———-
As it turns out, it wasn’t Alex opening the front door while I ran up the staircase wearing a come cape on Thursday night.
It was Avery and Cindy.
Mark told me on Friday morning when I was filling my AeroPress. He walked into the kitchen, nodded in my direction, and opened the fridge as if the night before had never happened. It was both relieving and disarming.
Before he left for his 8:00am theater class (he’s only taking it to satisfy the Art requirement; I’ve asked), he walked over to me and placed his hands on my bare shoulders. I was still facing the counter at the time, about to press the plunger down, when I suddenly felt him turning me around.
His green eyes looked into mine for a moment. Then he hugged me wordlessly, both arms crushing me against him, chin resting on my head. We stood there in silence for nearly 20 seconds before he released me, winked, and slung on his backpack. A rush of affection overtook me, and I watched him leave with a smile on my face. Eventually, I turned my attention to the now-overexracted coffee.
I didn’t care about the coffee.
That hug communicated far more than simple words could have in such a brief span of time. I imagined all the things he might have been thinking: We don’t really think of you that way; It’s sexy in the moment, but only because you’re Caroline and we know you can handle us; Focusing on you the way we did made it easier for us to be with each other like that without feeling…like we’d crossed a line in our friendship; We love you because you’re our dirty nympho at night and our smart, pretty friend during—
“Stop that, Caroline,” I snapped at myself. “Way to get carried away.”
Anyway, when Avery and Cindy came back on Thursday, they were apparently even more sloshed than Jordan and Mark, and therefore, much to the boys’ relief, oblivious to the fact that their housemates were naked on the couch together. They also apparently failed to see the panties and tank top that I’d left on the floor in my haste to retreat upstairs.
The rest of the day on Friday was uneventful. I spent the night with Ashley and two of her roommates, Shannon and Courtney. We’d originally planned to have a girls’ night in—homemade piña coladas, chips and dip, and a romcom or two—but then Ashley reminded everyone about my comment last night, when I’d promised to stay out late.
The mood changed immediately, and out came the shot glasses, Bluetooth speaker, and makeup trays. “We only have a few weeks left before summer break,” Courtney said. “I think we should hit Chanterelle while we still can.”
I excused myself for an hour; Chanterelle is a nightclub near the financial district, and loungewear doesn’t cut it. The girls made me leave my wallet behind as collateral while I walked home to change into a crop top, mini skirt, and wedges.
Ashely winked when I handed it over. “Better safe than sorry, girl. We are having a good time tonight, and we’re not risking you backing out once you’re home and snuggled up in your own room.” So, a few hours (and shots) later, I found myself in the depths of Chanterelle, the third link in our human chain of four as we wended between the silhouettes of a hundred strangers, making our way toward the bar.
Hip hop blasted from invisible speakers and a constellation of LEDs gleamed in the darkness. Shannon ordered us vodka sodas with lime and a round of double tequila shots, which she passed back to us while the bartender checked us out (subtly, but not subtly enough). Already tipsy, we tried to keep our balance amidst the jostling crowd.
When the bartender’s gaze fell on me, I didn’t avert my eyes. I squeezed my lime into my drink without sparing it a glance and found the straw with my mouth. He was cute: tall, dark beard, well muscled. He broke eye contact when one of his coworkers rushed past him with an empty keg, brushing his hip as she squeezed between him and the grandiose liquor cabinet behind him. Courtney started to talk to me at the same time, but when I glanced back, I caught his eyes dropping to my cleavage.
It was his relative subtlty—and the fact that he had enough grace to look abashed when he realized I’d caught him—that stopped me from rolling my eyes.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that,” Courtney said in my ear, grinning at me.
“Saw what?”
“Don’t worry, he’s cute. I don’t blame you. Now, come on, the girls grabbed that table over there. Let’s rip these shots.”
He found me later. His shift almost certainly wasn’t over (no establishment, much less a club like Chanterelle, would release a bartender before midnight on a Friday), so I assumed I was his detour on the way to the bathroom. When he reached me, he leaned toward me and said something I couldn’t hear. I shook my head—Can’t hear you—and took a step forward.
“I’m sorry to be so direct,” he said in my ear while the agarwood scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, “but I don’t have much other choice if I want a chance at talking to you before you leave here tonight and I never see you again.”
“Who says I won’t come back here some other night?” I cocked my head.
“You might. But that’s not a chance I’d rather take if I can avoid it.” He looked down at the paper pinched between his fingers and held it out like an offering. “My cell. I’d love to get coffee sometime. Or breakfast, if you’ll risk a full meal on me. Text me sometime if you’re interested, but no hard feelings if you’re not.” His teeth flashed in a brief smile before he disappeared into the crowd.
The warm glow in my cheeks lasted the rest of the night.
———-
I’ve nearly forgotten about that paper, bearing the bartender’s spidery hand, right up until the moment Alex says, “I haven’t been adding papers to the jar this week. Have either of you guys?”
When Jordan and Mark shake their heads, Alex looks at me. “Have you been doing it for us?” Something about the smirk on his face makes me want to punch it off.
“Yes, Alex, I have.” Maybe I’ll text him later, I think, imagining, for a second, the bartender’s beard tickling my thighs.
It’s 5:47 on Saturday, April 18th. 13 minutes until the Red Sox start losing to the Tigers. 13 minutes until my clothes start coming off. I wonder if Dan—that’s the bartender’s name—would still be interested in that coffee if he could see what I’m about to do.
“How would you log a threesome?” Jordan asks, eyes on the TV, face a picture of innocence.
Mark and I both look at him angrily. Yesterday night is still a secret, as far as I know, and I want to keep it that way. “What are you talking about?” I say.
“If, for example, Mark and I fucked you at the same time. Would you log it on a green sticky, a purple sticky, or both? I think it would probably make more sense to use a fourth color, like an index card. Then you could just write the date and both our names on it. Otherwise, when you’re counting it all at the end of the semester, how would you know which ones were one-on-one, vanilla sex, and which ones were groupies?”
Alex narrows his eyes. “Something Mark should know about you, mate?”
“Ha. Fuck off.” Jordan says.
“Something I should know about what the three of you have been up to?”
“Not yet,” I interject, “But there’s a first time for everything, right?”
Alex turns to me. “Interesting point Jordan brings up, though. How do you feel about threesomes?”
“They’re fine as long as you’re not the guy.” I frown in mock contemplation. “Or, if it’s that kind of threesome, as long as you’re not one of the guys.”
He checks his watch. “Funny. By the way, nine minutes until the game starts. We’re looking forward to your services, waitress Caroline.”
He dropped the idea on all of us this morning, when we were nursing our respective hangovers and queuing up in front of the coffee pot. “You know what would make me feel better later?” he said, mug steaming in front of him. “Watching the game with a few brews.”
“I’m down,” Mark agreed. “Jordan? Caroline?”
“Speaking of Caroline,” Alex added, turning to me, “I think you should watch with us. You have plans?”
I finished pouring my own mug and took a sip, slurping to avoid getting burned. “Nope. No plans.”
“Good. Then you’ll join us. And you’ll be naked.”
“Not happening.” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh yes, it is. If it’s a unanimous vote, it’s most certainly happening. That’s how group activities work in this house, isn’t it? So? Mark, Jordan, tell me you don’t like the idea of this gorgeous woman serving you beers and snacks while she wears nothing but her birthday suit. If you’re in, say ‘aye.’”
“Aye,” Jordan said right away, raising his mug. He stared straight ahead, avoiding my eyes. I hoped he could feel my glare searing his skin even if he couldn’t see it.
When I looked at Mark, he shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, Caroline. The man’s got a point. You’re too sexy for your own good. Aye.”
I managed to negotiate one small concession from them; my panties. No matter what they say, I’m not willing to sit on that couch completely naked. I might be promiscuous, but I’m not oblivious to the importance of basic personal hygiene.
“I’ll go get changed so we can get started,” I say lasciviously. Much like yesterday, I’m not going to let any of the guys have the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate. Something has gotten into all of them recently. It almost feels like they’re pushing me just to see how far I can go before I waver. Or maybe they’re just turning into douchebags because we’re about to be done with junior year and they’re…nervous? Nostalgic?
Regardless, I know one thing for sure: in this proverbial staring contest, I most certainly am not blinking first.
I come back into the room, right as the first pitch sails over home plate, wearing a black thong and a gray kitchen apron. It knots at the waist and behind the neck. The ties hanging against my back and ass draw even more attention to the fact that I’m naked underneath it. From the front, its rectangular shape covers me from thigh to chest, hiding my nipples but leaving plenty for the boys to ogle.
“Let’s go, Sox,” I say, handing a Pacifico to each of the guys. Their heads swivel as I pass, faces blank with stupefaction. I let them look. I even let a little strut into my step. “Come on, boys. You’re acting like a bunch of virgins right now. I know you’ve all seen a naked girl before.”
“You’re not naked,” Alex points out.
“Not yet, baby.” I wink at him and trail a finger along his jaw as I pass. “But that’s going to change soon, thanks to you.”
Before the end of the first inning, I head to the kitchen to get the next round of brews, and I’m surprised how much I’m enjoying myself. The guys are definitely watching the game—gesticulating and talking angrily at the screen as if the players can hear them—but they’re also clearly watching me, even if they’ve deluded themselves into thinking I can’t tell.
Jordan sits on the middle of the couch with one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, and (I call it my sexth sense) I know for a fact he’s doing his best to hide a growing boner as I pass through his field of vision. Alex is stretched out on the chaise, and he might not be there yet, but his greedy glances tell me he will be soon. Mark is at the end of the couch, sipping the last of his Pacifico: the quietest of the group, his usual bravado seemingly on mute.
I sit between Alex and Jordan again, right next to the chaise, feet on the coffee table. The stiff fabric of the apron bunches around my chest and pokes upward in a triangular shape. I don’t make any attempt to flatten it. I’m enjoying the way it reveals the swell of my breasts from the sides and accentuates my cleavage from the front. Their eyes bounce back and forth like pinballs: TV, boobs. TV, boobs.
“You know what a good rule for this game is?” I say when the commercial break hits. “Someone has to have an orgasm at least once an inning.”
Alex chokes on his beer and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Excuse me? Is that a joke?”
I look at him contemptuously. “Do I look like I’m joking? This was your idea. We may as well make it fun.”
“This is my idea of fun,” Alex says. “Chilling with the game, my dudes, and a sexy lady. One who will soon be naked, I should remind you. You don’t think we find that fun?”
“I think you find it fun. But I also think it must be frustrating. It’s like a strip club. Why do guys go to strip clubs and pay to be teased? It’s not like the girls are gonna get you off in most cases.”
Alex winks. “In most cases. But anyway, if you’re volunteering, I’ll take you up on that. Let’s go.” He stands and offers me his hand.
I sense Jordan and Mark watching us carefully. Wondering what I’m going to do. Don’t try to intervene. Let me have my fun. “I don’t think so. You said it yourself earlier today. These group activities are group activities. What happens during this game stays in this room.” I extend my knee, pointing my toes and extending my leg into the air. I’m staring at Alex with a sultry smirk on my face. I’m starting to get wet.
He’s delightfully taken aback. He looks from me, to Jordan, to Mark, and back. As if he isn’t sure he heard me correctly. “I…you…here? No.”
I stand and shrug. “Suit yourself. Sit back down and enjoy the game. I’ll just be here, and I’ll be, as you’ve been insisting, basically naked.” As I speak, I untie the apron and pull the strap over my head. When I throw it, it follows the same invisible path that my tank top did 20 hours ago when Jordan pulled it off and tossed it onto the floor.
“Enjoy the show, boys. I’m going to grab the snacks.” I take a few steps forward so I’m blocking the TV, then spin 180 degrees to face my housemates. Three pairs of eyes are glued to me. The men sitting on the couch look ravenous, like lions watching an impala, but they stay seated, silent, restrained. I lift myself from my heels to the balls of my feet and back, and every time I thud against the floor, the force transfers through my ankles, legbones, hips, ribs.
The soft parts of me tremble with each impact. My breasts, as you’ll know by now, aren’t jugs. Nor are they tiny. They sway as I move from side to side. Jiggle as I decelerate. They hang and shake when a man bends me over and takes me from behind. They bunch together around his cock when I press them together and let him fuck a pearl necklace onto my clavicles.
They draw mens’ eyes like iron filings to a magnet.
I continue this way for nearly a whole minute, rotating every now and then. Letting them see all of me as I set it aquiver: the tiny amount of fat on my belly, the round globes of my ass; the muscle I’ve built in my legs. The certainty that all three of the guys are sporting raging boners while they watch me, all of us in the same room, is indescribably sexy, and the second inning behind me is forgotten by everyone.
Mark stands. “The snacks can wait. And we’re already an inning down. Get over here, Caroline.”
When I prance to him, the grin on my face is genuine. Mark intercepts my hand with his own, stopping me from reaching for the bulge in his shorts. “Nuh, uh. You said at least one of us should come every inning. Isn’t that so?”
“That’s so,” I say, humming with pleasure as his free hand finds one of my breasts.
“Well, that someone is you. For at least the first two innings. Now, lie down on the coffee table. Jordan, get your feet off of it.”
“What the fuck is happening here?” Alex says loudly. He’s staring at me and Mark like we have three heads each.
Jordan clears his throat. “I’m not positive, but if I had to guess, I’d say cunnilingus is about to happen.”
Mark snaps and points at his friend. “Ding, ding, ding. Come on, Caroline, let’s get this show on the road.”
I sit on the edge of the coffee table and suppress a gasp. That wood feels cold when it presses against my ass. When I lie on my back, it’s even worse, and it takes my body a few seconds to warm the wood a couple degrees, which is about the same amount of time I need to unclench all of my muscles. There’s a particularly freezing spot near my lower back; the condensation ring from Jordan’s first beer bottle.
“Come on, guys, are you serious?” Alex still looks like he just found out he was adopted as a baby. “You’re going to do this here? Jordan, are you not weirded out by this?”
“Not really.” Jordan shrugs. “We all have sex with Caroline, don’t we? And you’re the one who wanted her naked here with all of us. This was inevitable, Alex. Collectively, we have the self control of a hungry puppy. You can leave if you want to.”
Mark pulls my panties down my legs. When they clear my feet, he drops them on the floor, grabs my ankles, and pushes my legs toward my ribs. His erection is bulging against his athletic shorts, and it’s clear he doesn’t care that it’s visible to his friends. “I bet I can make you come before we reach the bottom of the second.”
“I know you can. Multiple times. I’m no match for that giant cock, baby.”
“You’re getting my mouth first. I want my whole face to reek of you.”
Before Alex can stutter, close his eyes, or look at Jordan again, Mark drops to his knees, bows his head, and starts eating me out. I’m already turned on enough—I can get used to having an audience, I know that much—for direct clitoral stimulation. He seems to know that, and his tongue swirls its way up from my asshole to my clitoris, where he lingers, laving the bud with saliva and making me squirm involuntarily.
“Well, fuck,” Jordan says. “This is hot as hell.”
I look at him while his friend continues to lap at me noisily. “Yeah, baby? I knew I was right, last night. You do like watching me get with someone else. I…fuck, Mark, that’s hitting the spot…I know you’ve got a boner right now. Why don’t you show us?”
Alex finds his voice again. “Okay, you guys are weird as fuck. I had a feeling something happened last night.”
I’m facing away from the chaise now, so I bend my head backwards to look at him directly. “And yet you haven’t left the room. I’d rather…you stay. Oh, shit.” Mark’s fingers are inside me now, and he’s using them while he sucks on my clitoris. “I’d rather…you watch…and participate when you’re ready. Fuck.”
Jordan has worked his shorts off, and he lays them down on the couch cushion so he can sit down on them. He’s watching me and Mark intently, playing with his own cock to make it harder. “We’ll be here for the whole game, Alex. You might as well stay and blow a few loads.”
I moan loudly and tell Mark I’m going to come soon. I turn back to Alex. “He’s right. We all know you’re horny as hell right now. So you can either run up to your room and jerk off alone, or you can stay here and join the fun. Like Jordan said. Blow a few loads. In me, on me. Whatever you wa—that’s it, Mark. Don’t stop. Fuck, yes. I’m coming.”
As always, Mark strokes my g-spot as the orgasm wracks my body, but he goes easy on the licking, knowing how painfully sensitive that spot has become. That primal pleasure, deep in my core and radiating electric tendrils into my extremities, is addicting. I need more of it.
“I want more,” I say to the room. “Give me more. Someone give me cock. I need something inside me right now.”
“Given that I’m already here…” Mark pulls off his shirt and drops his shorts, and in the full light of day his ripped physique—and beautiful log of a cock—is enthralling.
“What the fuck,” Alex mutters to himself as Mark takes a knee again.
It’s too much for me to smother this time, and my composure breaks. I burst into laughter while Mark teases the head of his cock against my entrance, getting himself wet with my arousal. The laughter is mixed with the deeper, more desperate note of a moan, but I can’t stop it. I’m cracking up on the table, legs spread wide, head thrown back in mirth.
Jordan starts laughing next, holding his cock in one hand and using the other to point at Alex’s shocked countenance. Mark is finally infected with it, even as he thrusts himself deep into my pussy. Within seconds, it’s like yesterday in the kitchen, when we decided to discuss our first threesome and ended up possessed with debilitating laughter.
Only now, Mark is railing me at the same time, and the dual sensations—ab-cramping laughter and the devastatingly hard thrusts of a cock that feels like it reaches my cervix—are almost too much for my nervous system to handle. I can’t. Stop. Laughing. And Mark won’t. Stop. Fucking. My pussy is so tight around him it feels like my body is trying to expel him; were he to relax, I’m half-convinced my clamp-like grip on him would push him out with one wave-like contraction, sliding along his length until his head popped from my entrance.
He doesn’t relax. Instead, he pushes into me over and over, overcoming that glorious resistance, forcing my body to yield to his. The way his cock stretches me feels exceptional, intense, almost taboo. A pussy this size was not designed for a cock of that size.
The next wave is even more powerful than the first. It’s one of those explosive orgasms that detonates in me like an EMP, frying my brain and nerve endings so the entire world ceases to exist for a moment. There’s only Mark’s cock, punching my insides, and the lingering laughter that literally makes my stomach hurt.
I whimper under the relentless onslaught of pleasure and discomfort. I think my heart might explode. I think this is what I must feel like to be eviscerated. I think…
“…I can’t take much more!” I cry. “You…I can’t…I can’t…”
“Fuck yes, Caroline, you can. Don’t you stop coming for me,” Mark says, his teeth bared, his grip on my ankles brutally tight. “You’re going to get devastated this entire baseball game. Think about how many innings there are. Think about how much cock you’re going to take tonight.”
“I want…all of you,” I manage to say, spacing my words between the loud claps of our bodies colliding. Then I’m struck dumb, incapable of forming a coherent sound as he reignites the orgasm smoldering in my innards, and I’m overcome for the third time in a row. The mundane, relaxing baseball commentary (“Aaand here’s Duran, looking to break his dry spell at the plate…) is joined only by our heavy breathing, Mark’s grunts, and the methodical beat of skin on skin, muscle on muscle.
I’m dimly aware that Alex hasn’t left the room. I think he’s watching with a sort of horrified fascination, but even when Jordan gets up from the couch and positions himself behind me, facing Mark, Alex still doesn’t leave. Upside down, I watch as Jordan steps over me. He widens his stands until one leg touches the foot of the couch and the other is splayed out into the room toward the TV. He’s lowering himself toward my face, his balls mere inches above me. I can hardly see his cock from this vantage point; it’s so hard it sticks straight up.
If he’s about to do what I think he’s about to do, he’s going to have to lean forward over the table to get the right angle.
“Push her toward me, Mark,” Jordan says to his friend.
Mark grunts wordlessly, still snapping his hips back and forth. “This pussy is so tight it feels like my cock shouldn’t be inside it.” He stops for a moment, still inside me, and waddles forward until my head hangs off the edge of the coffee table and he’s straddling it in a squat. When he resumes fucking me, it’s with enough force to lurch my body toward Jordan with each downward stroke. I feel the force transfer through my hips to my ribs, shaking my breasts, atop which the nipples are rosy, stiff, begging for…
…Jordan rubs his thumbs over them. Pinches and rolls the sensitive nubs between his fingers. “We’re going to fuck all three of your holes tonight,” he says to me. “Open your mouth for me.”
I give him a strained, upside-down smile, and then I comply. I drop my head toward the floor, straightening my throat so he can fuck it properly, and open my jaw to receive him. He straddles my face, leans forward, and slides his cock past my lips. Now all I can see, other than the underside of Jordan’s ass, is a triangular slice of the room behind me. Alex, sitting naked on the chaise, is visible in the middle of that triangle. With a thrill, I see that he’s naked, too, and he’s touching himself.
Masturbating to the spectacle of my voluntary subjugation.
It turns out Jordan doesn’t have to move his hips as much as he normally would. Mark is showing no signs of slowing down, and I’m still lurching back and forth. All Jordan has to do is thrust his hips forward a couple inches to meet me, and he sinks into my face until his balls push against my nose. Soon, they match each other’s speed, and every time Mark’s cock slams into my pussy, Jordan’s cock lances down my throat. For the first time in my life, I’m being fucked like a spitroast.
I’m not sure how long I can weather this storm. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to make a sound. When the fourth orgasm rips through me, I can’t cry out, and the only signs I’m coming are a series of little twitches that make my legs jerk in Mark’s grip. Another round of convulsions in my pussy ripple along his cock, and he slows his pace, savoring the firm, warm softness that envelops him from stem to root.
Jordan fucks my face ruthlessly. My throat distends around him. If Mark is paying attention, he’ll be able to see the bulge of his friend’s cock in my neck. It reappears with each thrust, moving toward my collar bones before receding like some burrowing creature. My eyes are crying involuntary tears. My fingers grip the edges of the table like they do the dentist’s chair during a root canal; the contact is reassuring, stabilizing, strengthening.
“Come here, dude,” Mark says. I’m not sure who he’s talking to, at first. But then he slides out of me entirely, and I can feel my empty pussy gaping. Leaking. He didn’t finish in me, not yet, and I have a few seconds to marvel at the fact that he was able to last so long, at that pace, without a condom, before Alex leaves my field of vision to take his place.
My pussy muscles are still relaxed from accommodating Mark’s girth, and while Alex isn’t small by any means, he can’t fill that void. When he starts fucking me, the seal between us is far from perfect. The air escaping me around his cock vibrates our flesh with a decidedly unsexy raspberry noise. He keeps going, undeterred.
Good sex almost always results in queefs. Fucking your way through them, without flinching, is a fornicator’s right of passage.
Jordan stands up and unsheaths himself from my face. His cock, rigid but wobbling, glistens and trails a tendril of saliva that snaps in a tiny burst of silver sparkles. I turn my head to the side, coughing and gasping like a drowning victim for the second night in a row. My cheeks and jaw are smeared with spit. I clear my throat and spit onto the floor so I can breathe cleanly again.
Jordan isn’t even looking at me. “Enjoying yourself, Alex?”
Alex grunts but says nothing. He’s staring at my face, hips pumping, and by now he’s fucked all the air from my pussy. My body is adapting to this new (relatively speaking) visitor, and I’m already tightening around him. “Yeah, baby,” I whisper, encouraging him to greater efforts. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
Mark bends down and plants a kiss on my mouth. “Only seven innings left, Caroline. Are you enjoying the game so far?” He nibbles on my lip before he stands up. He and Jordan are both spectators for the first time, and unless all the orgasms have impaired my perception more than I think, they’re thoroughly enjoying themselves.
Alex gasps and pulls out. “I’m gonna come. I’m not ready to come yet. Ooh, shit, I might not be able to…fuck. I think I got it.” I can see the battle written across his face. He’s like a loaded musket; the tiniest spark, the tiniest brush of my finger against him, will trigger an explosion.
I’m tempted to do it, but I resist. Watch him suffer as he fights himself. It turns me on even more. Makes me lust for cock despite what my body just went through.
I realize, at this moment, that whether I like it or not, I’m insatiable. No matter what I want to want, or want to need, my body speaks for itself. My libido is a creature unto itself, holding the reigns of my soul, steering me into depths uncharted: depths that may hide untold perils as well as untold pleasures. It’s like I thought to myself on Monday morning.
There’s a succubus in me.
Mark licks his lips. “Good. Don’t come yet. This time, we all come inside her, and we do it simultaneously.” He looks at me. “We’re going to use you like you’ve never been used. We’re going to fill you to the brim, and we’ll still have six innings to go. Now’s the time to tell us if that’s too much for you, Caroline. Even our deal has limits. If you want out, you just say the word. Nobody will push you if you don’t want to go there.”
Nobody says anything for a moment. I weigh my options. Read their faces. Know without a shadow of doubt that I can close my legs, roll off this table, and retreat to my room. They won’t follow me.
I stay where I am. Naked. Wide open. Ready for what’s about to come my way. My pulse is pounding. With nervousness. With arousal. With an excitement that may one day be my undoing.
I take a breath. Exhale. Dave O’Brien chatters excitedly about a double play the Sox just pulled off.
“Who wants which hole?” I ask them.
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