with a guy who's out of it?" I got no answer. I sat, contemplating, for a long moment. They sat expectantly.

Then Julia put her hand up in a "quiet" gesture. "Hear that?" We went still. A very gentle moan from the back. We grinned conspiratorially. Eyes turned back to me expectantly.

"Get out, both of you. Seven Minutes in Heaven is private. Go back in the basement." They started to say something, but I cut them off. "No! Everyone knows; you go into a dark place where no one can see. Get out."

They went, but not without a parting comment.

"I think Therese and Christian have the R-rated part going." Julia looked me over. "Your boobs are out; I guess that covers it for you. Even if he doesn't remember it, I'll be sure to tell him when he's sober."

"I so hate you, and I'm not even kidding." They both snickered.

"I think an honest effort to get him hard and we'll consider it R-rated, right?" That was Emily. Again, of course.

Julia's "ohmygod" and my sarcastic "he's too hammered" came at the same time.

"But maybe, right?" Emily pressed.

"Fuck you. I mean that in the nicest possible way."

Both of them were laughing as if this was the most hysterical thing that had ever happened. With Julia and me, I guess it was. With Emily, we both knew this was raunchy but not as raunchy as things could get.

Unless it did. "Play the Game with me," Emily mouthed from behind Julia's shoulder. I could hear the capital in the unvoiced sentence. Her eyes were dark with excitement. Let me imagine you in here doing something hardcore instead of just laying kisses on some passed-out guy, she was saying to me. We held each other's gaze for what seemed a long second but was probably fleeting. I nodded, almost involuntarily.

I locked the door after they left; no "seven minutes are up" interruptions. I flipped off the lights and sat down on the couch next to Anthony. I didn't do anything right away. I let myself become part of the quiet—no one talking, no one fidgeting. I'd said the folding door wasn't soundproof, and it wasn't. I could hear quiet sounds. Murmuring? Or just inarticulate expressions of pleasure? I listened harder.

I stopped fighting the alcohol and let its warmth suffuse through me. I let awareness of my situation creep in: naked except for my underwear, sitting next to a guy who—though he didn't know it yet—was my partner in this.

Most of all, I let myself revel in the thought that I was listening to a live sex show, even if I couldn't see it. A sex show I'd maneuvered into existence because the thought of them doing it ten feet away—just heavy fabric between me and them—was a super turn-on. I could walk over and open the folding door and see it.

And who knows if they'd even care given the alcohol?

It wasn't about payback for past wrongs; that was three and a half years ago. It wasn't about an ex trying to get into the pants of a friend before our relationship was even twenty-four-hours cold.

It was perving on a couple fucking. I sat there and let myself feel the horniness. I waited ... and then I sensed it. A faint pulsation, transmitted through the trailer's suspension, up the frame of the sofa bolted to the floor, into my butt sitting on it.

"Anthony," I breathed into his ear. Nothing. I tried again. "Anthony."

"Mm?"

"For the next seven or so minutes, I'll pretty much do what you want." Hit him with the big guns; shock him alert.

"What?" His hand came up to scrub his face the way you do. Of course, since I was sitting close enough to talk into his ear, his forearm dragged across my breasts as he did. "What!" That second time was a lot more alert.

"My final dare is Seven Minutes in Heaven with you, and as you just discovered, I'm topless."

"What!"

Jesus!

"Where is everyone?"

Come on, focus. "Julia and Emily are in the house. Christian and Therese are fucking in the back of the camper." I heard the suck of breath at that statement. He was still plastered, but I was getting a more alert drunk by the second.

I decided that blatant carnality was unlikely to be the wrong move with a guy too drunk to appreciate subtlety. I took the hand that had inadvertently copped a feel and placed it on a breast. I slid my hand up his leg and cupped his crotch, gently massaging. I leaned in and trailed kisses up his neck.

I listened to his mumblings of uncertainty.

I wasn't surprised. Three hours ago, the camper would have been filled with a metaphorical "boing" as he came alive under my hand. But this was now, and whiskey dick was the reality.

"Anthony. I think maybe things aren't going to work." I stifled his incipient protest. "Hey! I'm not mocking you. Shit happens. How 'bout a deal?" I took the hand that was mauling my boob, pulled it free, and led it down my body to meet lace and warmth. "Do me now and I'll owe you later." I felt the fingers rummaging, knew they'd encounter a hint of dampness seeping into the gusset.

"What does that mean?"

"Use your fingers and your mouth. And later, after you're over your hangover, I'll return the favor."

"What does that mean?"

Oh, mother of God! "It means, Anthony, that if you make me come now, I'll give you a blowie when you ask for it. You have my word. For a guy that just complained about a whole semester with no female attention ... whaddya say, deal?"

My guess is that seven minutes was more like seventeen. He wasn't great; you can't expect that of someone in his condition. He was willing, and he had fingers and a tongue and lips, but my ears and brain had to do a lot of the heavy lifting.

I sprawled back. "As quiet as you can," I instructed. I let my ears become my universe in the dark, shutting my eyes to close out the faint gleam seeping around the edges of the shades and from the heater's indicator light. I listened to the sounds from the back, trying to pick up the nuances. Was that flesh meeting flesh?

I heard the faint "just like that" echo along the aluminum ceiling, and then again. Boy voice? Girl voice? I couldn't tell. I didn't care. I felt the motion of the trailer grow more distinct and let my breathing fall into the cadence I could sense of Christian's dick plunging into Therese.

I pictured it. I knew what he looked like naked; I could imagine her. Legs splayed wide so as not to impede the motion of his hips ... I had no real idea, but it was missionary in my imagination because I knew he liked that. Her hands on his biceps— No, her hands above her head, pinned by his. Her eyes on his face, enjoying the sight of the man she'd wanted for over a year. His closed, enjoying the sensation of pussy wrapped around his cock. Or maybe open to enjoy the sight of her breasts moving in time in the dim light.

I reached down and grabbed Anthony's wrist. "Two fingers, not one," I told him and the sensation of being filled doubled. I kept hold of his wrist, setting the time with my motions rather than his arrhythmic ones. My other hand cupped the back of his head, not to crush him into me, but to let him know that tongue was appreciated too. "Don't change up what you're doing."

The sound of heavy breathing reached me now. That was Christian, I knew. When it stilled, the end would be near, but now it was deep and regular. The murmurs of "yes" and "like that" changed to a sound—a guttural aspiration that English couldn't spell. I assumed that was Therese.

God, this is so fucking hot!

I got there before Therese did, though not as loudly.

New Year's Day hurt like hell. The moan from my beanbag chair penetrated the fog, and I opened one eye to see Julia curling into a tighter ball on it. I was conscious of a body behind me; I figured Emily but was too exhausted to roll over and look.

The knock came again. This time, the door opened, and my sister stuck her head in. "There's a guy sleeping in the basement and that place is totally trashed and my friends are coming over today and we want to use it and there's a car in the driveway and I want to get out and— Eep!"

She jerked back as I hurled a textbook—Financial Accounting by Libby, Libby & Hodge, I noted in passing—from my nightstand across the room. "Clean up your mess!" she screeched as my door slammed.

I dragged myself up. My parents were totally fine about me having a party. They wouldn't be totally fine if I left the house a mess, especially if they got dragged into a fight over it. The basement wasn't unless you call four Solo cups and a napkin still on the bar "totally trashed," but it did have a guy crashed on the couch.

"Anthony." I shook him into wakefulness, waited for the inevitable groan to pass. "Time to go." I watched his face to see what the reaction would be. In the cold light of morning—and the clammy feeling of a hangover—my deal of last night didn't seem like such a bargain. Of course, that was because I'd gotten my side of it and now owed.

"Fuck, Chips. How much did I have? I barely remember even the ball dropping."

For one second, I got kind of elated. I'd said, "... when you ask for it." If he didn't remember enough to ask ...

But that didn't last. I just wasn't cut out to be a welcher. If he didn't remember, I'd cop to it. Not today, down the road. Maybe I'd go to Daytona Beach for break and come clean there ... give him a real Spring Break moment.