The Loft Game: Hula Girl

Slowly his hand, which had found the top of my head toward the end, relaxed. I looked up to meet a flushed, gratified face staring back down. I swallowed what tiny bit remained in my mouth ... not ostentatiously like a porn star, but I didn't try to hide it. The avid look as he watched made it worthwhile. We remained there, unmoving, for what seemed an eternity but was probably only seconds.

"What now?" I asked. "I'm new to this."

That got me a chuckle, the first break in desire.

"Now I get dressed and then we go back out there. You endure some more teasing, and then it's over and done with."

I nodded and looked away, embarrassed again, both in front of him and even more for going out there. "Was it ...?" I asked, suddenly feeling immensely insecure.

"Good? Yeah, Chips. Definitely welcome to the Loft Game."

"Ready?" he asked a few seconds later. At my nod, he opened the door and we walked out. The hoots started immediately, and my stage fright flooded back.

"Umm, you've got some ... you know ... right here," Hannah said, gesturing toward the corner of her mouth.

Horrified, I scrubbed my mouth but felt nothing.

"Psych!" she shrieked. I hated her, truly I did, for a second.

"On a scale of one to ten, Owen?" My nerves turned to ice at Kevin's question.

Carrie had warned me on our girls' night out. "You have to be prepared for Kevin." I'd seen the faces of those in earshot at the table, Brey and Logan, tighten. "He ... umm ... well, he walks the line."

"He crosses it," Brey had snapped.

Carrie had shaken her head. "He doesn't break the rule; he never comments about someone's body."

The rejoinder had been fierce. "The spirit of that rule is that we might embarrass people until they want to crawl into a hole and die, but we never ... you know ... never try to make them feel bad about themselves! He's an asshole."

Carrie's expression had said she didn't disagree with Brey. "At least the other guys don't."

Back then, I had wondered why nobody kicked him out, but I had been too new and too timid and too overwrought by what I had just gone through to ask. Now, I understood what Brey meant. I knew from the hot flash inside that I turned red again, almost unwilling to hear the answer. Not just unwilling, dreading. For some reason, Hannah making me check for cum on my face didn't bother me half as much as being judged.

Owen's eyes tightened momentarily. "Oh, I don't know. Let's say eight and a half." I hated him too, for a second, answering that question right in front of me.

"Woot!"

I mean, the girls are probably all a bunch of BJ-queens given the practice.

I pushed that flash of meanness away. It was pure defensiveness on my part, and the girls' reactions were only playing the game the way it was meant to be played. The irritation at Owen too ... his attitude said he hadn't welcomed the question.

Kevin's an asshole, yeah, but be a good loser, Charl. I forced a deep breath. And eight and half's pretty good. I allowed myself that minor swagger to regain my balance.

"What's your number, Charl?" I half-noted that I wasn't "new girl" to Victoria this time.

"What?"

"Your number? How many have you ...?" She mimed a circle of fingers against her mouth, the tongue pressing out against her cheek.

Oh my effing God. I almost ignored her, but I saw her eyes sharpen as she wondered if she'd found a vulnerable point.

Don't back down.

"Seven. But I'm sure it'll get higher over the next three and a half years playing."

The sharp gaze softened a smidgen with humor, and she gave me a small nod, almost like acknowledgement. "Yep."

Fully clothed for the first time in what felt like hours, I pulled on my coat.

"Go out for a beer?" Emily asked.

"I so hate you right now."

"Oh, come on!" She didn't look the slightest bit repentant. "The whole point of this game is to have fun with that shit. Am I not allowed to just 'cause I'm your friend? Besides, you're totally going to do the same if I'm ever the one in the barrel."

"When, not if."

"True," she admitted with a shrug. "Beer at the Grotto?"

"It's pricey, and we're underage, and I hear they never believe fake IDs."

"Trust me. Come on. I'm sorry I teased you."

"Liar!"

"True. But come anyway."

I let myself be dragged off, enduring a few giggled goodbyes from girls and "can't wait" comments from guys. The latter got a middle finger, which everyone thought was hilarious. I was still rattled, but beer sounded good.

"Nice to meet you too, Charl."

I stared at the slice of hunkitude across the bar counter.

"Ryan's the bartender here Friday nights. I told you to trust me," Emily said. "A couple of IPAs for me and my totally legal girlfriend." Emily had plopped us down at two stools right by the kitchen, and there was no one nearby. Ryan rolled his eyes and moved off.

"So?" she said as soon as he was out of earshot.

"Cute. When you said you hooked up with him on Fridays, it didn't sink in that he was, like, a real adult."

"Thirty-six in June." Her eyes turned serious. "I told you."

She'd said, "I have a thing for older men," while we gave ourselves a pedicure in my bedroom. I deliberately didn't think about the preceding part, where she'd listed my father in the "fuck" category of "Fuck, Marry, Kill."

I put on my no-judgment hat. "He's cute. Like, extremely. And those forearms!" It was the right thing to say.

"Yeah!" She giggled. "Which is good because we don't have a damn thing in common other than liking beer and what happens after he clocks out. He's, like, all into rock-climbing, and the only way to get him not to bore me with an inch-by-inch of the latest cliff or describing some new equipment is if I take a piece of somebody's clothes off."

Ryan came back with our beers and then moved off in answer to someone wanting a refill. It was a Friday-night crowd, so I didn't have to fear a bartender with time on his hands and lots of rock-climbing stories.

"How'd you meet him?"

"He was bartending at a party where I temped as a waitress for a few bucks. He kinda hit on me some. A week later, I left the game after a really good show"—that word had new meaning for me now—"and I ... umm ... well, I just made a booty call."

She looked over at me, uncertain.

"Hey, no judgment. Go for it, girl." Again, the right thing for me to say.

"Maybe he has a friend?"

I thought about that. I could use some of that right now. But ... "My type's a little different, you know? Maybe a little younger?"

The instant I said it, our minds went to the same place. I saw her bite back the first words that came to her lips. She took a sip, and I didn't meet her eyes. I wasn't sure how things had percolated in the last few weeks.

"Hey," she said. "No judgment here either. Really. I'm getting over it."

Ethan. Her younger brother. Barely legal. Long, lean, nerdy. The guy who'd been a virgin until a month ago and now wasn't, courtesy of Charlene Maguire.

But Ethan was a zillion miles away, and then he was off to a different college. And I wasn't sure what to do about Friday after Friday getting this worked up. Not that there was a chance in hell I was going to avoid it by quitting the game. Nothing that had happened tonight, no matter how uncomfortable, had made me consider that even for a second.

I sighed and took a couple of deep swallows of the IPA.

"You're staying here, right?" It wasn't a question, and I didn't wait for the answer. "I'm going back to the dorm. What's the tab?" I reached for my wallet.

"It's on him. Night, Chips. I'll be thinking about you. It sounded like someone had fun in the back room."

Oh my God. They did hear. I was glad the Grotto's bar was dark.

"Hate you," I muttered to her laughter and took my leave, flustered again.

A long session with Buzz RightHere was almost enough.

I wasn't good at calculus. But that was calculus, not math in general. I googled Texas Hold 'em and sucked down pages of stuff on blinds, and check-raises, and limping-in. I memorized odds ... not in detail, but enough to know when and how much to bet to drive someone out or lure them in, as needed.

I adjusted my thinking, not only for Texas Hold 'em, but also for the fact that we played with twenty-five hundred chips instead of twenty five, five hundred per article of clothing instead of five. It allowed more freedom, and veterans didn't need the simplicity the green game strove for.

I watched YouTube until names like Negreanu, Hellmuth, and Ivey were familiar, and until I actually understood what the commentators were saying. Even if I wouldn't have thought of something myself, I learned enough to understand when it was demonstrated.

In other words, I completely fucked off on studying for a week. I'd have to bust my ass later to make up for it, but there were no tests, no papers due, and fuck if I wanted to lose again. I would; it was inevitable. But I wanted it to be rare.

Finally, a guy lost. I mean, two whole weeks of disappointed expectation, one of them with me in the hot seat. I'd dreamed about it for a semester. For a moment, I was so afraid Hannah just wanted a guy to make her feel good, an hors d'oeuvre to whet her appetite, and I would just screeeam.

"Give us a show, Owen," she said.

My breath went out in a long huff. Emily, sitting next to me, gave me a smirk, but I noticed she, too, had eyes glistening with excitement.

What happens now? Does he just sit down and start flailing away?

But no. This group didn't work that way. Victoria moved to the switches, and a sole light over the couch came on ... not to bright incandescence like when you walked to the back room, not to a spotlight. More like the warm, yellow light put on a solo singer in some smoky bar. The lights over the table and over the little room door snapped out.

Owen rose slowly. I watched him. The tension was evident in his frame.

How many times has he done this? Once a semester? Maybe six or seven times ever? Wait, did he join his freshman year? I don't know. Maybe it's even less than that.

The dimmed light hid any color, but the fixed, inward-directed gaze, the nervous lick of his lips as he stood told me: not enough to be casual about this.

And no fluffer, I thought with dark, heady amusement. This might be easier for the guys in some ways, but their progress is oh so much more obvious.

Hannah caught his wrist as he wove his way to the couch. She gave a little tug and he paused. An indecipherable look passed between them. He hesitated longer and then nodded. He sat and faced us.

The other guys stood. They grabbed their chairs and dragged them back away from the couch.

Giving us a clear view. Of course. This isn't exciting for them. Or, well, I dunno. I was pretty sure from watching that they all liked girls. But maybe some like guys too?

Hannah also rose and dragged her chair to the front by mine. She gave me an excited smile as she plopped down. It struck me that none of the girls were heckling. I kept my mouth shut.

There was a moment of poised stillness.

That one remaining light snapped out, catching me by surprise. I must have started a little because I heard Hannah's soft whisper, "Just wait." The darkness was broken only by the faintest of faint streetlights filtering through the curtains. I heard soft sounds I couldn't identify.

A hand fumbled and closed over my forearm, making me start again. It tugged a little and I leaned toward Hannah. Her hand moved up to my shoulder and pulled me even closer until she could whisper in my ear.

"Let's make a bet. Pick up a poker chip off the table and drop it on the rug between our chairs."

I held my breath, suddenly unable to speak.

"If the logo is face down, you come back to Owen's room with me after. If the logo is face up, the first time you win the main game, he's yours for the evening."

What?

"Come with—" I fumbled to respond. "Carter—" I cut that off too. No, I wasn't really so naïve I thought she was acting as an agent for Owen's roommate. I was just in shock.

The chuckle was normal volume, though the voice was still the merest whisper. "No, not Carter. I like to give Owen a little head start with what he has to do up there."

By dangling another woman.

But what if I said no? Hard on the heels came the answer. He wouldn't know until it's over, and just the thought I might say yes ...

You were so wrong about a fluffer. I wanted to giggle at that last thought, yet the last thing I wanted to do was giggle.

I was caught up in a maelstrom of hormone surges. It was compounded from what Owen was about to do and apprehension over that kind of bet. It built off raging horniness from weeks of tease with no firm relief. Most of all, it was sudden misgivings about what she was suggesting. "I've never been with—" I cut myself off, trying to sort out the conflicting tugs and figure out what I really felt.

Again I heard the chuckle. "That's okay. The bet is that he—" She pulled me in even tighter and her whisper went to the barest phantom of sound. "He gets two different women tonight. Anything beyond that is only what we're both comfortable with, which won't be crazy. I promise."

She released the pressure, then pulled me back.

"It's about to start, so you don't have to answer. If there's a chip on the floor when the lights come up, I'll know."

I sat there in the darkness. The thought of doing something with Hannah ... what? Surprised me? Yes.

Intimidated me? Oh my God, absofuckinglutely!

Grossed me out? Umm, not sure. I simply had no context. I hadn't kissed a girl since sixth grade, and Julia and I had been pretty chaste back then.

But if I'm not into it, I can just say no. That's the deal.

I felt around and found a chip, fumbled it worriedly between my fingers, started to do something with it—I'm not sure which—then drew my hand back to my lap as other implications hit me.

Did she mean that we were both in bed with him at the same time? I mean, she did say anything beyond sex with him was ...

I didn't know ... but of course I knew. I felt the frisson of stage fright over someone watching me having sex.

He'd be mine if I won a main game. I would sometime; I was certain of that. I thought about that lean body and pictured the thick rod of cock I'd handled just last week.

That wouldn't suck. Of course, the way you're feeling right now, anything male wouldn't suck. But no, Owen could definitely float your boat, especially on the buzz that would come from winning.

What if I already made plans with some other guy? Carter maybe ... because I am sooo planning to see if he will tonight. Do I renege in that case? I pondered. No, bets mean exactly what they say. And if Owen can have two women ...

I felt the moist warmth between my legs at the thought, one that my suburban upbringing couldn't see as anything but pure Bad Girl. I didn't know if I wanted it. I didn't know if I could deal with it. But the thought was fuel on a wicked fire.

There was a brief recollection of a dark night in Toms River, another cock—different but equally delicious—framed by another beautiful, lean body, and a game that included truths and lies about threesomes. I squirmed.

I heard a soft murmur from the front of the room, and the light over the couch barely began to rekindle. I let the poker chip fall before my mind could think anymore.

Steadily, long second by long drawn-out second the light over the couch brightened under Victoria's fingers. Owen was sprawled back into the corner, head back, one leg bent on the cushions, the other draped to the floor.

As the illumination grew enough, I could see the faint sheen along the length sliding between his fingers, traces of it coating his balls and putting a gleam along his upper thighs. I glanced to the end table, only for the merest fraction of a second, and saw the bottle of baby oil. Then my eyes snapped back to the man.

His eyes were closed. He didn't want to watch the people watching him. There were six pairs of breasts arrayed in front of him, more than one set of legs not so tightly crossed that they obscured everything, but he was wrapped in some private vision. I had a maybe-guess as to what it was.

Blood flowed in under his touch. I had watched him go from half-aroused to fully erect just seven days ago, but it was different now. Different when you're eight feet away and not eight inches. And because who's in the driver's seat now, Owen?

I didn't intend that question to be mean. I bore zero resentment for last week. It wasn't exactly me in charge, but that didn't matter. A man was exhibiting himself for my pleasure along with that of every other woman in the room.

I chose right then and there to accept that part of me. It was a little corner of my psyche—maybe you'd call it a dark corner if you were the judging kind, but not really. I'd never hurt anyone. "You can quit at any time." I lived by that now.

I settled back in my chair to watch a man bring a thick cock to life under his fingers. My eyes were adjusted now to the dimmer light, and I could see the color that was imperceptible before. I could see it get deeper as his blood pressure rose and hear his breathing become more staccato.

I had no perception of time, just fascination as his balls swelled and precum leaked from the tip to join the baby oil. I refused to glance down at the floor next to my chair to see if that cock would be inside me later.

My eyes traced the mouth that gradually fell open. I watched the chest rise and fall as breathing changed. Legs that originally were tense from nerves, now were tense for another reason and began to twitch. Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead. It wasn't quite as quick as I'd expected.

Nerves making it harder? Or that's his normal pace? It doesn't matter. It makes it better. I watched the jaw tighten, and I shifted in my chair. Others did the same.

The sudden groan caused my eyes to leapt downward from his face. I watched avidly as a thick rope of white erupted to arc and splatter against his abdomen, noted the drops that flew farther and hit that lean chest. His and mine weren't the only heavy breathing; I could hear it echoed around the room. Another jet, his hand almost a blur of motion. I couldn't pull my eyes away from the sight nor keep my mind from turning to raunchy imaginings.

Will that be inside your pussy in an hour? Or will it be some day down the road when you claim your winnings and lead him to bed to fuck you the way you want?

One of the two. I forced myself not to look at the floor by my side.

With a final gasp and final ooze of semen onto his fingers, he released himself. The meaty sound of his cock falling back against his prone body was a signal, and the room was plunged into darkness again.

Oh my God, I've never felt this turned on. No wonder every chair in this room is wood or covered in vinyl.

We sat there for long moments in darkness, the silence broken only by the sound of movement and then a door closing. The bathroom, I realized. The room's lights gradually brightened again under Victoria's control to show a room full of women with flushed faces and men with carefully neutral expressions.

I turned to Hannah. Before she could lean over the arm of her chair to look, I grabbed her arm and whispered.

"You said I come home with the two of you if I lose." She nodded. "Okay, but if I win, the bet is not Owen ... it's you and Owen ... just him or you both as I choose."