The Loft Game: Scotty

Not just that she lost and owed a forfeit.

This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. Men took their place on that couch when they lost. Women took their place on their knees. That wasn't some double standard that would violate everything my little sexual-equality soul demanded.

It was simply an expectation, the norm for our world. Ever since that day in the depths of the library when I'd eavesdropped on Em, I knew what crowned a Friday night. In blunt terms: they jerk off; you say aah.

The sheer unexpectedness had caught Victoria—caught all of us—off guard and made this singularly erotic. The surprise had brought breath up short and hearts racing and "Oh my God, what now?" Fear and tension, humiliation and edginess, thrill and lust.

I loved that she all the choice in the world but had no choice.

You can quit at any time. But not if you want to play.

And oh, how I wanted to play.

I'd lost once already. It had shaken me then, and it wouldn't be much better the next time. Even more so now that I knew he—whoever the "he" was—could bend the "how" of it entirely to his fantasies, caring nothing about my dignity or feelings.

And still worse, what I was watching Victoria endure made my breath catch and my heart skip a beat in utter panic at the thought of me up there in front of the room.

But Charlene Emory Maguire had a little domination streak in her that went hand-in-hand with the voyeur and the still-barely-admitted exhibitionist. Not a large one, not collars and chains and riding crops. But a twist in her soul, nonetheless.

And that made what was in front of me a counterbalance to those risks. The lick of heat that had shot through my body when I'd heard Em's conversation with Logan, that had become a steadily burning ember that needed very little to fan it into flames.

What I was watching wasn't the best reward. A far better prize was a guy up there on the couch instead of a woman. The only thing better than that was me putting that guy there, because then the stakes of another gamble would be mine too. I glanced over at Owen and imagined that future, savoring it.

I let the nerves fade and sank into the spectacle.

Twenty minutes, more or less, then Victoria's ever-shallowing breath caught. She gave an almost inaudible moan. Her back arched. Her legs thrust out hard, locked rigid as her fingers grew more frenzied. She froze as if to gather herself, then her hand blurred. The next moan was more of a gasp as her knees jackknifed up and her shoulders curled forward, curling into a fetal ball.

Every sense of mine seemed more acute. I could hear the breathing of the men in the room, and the soft patter of the shower mixed with harsh, almost guttural sounds from the man standing under it. My eyes, accustomed to the dim light, could pick out the pink flush that colored Victoria's skin in the glow shining down on her. I could smell the scent of a woman, kind of like my own but different. I could feel the ridges of the chair beneath me and hoped my own arousal wasn't showing.

"Now."

That single word from the speakers whipped my head around to the screen. Seconds later, thick ropes of white spewed out to mingle with the steams of water. Some vague part of me acknowledged that the changes in breathing weren't only from the men: mine and from the chairs around me. I could feel the faint glaze of sweat on my skin. I watched the god's hand on his cock. I watched his face. I pictured the avid gaze of the off-screen woman who commanded him. It was almost too much.

The moment held, every male eye on the couch, every woman's eye on the TV. Except, perhaps, Victoria's, closed under the fall of her hair as she rode the downward slope from her orgasm.

It dragged on for five seconds, ten. Then Hannah quietly stood and dimmed the couch light almost to nothing. She moved over and laid a hand on Victoria's shoulder. "Hon."

I looked over at Carter on the other side of the room, where the men sat distant from each other. His eyes were closed and his head bowed. Calming himself, I figured. I looked at his mouth and thought about the feel of his lips and tongue buried between my legs, the feel of him wrapped in my hand. I imagined the feeling of being thrust into until I tipped over the edge.

God, I wanted to get laid so much I thought I'd explode.

It was a wrench to push it away.

Minutes passed before I stood and poked my head in the back room. Hannah looked up from where she was pushing the bin back. Victoria sat on the edge of the bed in a T-shirt and underwear. She didn't meet my eyes.

"You coming over?" Hannah asked me, deliberately drawing attention from the girl on the bed.

She didn't mean her dorm room. I didn't even know where that was. She knew what was boiling through me because the same thing was boiling through her.

She was going to have Owen take care of that and wanted to know if I was going to use Carter for the same. Mutually use ... I was sure Carter's entire body was buzzing with lust hormones just as mine was. The prospect of that first thrust into a woman surely occupied his brain in the same way that it occupied mine.

"No. I— I think maybe Carrie is talking to him." I had considered and then shoved every ounce of horniness I was feeling deep down inside for later. It was almost edging myself—something that seemed thrilling only in the context of what it would be like to do it to a guy. But energizing in an excruciating way nonetheless.

"Will you send me a copy of that video?" I asked Victoria. She looked up at me. "You said you didn't know me very well yet. So, umm." I waved my hand vaguely in the direction of the TV in the next room. "That's ..." I trailed off, a little self-conscious about asking for a kinky porno.

Brown eyes met hazel ones in a moment of consideration, then mutual understanding.

"Just, you know, in case it's me up there someday," I finished lamely.

"Before next week," she promised. Her gaze fell back down to the jeans in her lap, and I got the sense she wanted me gone, some time alone. Maybe to let people leave before she came back out to face them, too.

"No rush. I won't be able to play next week." I didn't explain. I was self-conscious about asking for the video. I wasn't about to compound it by explaining I had a booty call next Friday night with a high school senior, legal adult or not.

Hannah walked out with me, leaving Victoria to her privacy.

"You're quiet," I said as we headed for our cars.

"The boogeyman under the bed is real."

I looked over at her, puzzled.

"He's a really good player, if you haven't noticed."

Then I understood. Kevin was good. "And he seems to hold a grudge."

She nodded. "He's an asshole."

"Why's he in the game, then?"

"He's a legacy. His cousin was part of the original group with Kim and Andrew, and ..." She shrugged, as if to say, "That's the way the world works."

"You had to once, right?"

She grimaced. It was obvious once was one more time than she would have preferred. "A different guy. Different reasons." She paused when we got to her car.

"I've only gotta get through the rest of this semester," she said. "He's a junior, so you've got longer."

Fuck!

I was too adrenalized to fall asleep quickly.

The sobering thought of being in someone's crosshairs and the lump in my gut evoked by "He's a really good player" sparred with images from the video and the anticipation of Ethan's visit. I tossed until exhaustion finally dragged me under.

I awoke to fragmentary recollections of dreams:

A roomful of eyes on me as I sat facing them, frozen in panic.

The fading image of thigh muscles quivering. The slipperiness of dreams half-remembered left me uncertain even if they were male or female.

Victoria's flat voice saying, "I lost. He won."

A physically impossible sequence involving ... I wasn't sure who, but definitely male for this one ... two hands tethered with black cord to a shower head, yet one somehow free as I said, "Begin."

Despite my intentions of self-denial until Friday, those fragments had me charged up. Even the scary ones; anxiety can be rousing.

I was alone in the room, not uncommon because my roommate, Taylor, had a semi-permanent sleepover at her boyfriend's. Intentions melted. I dug to the bottom of the box of personal stuff I kept tucked under the bed. I pulled out the vibrator whose box had advertised "five unique patterns and five intensities" that I'd deliberately buried under letters and keepsakes. I started my way through them.

Of course, since it was impromptu and I hadn't scribbled a red star on the outside marker board, somewhere around number three, I heard a key in the lock.

I rolled to jerk the duvet out from under me, then frantically fumbled back through its folds to find the toy I'd dropped in panic and hit the off switch.

"One sec, hon," Taylor said over her shoulder as I struggled to get underneath, incredibly glad that I'd been too lazy to strip off my sleep shirt. She'd seen it all as my roommate, but she knew I didn't sleep naked.

"Umm, just to grab some stuff, then we're gone," she said to me.

In all likelihood, she meant "so you can go back to sleeping in." However, in my rattled state, I was sure she saw the flush on my face and meant "so you can go back to getting yourself off to the thoughts of some hot guy." I pulled the covers up to my neck. "Hey."

She pushed the door open enough to come in. Her boyfriend followed behind her. "Hey, Charl," he said. "Sorry to wake you."

"Hey, Dylan."

Taylor grabbed a stack of books. "You carry these and wait in the hall while I get some clothes."

He gave her a goofy smile and did as ordered. She started pulling some stuff out of her dresser.

"Umm, Taylor?" She looked over, and I gestured for her to nudge the door shut. "Friday and Saturday, are you staying with Dylan?"

Her eyebrows went up. Then she gave me a conspiratorial grin. "Should I?"

"I have someone visiting, so if you could."

"What's his name?"

For a hot second, I debated a lie, claiming it was Julia or something. "Ethan."

"No prob." She shoved the extra clothes into a pillowcase and went out to join her boyfriend, giving me a quick wink as she pulled the door shut behind her.

Still rattled at the close call, I wondered if they were snickering as they left the dorm. The embarrassment at the possibility re-conjured that image of facing a roomful of intent eyes. My mood was broken, and I got up.

"I got this for you," Ethan said. He thrust a stuffed dog out to me. It was a little black Scottie dog with a tartan bow around its neck. "He's Scotty, Carnegie Mellon's mascot."

"He's cute."

"Something to remind you of me."

"I don't think I've ever said you were cute, Ethan," I said, keeping a straight face. Actually, I had, but not to him. He grinned.

"Well, I figure he's cute enough that you might let me stay anyway."

"Oh, I already told you I'd let you stay, but that's because you owe me, and I'm going to collect."

I saw the momentary flicker of shy insecurity. An open-ended "whatever I say" covered a lot of ground. But there was excitement mingled with those nerves. He was getting laid this weekend. He knew that. Everything else was details.

It was four o'clock on Friday. He'd checked in with Em, and then she'd shown him where my dorm was so he could drop off his duffel. I appreciated she didn't come up with him.

The flicker passed and the irrepressible Ethan came back along with the smile.

"A bet's a bet."

I felt a brief pulse of heat between my legs at those words. "You should go. Em's waiting. What time will you be over?"

"I dunno. Probably late."

I nodded. He stepped forward as if to awkwardly kiss me. I held up my hand to stop him. "You're going to have to earn that." Again, that flash of nerves as he contemplated the tone of my voice, which didn't sound like "woo me" so much as "please me."

I pushed him toward the door, then relented. I rose up on my toes, but that wasn't nearly enough for the nine-inch difference in our heights. I pulled his shoulder down and laid a light kiss on his cheek.

"Ethan," I said as I opened the door, "I'm really happy you're here. And thank you for Scotty." As he turned down the hallway, I added, "Watch the alcohol, huh?"

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes meeting mine, and I saw an answering pulse in them.

The thought of going to the loft and playing trickled across my mind. Em and Ethan were going to have dinner and then off to some party. He'd said late. Sitting around the room waiting had me antsy.

The fierce, heady pleasure of watching Luis or Carter or any of the guys, particularly those I hadn't seen yet, face the inevitable. The pleasure, lesser but still real, of watching Hannah or Brey or whichever girl was first out when a boy laid down the winning hand. Either would be delicious foreplay while I waited for Ethan's return.

And if I could've guaranteed that I'd neither win nor lose, perhaps I'd have grabbed my car keys and let lust fill my brain.

But I'd already thought this through. It was why I told Victoria I wouldn't be there. If I won, well, that would be one too many prizes to collect this weekend. If I lost, the thought of seeing Ethan after being that girl on her knees made me feel dirty, and not in a good way.

No, the Loft Game was out for tonight.

But still I couldn't concentrate on the Econ assignment. I brought up Gmail and clicked on the email I had gotten earlier that afternoon from Victoria. The subject line read, "NSFW." I wasn't working, but I knew what she meant. Not safe for class, nor the student center, nor a roommate glancing over. Watch this alone, it said.

Or in a room of voyeurs watching you, my hindbrain whispered. I shut that down and clicked on the link. I settled back as the swirled-hand logo appeared.

I was panting by the time the woman's voice said, "Stop," for the second time. The man paused and caught his breath. I paused the video.

Is this a good idea?

Not the video. Not Ethan's visit. My plans for his visit. I had zero doubt he wanted sex. He'd been the one to call and ask if a visit to his sister could be something more.

But I was thinking it could be more than just boy–girl in bed, even though I, too, definitely wanted that. I'd had some very explicit fantasies that first time with him. They'd struck me as too much, too soon for the virgin I was with.

That was then. This was now. This wasn't his first time. His sister wasn't upstairs. This was a man whose imagination had surely been in overdrive ever since he'd heard, "You're staying in my room while you're here."

Just one of those ideas. See if he'll go along?

That prospect alone was heady—obedient Ethan playing to some of my cravings.

Or take it one step more and make it two-sided?

I did a gut check. I picked up my phone.

≫ Ethan, do you want to play a game?

≪ Can't. Bunch of us in restaurant.

≫ Not like Christmas. Will take you one second.

I waited for the triple-dot that said he was answering. I knew he was in a restaurant, though I hadn't realized it was more than just Em and him, and I didn't want to interfere with his time with his sister. Well, not too much.

But I was rapidly getting into a state, and the idea of Ethan's brain roiling with similar anticipation throughout the evening worked. Anticipation greater than just, "Sex."

≪ Okay

≫ Take a picture of a coin. Right now. Don't send it to me.

≪ Then what?

I didn't reply. Let that imagination work.

≪??

I ignored that too, grinning inside.

I settled back and clicked Play. At the woman's quiet but firm command to begin again, I fought the renewed urge to do the same. While my eyes feasted on the sight of that magnificent display being brought to the trembling edge for a third time, I dug out a quarter and took four pictures.

It was close to midnight when a knock stirred me out of a semi-drowse.

"Hey," he said quietly.

I stepped back to let him in. His eyes traveled around the room, uncertain of what was next. He took in my bed, freshly laundered, duvet turned back to the foot, every throw pillow I had stacked against the wall. The room was dim, only the lamp clamped to the head of my roommate's bed and my computer shedding any light. A carefully curated playlist I'd spent hours on was playing quietly from my Bluetooth speaker.

Then they registered how I was dressed, just as carefully chosen. That hadn't taken hours since it comprised only a beach cover-up I'd bought for Daytona and the French-cut panties he'd seen twice before. The thin cotton of the cover-up was nowhere near thick enough to disguise the lack of anything else underneath. I saw his nostrils flare.

"Did you take the picture?"

He nodded.

"Do you still want to play?"

"I don't know what I'm playing."

I laughed. "No, but can you guess the stakes?"

I saw the imagination fire up. "Okay," he said. The fact that he didn't even ask what they were, just agreed ...

Oh fuck, I want this guy right now!

Patience, Charl. That was my mind talking. Between my legs was arguing hard the other way.

"Show me." I looked at the picture of the heads-up coin on the restaurant's wooden table.

Why did I have Ethan take a picture of a coin instead of just flipping one when he came here?

The answer was because I was going to cheat, and it's hard to cheat on a coin flip.

My mind flashed on Gwen for a second, on the train of thought I'd barely been aware of until it burst on me while I waited for him to arrive. I wasn't going to cheat to win. I was going to cheat to lose.

I gestured him over to my computer. I picked two icons from the many on screen and dragged them to the middle. I pointed to draw his focus onto them: a.jpg and b.jpg. Definitely not one.jpg and two.jpg, which sat in a completely different part of the display, unobtrusively clustered amidst a bunch of others.

"One of those is a picture I took of a coin heads up. One is a picture of a coin heads down. You choose one. If it matches yours, you win. If it doesn't, you lose."

"And then I owe you two things tonight."

"No." I shook my head. "It's late, and what I want will take some time." His eyebrows went up at that. "We're playing for tomorrow evening." I shrugged. "Or you can say you don't want to play and we can forget it."

"I say I don't want to and then I'm back to Ems's room?"

"No."

He digested that, the single word that said there was no downside to declining the game. But no upside either, beyond what I had already offered him.

He glanced at the screen, then back to me. I knew he saw a hopeful expression on my face. I wondered how much that counted. I saw his eyes travel from my face downward, taking in what I was wearing, what tits clearly not under a bra promised.

The little tilt of his head that signaled momentary indecision was cute. The slight catch in his breath that signaled acquiescence was adorable. And erotic as fuck.

I barely looked to see which icon he clicked. I didn't need to, of course, because I had lied and they were identical. Just like one.jpg and two.jpg were identical pics of tails.

I saw the flare of excitement when he saw the image matched his. The frisson that shot through me caused by my own nerves, that was erotic too in a different way. I didn't try to fight those nerves.

"Whatever doesn't have to be as simple as a blowjob."

That's what he'd asked for last time, what I wanted to push him past. Not only as a carrot because I was going to ask for more than his head between my legs. But also because of that nervous frisson: putting myself at risk of the unknown.