The Loft Game: Kermit

Owen gave me a nod, as if in approval.

"Okay, the forfeit. Most people here ..." He looked around the table. "Everyone who happens to be here tonight has done it at least once. If you lose the game, then you have a task. You take off your last piece of clothing. You do a little three-sixty to let us get a good view."

He broke off. His tone switched to sound like one of my TA's lectures.

"You know, the Loft Game has been going on for sixteen years now, upperclassmen bringing in lowerclassmen and so on. It started right here. There were six people at the beginning and two of them, Kim and Andrew, even ended up getting married."

Why the fuck were we getting a history lesson at this point? I glanced over at Emily, but she just had on that same wicked smile she'd had when she forced me to admit to masturbating all evening.

"This property belonged to Andrew's grandparents. They were rarely here, and Andrew had the keys. Anyway, the grandparents died."

Josh caught my eye. I could see he was as puzzled with this digression as I was.

"One thing led to another, and now Andrew and Kim live in that house."

Uh-oh.

"So, after your little pirouette, you open the door"—he pointed to the outside door I hadn't used—"walk down the very, very private walkway to the back door, knock until they answer, then say, 'Thank you very much for letting us use your place.'"

Before I could stop, my mouth ran itself, "Isn't that a little creepy?"

Owen chuckled. "Why? Because they're ancient thirty-somethings?" Everyone laughed. "Seriously, though. It's not creepy. It's just embarrassing. Especially because all of us have wondered at one time or another if the neighbors know what happens here and are peeking through the hedge." He glanced around at the others: a shrug, a nod, some grimaces.

"But what will they do?" I'm not sure why, but this seemed a bigger deal than stripping down in front of a bunch of fellow students.

"Say hello, smile, shake your hand if they haven't met you, take a look. Probably a hundred people have gone through this, and there's never been the slightest issue with them."

"Do they join the game?" That was Josh.

"Nope. That's their rule. Loft Game is for undergraduates only. You graduate, you retire."

Everyone was assessing my nerve. Emily said quietly, "You can quit at any time, Chips."

I didn't like that. "I don't quit. I'm in."

"Josh?" Owen asked. Josh nodded.

"Okay then," he said, standing, "Chips, go with the girls to get ready and the talk; Josh, with us."

I followed Emily, Hannah, and a girl whose name I forgot in the rush of introductions to the room at the back of the loft. All it had in it was a bed and chair, plus a row of pegs along the wall.

"The talk?" I asked. "Umm, I kinda got that from my mom when she bought me my first bra."

The girls laughed. "No," said Hannah, "not that talk. It's just that there's this tradition here that girls get the Girl Talk from a senior and boys get the Boy Talk. So, here it is. You ready?"

I nodded.

"You're safe here, far safer than at some frat party. No one's going to spike a drink, or pull you into a bedroom, or put their hands anywhere you don't agree to. And, if something goes wonky outside of here because of this, everyone's got your back up to and including some past members who are attorneys and perfectly happy to sue the fucking ass off someone."

I didn't know what to say to that. It was reassuring. Yet, at the same time, it brought to mind the fact that there was an edge to this club. I mean, not tonight. This was just a little strip poker in private. It wasn't even as dicey as the strip blow pong I heard about at some parties because nobody was getting hammered. But there was more to this club than we newbies were seeing tonight. I felt that pulse of heat in my belly again.

"Second, fairness. Look, I don't know any way to say this except straight out. You're here for the guys' enjoyment." She saw my eyebrows shoot for the ceiling and held up her hand. "But! Not just for their enjoyment because it goes both ways. They're here for yours. It's a strip poker game ... like, duh, we're all here to see naked people." She grinned. I had to do the same. "I'm just sayin' to keep that in mind. Leave the grannies at home; give them—"

"I told her to wear sexy undies," Emily broke in, causing me to give a nervous laugh and nod.

"—give them a little thrill when you show the goodies; that kind of stuff. If you're feeling sexy, you're doing the right thing." She hesitated. "And maybe you'd have picked this up when Owen talked about the rules, but do not mock a guy if he's not showing any excitement." She gestured downward to make sure I knew what she meant. "It's not fair to ruin their evening over something that just might be nerves or tired after an all-nighter."

I nodded. Even if it'd occurred to me to make a joke—and I doubted my nerves would let me tonight—I'd have figured that one out.

"Third, and I guess this doesn't apply to you, but if you play with Girl's Hat and lose, then you heard what the guys said. There's gonna be some harmless touching while they get their thrills. If that's a problem, just remember: we're all here for a little sexy fun, but you can leave at any time.

"That's it: you're safe, play fair, be a good sport. Cool?"

"Yeah," I replied.

"I wonder what the Boy Talk is," mused the girl whose name I couldn't remember. Oh, Megan; that was it.

"I suspect they get told that if they do anything to fuck this up for the rest of the guys, their nuts will get kicked into their throats," laughed Emily.

"It's not too different." Emily looked at Hannah in surprise. "You just have to ask, Em. It's not a secret. They get told that they don't have to worry about certain things. They get told that they're here for our enjoyment which, for them, is probably a bit more visibly embarrassing. And they get told that girls will be good sports, but don't push it." She laughed. "So I guess you're right: they do get told not to fuck it up or their nuts will be history."

She pulled off her sweater. "Socks, shirt, bra, pants, panties. That's it unless you change your mind about a hat." She picked up a baseball cap that said, "I'm With Stupid," with an arrow pointing down toward her face. "Guys wear a hat since they don't have a bra, and about eight years back they decided to ban undershirts at the girls' request."

I didn't lose. I did get down to some underwear. Fortunately for a few of us, Owen couldn't get good cards to save his life.

Owen started the game by explaining how it worked. "The way you read about strip poker being played, where you deal, draw, and the lowest hand takes off a piece of clothing, takes most of the fun out of the game. Well, other than seeing naked people."

Josh and I dutifully laughed.

"There's no betting, which means there's no bluffing, no chip management, nothing. So ..."

He set three blue chips and ten white chips in front of me.

"Blues are worth five; whites are worth one. Everyone gets twenty-five except Hannah, who gets thirty. Think of it that you're renting your clothes. At the end of every hand, we see if you have enough chips to keep your clothes. Every five chips you're down from what you started with, you lose a piece of clothing. Once it's off, it stays off even if you win the chips back. Make sense?" We nodded.

"What if two people go out of chips at the same time?" Josh asked.

"Lowest hand loses."

"Oh, okay."

"To make things more interesting, there's an ante of one chip. Now, if it's not obvious, you could limp along and play twenty-five hands—which is in the ballpark of how long these games last—before you got stripped just by putting in your ante and then folding. But we don't like games where people win by taking no chances. So, we have a rule to help stop that." He held up a red chip.

"Every hand where you fold without betting beyond the ante, one of these gets put in front of you. When you have three of them in front of you, your ante goes to two chips. Six, you ante three, et cetera. With me?"

We nodded.

"Conversely, if you're in at the final show of a hand ... you stuck it out to the end ... you can give two reds back if you got 'em."

Everyone at the table waited while Josh and I tried to process that. Mike took pity on us.

"If you never bet, eleven will not be your lucky number. As in, hand number eleven you'll be walking across the yard." That number sounded very small all of a sudden. "Make at least a token bet every fourth hand or so, stick about half of those out to the end, and your luck and skill will be the determining factor. Of course"—his grin was sly—"playing a quarter of the hands is aggressive."

I gulped inside at the implication that aggressive was the norm. I was new blood. My eyes met Josh's, and I got the feeling he was thinking the same thing.

"We rotate the deal, marked by this." Owen reached over to a shelf and took down a small Kermit toy from among a collection of doodads.

I guess I understand the "green" game. I shivered inside, thinking about my favorite Kermit quote—"If life were easy, it wouldn't be difficult"—and wondering if my cramming online about how to play poker would make this easy enough to keep me from ending up naked.

"Josh, as a new guy, here you go." Owen dropped the frog and a deck of cards in front of him.

I drew first blood. I don't mean I won the first hand. I mean I took the first piece of clothing off someone other than socks or a hat.

It was the fifth deal of the evening. I was already down to eighteen chips—socks gone—and had a red. I anteed. Seventeen chips.

The frog passed to Hannah and she dealt me a pair of nines. If I folded, I got one red closer to a bigger ante and one white closer to pants or shirt coming off.

While I dithered, Thomas, to my right, didn't hesitate to drop a chip in the pot, and I had to make a choice. If I didn't bet now, I'd have to soon, with maybe less. I dropped my chip in. So did Josh and so did Hannah.

My heart sank that four people were in. I mean, it was a nice bra, but I didn't want to be flashing cleavage quite this early and nines weren't that high. But I guess someone up there liked me: I asked for three cards and got another nine. Thomas checked and I dropped another chip into the pot, "One." Sixteen chips.

Josh dropped his chip in.

Hannah gave me a long look; I did my best to keep my face absolutely still. I saw her eye my stack. "What color underwear you wearin', newbie?"

I thought it was a rhetorical question, but everyone at the table turned and looked at me, waiting for my answer. I felt my face begin to heat up—if she was trying to rattle me a little, it didn't entirely fail. "Light purple," I replied, trying to seem blasé.

"I think the guys might like to see that," she said with a grin. "See you and raise one."

For a second, my mind went a little crazy, and I didn't even hear Thomas fold. If I called that bet, I'd be down to fifteen chips and that meant something was coming off unless I won the hand.

Whoa! I grabbed hold of myself mentally. So they see you in a bra. So what? It's gonna happen sometime. Stop letting adrenaline decide your game. I looked at my cards—a set of nines. That's a good hand. I plastered a smile on my face. "What color is your underwear, Hannah?"

She laughed. "White, but you're not gonna see it."

"Really?"

She shook her head, still laughing. "Nope. I'm gonna get to see what Josh has under that shirt since he's down whether he bails or not. The only question is whether I'm gettin' a twofer."

Everyone watched me. "Okay. Re-raise you two." I smiled sweetly. There was some hooting and hollering, teasing us both. Hannah would lose a piece of closing if she called and lost. The gist of it from the boys was, "Well, this is win–win."

"She's trying to buy it," Owen said to Hannah.

She locked eyes with me, both of us ignoring Josh tossing in his cards. "I think so too. I call. Aces over kings."

"Ouch!" I said.

"Yowzah! Too bad, Chips!" Owen said.

"So, do we show panties or bra first?" I asked. Every male gaze and half the female ones were locked on my chest at that point.

"Your choice, Chips."

"Oh, not me," I said, finally allowing the grin to break out, and laid my cards face up.

"Fuck!" A rueful smile appeared on Hannah's face. She stood up and looked over at Josh. "You're first, newbie. You folded."

I could tell Josh didn't mind the shirt coming off, even though he was a little self-conscious at the staring. The results looked good; there was a definite four-pack there and six wasn't far away. I whooped with the rest of the women.

"If your ass is as tight as that, Josh, I am so gonna enjoy it being on display," Hannah called. I saw a little hint of color appear on his cheeks.

All eyes turned to Hannah. She made a little show of it with some stripper teases before dropping her shirt off her shoulders.

"C'mon, Hannah. Give us a little shimmy," Thomas called. She did a tiny, half-second one to cheers and then flopped in her seat, pushing Kermit to Thomas. She looked good. I like my chest and every boyfriend had made it clear that he did too, but she was at least one size up from me, and I noticed none of the guys were shy about looking.

I counted my stack and felt better. The next few hands were a blur now that most people were in the danger zone. Every guy lost his shirt to applause from the women. Megan's shirt came off to be greeted with a question about whether that front-fasten was so that it was easier to let the girls out in a few minutes. I lost a bunch of chips on a pair of kings that didn't hold up. Then Owen made a bad call and lost enough that his pants were forfeit.

"Wait," Hannah demanded as he started to stand. "Where are you at, newbie?" she asked me.

"Umm, twenty-three. Why?"

"I'm back at fifteen. I'll make a bet with you for eight. If I win, you lose your shirt. If you win, I lose my jeans."

"What? Why?"

She grinned. "I wanna see the purple underwear."

"What's the bet?"

She pointed at Owen. "Boxers, trunks, or tighty-whities?"

I thought about it. "And what if he's wearing a thong?"

That cracked everyone up. Hannah shook her head. "He's not. I'll give you that for free. It's one of the three."

"I only have one chance in three of winning. Bad odds."

"Not really. You'll still have a buffer of pants. I won't. That evens it up."

"No, still not good. You give me three–to–two odds."

She shook her head. "Sorry, I'm not risking two pieces of clothing, especially when one of them is my bra."

I thought about it. Eight was a lot. But eight put her a lot closer to losing, and I wanted a bunch of people in that situation. "All right. But tighty-whities don't have to be white. Just briefs."

She gave me that grin again. "Deal!"

I turned to Owen. "What type of underwear are you wearing?"

"Hey, no fair!" Hannah yelled.

"What?" I said innocently. "There were no rules against that."

Owen was laughing so hard he was snorting. "She's got a point," he said over her protests, and everyone else at the table seconded him. But he shook his head. "It's a great move, but I'm not telling."

"Hey, I told you about my underwear."

He was still laughing, "Okay, mine are navy. Now I've told you as much as you told me. Sorry, Chips. It's funny, but I want to see the purple underwear too." Hannah was trying to look grumpy, but I could tell she was fighting a laugh.

I considered. I decided against briefs because Hannah had agreed on the color thing; maybe she thought that was going to be my choice. "Trunks." I was looking at her as I said it and I knew right away I'd lost. I glanced back at Owen. "Boxers?" He nodded. "Damn!" I shoved my chips over.

At least I got to enjoy the show of some fairly buff male body coming into view before I was standing up and stepping back from the table. I was too embarrassed at the attention to make a show of it the way Hannah had done. I unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off, then spread my arms out to the side as if to say, "Take a good look, fellas."

They did.

"Damn, Chips, that's a serious rack!" — "Headlights!" — "All those curves and me with no brakes."

I had expected the teasing given what I'd heard so far, but I know I still turned beet red. I flopped back in my seat and tried to tell myself that there were three sets of cleavage on display, and everyone wasn't necessarily looking at mine.

Megan lost her pants, but nobody got a blush out of her despite some aggressive attempts. Then Josh lost a hand that meant his pants. Hannah wasn't done. She started to turn to me, but I preempted her. "Nope, no bet."

She grinned. "Chicken." Then she turned to Josh. "Let's see it, newbie." I could tell he was embarrassed. Just as I had been. It's surprising how having seven people stare at you changed the dynamic on something that would probably have been no big deal at a pool party. And of course, Hannah didn't do anything to lower the temperature.

"Hey, Josh," she called when his jeans hit the floor. When he looked over at her, she said, "I'm really liking what I can see there."

It wasn't the words; it was the finger she trailed down over her collarbone to draw small circles in her cleavage that did it. We all saw the slight twist of his hips, and the cackling from the women was immediate. He won the award for total body color that night as he dropped back into his chair.

I could feel the tension ratcheting up. We had two people a step away from losing and another a step away from showing real skin if you didn't count men's chests as real skin. I kinda did; I was a sucker for that lean look all four of these guys had. Only Mike and Emily were still not displaying underwear.

"Is this the entire club?" Josh asked while shuffling, striving for a little normalcy after his discomfiture.

"No," Megan replied. "There're another three or four who sometimes come to these games and another bunch who could but usually don't."

"Why do they belong if—"

She was shaking her head before he finished the sentence. "There's another game to keep this one from getting too big. Don't worry about it. It's the people who've been around for a while." I saw Emily flash me a warning look which I interpreted as a signal to keep my mouth shut that I knew something about that other game.

Two more hands and Owen came out on the short end of the stick. A bad bet and he was out. He stood with a resigned look. I savored the moment his junk was revealed and again as his ass came into view during his slow turn. Even though I'm sure he'd been through it many times, I could see the awkwardness, the discomfort at being the object of four women's intense stares. I looked right along with the other three.

We won. You lost. You have to do this just 'cause we say so. I felt heat sear through me.

I expected Hannah to go for him. It was Emily, though. "Nice as always, Owen, but think hot thoughts while you walk over. I know Kim appreciates the look of a semi-chub when she gets the opportunity. Come on, give it a little fluff before you go. Seriously, I'll do it for you if you wanted a helping hand. And by hand, I mean—"

He walked out the door, both middle fingers raised over his head to general mirth. I admired the view; it was a nice ass heading away from me.

Everyone started pulling clothes back on. "Oh well, another day with no boobs," Mike said with a theatrical sigh.

"Yeah, right," snorted Emily.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Ready, Chips?" She jangled her keys.

As we headed back to campus, I asked her what that last exchange had been about. She laughed, "Mike and Megan hook up after almost every one of these evenings. They think no one knows."