Gamers

I thought of Jazz as my beautiful girlfriend. But I never used the word in front of her, or with anyone else, for that matter - except my mother. She would ask me 'How is your girlfriend?', and things like that. So I had to take precautions.

- "Mom, could you do me a small favour tonight?"

- "What's that, dear?" she asked.

- "Could you try not to refer to Jazz as my 'girlfriend'? Just use her name, or ..." I wasn't quite sure how to explain it. "She's just not comfortable with that expression. We don't use it."

My mother looked concerned. "Isn't that a bit odd? I'm sure that she cares for you. What

does

she call your relationship?" Mom saw my confusion, and decided not to press. "I'll try, Dean." she said.

I tried to cover things from the other end, too.

- "Listen," I told Jazz, "please don't get upset if my mother says 'girlfriend'. I tried to explain to her, and I asked her not to use it, but ..."

Jazz's response surprised me. "It's OK, Dean. I don't mind if she says it." That answer should have had me jumping for joy. Jazz was saying that she didn't mind being called my girlfriend! But it was the way she said it. It sounded like she was conceding defeat.

But then she smiled, and touched my cheek. "I like your parents." she said.

Thank goodness for that. This evening was her idea. We were getting together with my folks, and with Les and Lucy, to play Stalag 15. I still couldn't believe that my Mom had agreed to play a board game.

Dad was quiet. Luckily, Les knew my parents well, and had some practice at drawing my Dad out. Lucy was especially nice to them, too, and considerably more outgoing than usual. She had tied her hair back, so that her face was revealed. I wondered if it was for Les' benefit, or my parents. With her pale blue eyes, and her bright red hair, Lucy was a striking girl. Not my type, I hasten to add - but very attractive.

We made Dad Big X, and put him in charge of all the escape plans. Mom was Big Y.

- "Why am I Big Y?" she asked.

- "Chromosomes, Mom." I said.

Luck was with us. The dice were mostly favorable, and the cards we turned were a perfect mix of challenge and good fortune. Dad was over-ambitious: he seemed to be trying to duplicate the Great Escape, going for a mass breakout. The Commandant came within a whisker of discovering our tunnels. But it worked. We got 61 POWs out in a single night, and created chaos for the Germans in Nazi-occupied Western Europe. To cap it all off, five of our POWs achieved homeruns - two made it to neutral Sweden, one to Switzerland, and two made it all the way to Britain, via Spain.

Dad had a blast. He enjoyed himself thoroughly. Mom also had a good time. And my 'girlfriend' laughed and smiled throughout, chatting with my parents as if they had known each other for years.

We finished fairly early that evening. Everyone said their goodbyes to my parents, and I took out the car, to give my friends a ride home.

- "That's OK, Dean." said Les. "We're going to walk home." Lucy nodded.

- "Are you sure?" I asked. They had almost an hour's walk ahead of them.

- "We'll be fine." said Les. It was a beautiful summer night, without a cloud in the sky, and very little humidity.

- "Nice night for a walk." said Jazz. "Enjoy it."

In the car, I thanked her for the evening.

- "For what? I should be thanking you." she said.

- "Thank you for being so nice to my parents. I think my Dad had a great time. And Mom seemed to be into it, too."

- "She was. We all had a good time."

- "And it was largely due to you." I said. "And to Les and Lucy."

- "You give me too much credit." she said, wistfully. "But how about Lucy and Les? A long walk home at midnight? Romantic ..."

When we reached her apartment, I turned the engine off and pulled the keys from the ignition, expecting her to invite me in. I was planning to eat her into submission, partly as a thank you for being so nice to my parents. But Jazz put her hand on my arm.

- "Dean. I'm sorry." she said. "I'm not going to ask you to come in tonight. I have ... some things to do. And my father will be calling me around 2:00 in the morning. He's in Australia, visiting my sister, and doing some business."

- "I could be gone before that." I suggested.

- "But I have other things to do, first. I'm sorry." She put her hand on my leg. "I'll make it up to you. How about tomorrow night? I have a little surprise for you. If you dress up nice, I'll take you out on the town."

- "It's a date." I said. "What kind of surprise?"

She kissed me, and slid out of the car. "What kind of surprise would it be if I told you? Get some sleep, Gamer Boy - you'll be up late tomorrow night."

**************************************************************************

Gerry made me spend two hours working out with him. I came to the conclusion that he was trying to kill himself, or possibly both of us.

- "I'm too young to die." I told him.

- "Gotta lose some weight." he insisted.

- "Then you have to cut down your intake. Working out won't be enough by itself, unless you get on to a good diet, and stick to it."

- "Doing that too." he huffed.

- "Okay." I wouldn't criticize his goal. And he certainly appeared to be motivated.

In the late afternoon, I got ready to go out. Showered, freshly shaved, and wearing a sports jacket, I was ready for whatever she planned to spring on me. Jazz arrived to collect me, in a taxi.

- "We'll both be drinking. Probably a fair bit. Don't want either of us to have to drive later." she explained. Jazz was wearing the black dress she had worn that night we had gone dancing. She looked very classy, and yet supremely desirable. I told her so.

"Flattery? Good start. You look very nice, too." she said.

Our first stop was a little bistro in the downtown core. It was a bit chi-chi, if you know that expression: small portions, artfully presented. Very tasty, but hardly what a hungry man would order. Luckily, I was hungry for something other than food.

We talked through the meal. At the risk of treading where I ought not to, I asked Jazz what she did for money.

- "You always seem to have plenty of it." I said. "I'm not saying that you have expensive tastes, or anything like that, but you're really generous. You're the first one to pick up the tab when we're out with the girls, and I've never seen you show up for a game without a bottle of wine, or something."

"It's never $8 dollar plonk, either. You have good taste in wine, too. But you can't possibly be working more than 20 hours a week. Cabs, this restaurant. How do you do it?"

- "I'm Daddy's little girl." she said, simply. He makes good money, and pays my tuition and expenses. As far as he's concerned, if I'm in school, I should be studying, not working. So he picks up the tab."

- "How is it that you're not spoiled?" I asked.

- "Who says I'm not?"

- "Alright." I conceded, with a chuckle.

- "Hey!" she protested. "You weren't supposed to

agree

with me."

- "Just changing the subject." I said. "So tell me: what's the deal with you and Cyn?"

- "What deal?"

- "Hmm ... answering a question with a question. Bit evasive, wouldn't you say?"

Jazz's smile vanished. "Okay. Dead serious. But this goes no further - you understand? I'll tell you, but it never gets repeated."

I agreed to her condition.

"Cyn and I go back to high school. But I've known Lucy and Vee since ... forever. Lucy never dated much, but in high school, she started seeing this guy. They were starting to get serious ... and then there was this wild party."

"Cyn didn't know that Lucy and this guy were getting serious. She had a bit too much to drink, and so did the guy. Let's call him ... Stupid. So Lucy goes looking for him, and finds Stupid in a bedroom, with his pants around his ankles, and Cyn's mouth around his dick."

- "Shit." I said.

- "Precisely." said Jazz. "Lucy did a good job of hiding her hurt feelings. And to her credit, once Cyn found out the truth, she dumped Stupid like a hot potato. She also apologized profusely to Lucy. And Lucy forgave her."

- "But you haven't." I guessed.

- "No, I forgave her, too." said Jazz. "But I haven't forgotten. And Cyn knows it. So we have this little 'competition' thing going on. It's her way of saying that she won't cringe or back down around me, even when I know what's she's done. It must be annoying for her, to have this old mistake held over her head."

- "So ... why do

you

do it?" I asked. "The competition thing?"

- "To remind her." said Jazz. "To let her know that I haven't forgotten, and that the next time she fucks up may be the last."

For the last hour, I had been admiring the way Jazz looked in that black dress, and surreptitiously checking out her tits - sometimes when she wasn't looking, and sometimes when she was. At this particular moment, though, I was reminded that she truly was an Amazon. Not the stock fantasy subject, the hot chick with the metal brassiere and the bare midriff, but the real thing - the warrior woman who would slice your guts open if you suggested a roll in the hay.

"Besides," she continued, "I'm a bit competitive."

- "I've noticed." I said.

- "My turn." she said.

- "Your turn?"

- "For a question." she said. "Since it looks like we're playing 20 questions. And you've had two. So it's my turn: do you not care about money, Dean?"

- "It's a means to an end." I said. "It's better to have money, than to need it. I've seen people who were short, and it came to dominate their waking hours. I would like to have enough to be comfortable, and not have to worry about it."

Jazz nodded. "I noticed that you didn't react at all when I said my father had money. You really don't care, do you?"

- "I would take you naked and penniless." I told her. "In fact, I think that I prefer you naked."

She laughed. "Enough! You don't have to butter me up. I already told you that you were going to get lucky tonight. But we have other things to do first."

- "Ah - the surprise?"

The surprise was only two blocks away. Jazz walked down the street with me, holding my arm, making me feel like one of the Lords of Creation. Then she stopped in front of the Paris Jazz Club.

- "Ready for this?" she asked.

- "With you?" I answered. "Ready for anything."

It was very dark inside. My dominant impressions were of low ceilings and potted plants. We had a drink - a martini for her, imported beer for me - and settled in.

The entertainment consisted of a jazz trio, with piano, a drummer, and a guitarist.

I hated it.

Jazz had introduced me to some music earlier, and I had tried my best to like it. Pat Metheny was OK, and I could feel the passion of Keith Jarrett. But much of the stuff she played for me left me cold.

Blues, for me, come from the guts - or perhaps a little lower down. There's also a recognizable rythmn, a beat and a pattern. Jazz - the music - originates in the mind. At least, that's the way it seems to me. They innovate, and regularly leave the pattern behind. I get lost, and can't recognize what the hell they're doing.

Jazz was nodding her head, snapping her fingers. Maybe it's something that an artist just

gets

. To me, it was like listening to a speech in Korean. And I don't speak Korean.

I listened. Honestly, I tried my best. Maybe it's my background in math, but I kept trying to find the pattern - and it wasn't there. I found it frustrating.

When the trio took a break, Jazz turned to me with a big smile on her face.

- "What'd you think?" she asked. Then her smile evaporated. "You didn't like it."

- "I'm trying." I told her. "But I don't think I get it. Can you explain it to me? What you like about it? Maybe if I hear it from you ...."

Jazz leaned across our little table, and kissed me softly on the lips.

- "I love that you're trying." she said. "You are

so

getting lucky tonight. But you don't have to pretend to like jazz just to get in my pants."

That made me feel better. "But I like being in your pants."

"Save that thought. But try this." she said. "Stop trying to figure it out. It's not blues. The musicians know the pattern - but they deliberately leave it, and go for a wander, before they come back. Don't think about it. Just feel it. Think about sex. Imagine what I'm going to do to you later."

We ordered another drink, while Jazz rubbed my leg under the table. When the trio returned, she started to rub my growing erection through my pants. By the time they started to play again, I was fully erect.

- "You - are - evil." I mouthed to her. She didn't have to be a gifted lip reader to decipher what I was saying. Jazz just laughed.

Then she lifted one hand to her mouth, and stuck one finger between her lips. That wet finger she then moved below the edge of our table.

I think that the trio played another set. I tried to concentrate on the music, and from time to time, I succeeded. But I couldn't keep my eyes off her.

Somehow, some way, the second set ended. Jazz took my hand and led me out of the club. She hailed a taxi, and we got back to her apartment. I don't remember the ride. I was staring at her all the way there. She held my hand, and smiled frequently.

- "What did you think of the second set?" she asked.

- "I love Jazz." I said.

She flushed, and couldn't meet my eye after that. But she did squeeze my hand.

Once inside my apartment, she wasted no time. She reached under her dress, and pulled her panties down to her knees. Then she looked up at me. Jazz struck a pose. One hand was covering her crotch (thought she might have had one finger inside herself). The other hand she raised to her mouth, partially covering it. The effect was vaguely reminiscent of Marilyn Monroe on the heating grate, with her skirt billowing up around her. But blonde Marilyn, with her white dress, couldn't compare with my dark-haired Jazz in her black dress.

I picked her up by the ass and carried her to the bed. She fumbled with my pants and my belt. Somehow, she freed my cock.

- "In me." she panted. "In me. Now."

That was exactly what I wanted. Oral could wait. I pulled her panties off her legs, and then lifted the dress over her head. Somehow, Jazz lifted her breast and lowered her head enough that she was able to lick her own nipple.

We were both out of control. I spread her out on the bed, parted her thighs, and moved between them. She was wet, and more than ready. I placed the head of my cock between her nether lips, and leaned forward. Once past her lips, I lunged all the way in.

- "Aah!" she groaned. Or maybe it was me.

It was not the smoothest of couplings. We wrestled, and fought, as I tried to pin her to the bed, and she tried to drive her pelvis through my lower body. There would be bruises after this.

At one point, I pulled back, my engorged rod slipping from her soaked pussy. I flipped her over. She didn't want to go, but once I got her three quarters of the way around, Jazz settled on her knees and thrust her ass up at me.

I entered her from behind, hard and fast. The contrast of her light brown skin, the darker brown of her vaginal lips, and the bright pink of her inner depths was simply intoxicating. Maybe it was all of the alcohol I had consumed, but I wasn't at all worried about coming too soon.

I pounded into her, slamming my hips against her luxurious ass cheeks. The slap-slap sound as I hammered her filled the room. I grabbed her hips, and increased the pace.

She came.

I am happy to say that she called my name as she came. That was enough to send me over the top. I shot my load inside her, pulling on her hips and trying to wedge myself as far inside her as I could.

The night wasn't over. It was dark when I felt her stir. She disengaged and went off to the bathroom. I needed to clean up as well, so I gave her a few minutes, and then followed. On the way to the bathroom, I detoured to the little room where she kept her computer.

Two things struck me. There were a couple of boxes of her art supplies in the middle of the floor, taped up and stacked one atop the other. Also, her easel had been moved from the corner, closer to the center of the room, next to the boxes. I was too drunk, or too dozy to make anything of what I saw.

I followed Jazz into the washroom. With a warm, wet face cloth, she wiped me clean, and then went down on me. It was urgent, and passionate, and effective. Many minutes later, I fired off a second time, inside her mouth.

That had to be answered. I hustled Jazz back into the main room, and over to her bed. I tossed her on her back, and went down on her. It was passionate, but not so urgent. I took my time, and worked her into a near frenzy before she came.

Jazz couldn't concede a tie. She coaxed me back to full erection, and then straddled my thighs and tucked me inside her. She rode me like an equestrienne, facing away, holding on to my lower legs as she rolled her hips.

Then she backed up, planted her ass onto my face, and giggled, before turning around and facing me. She slid herself down my body, and impaled herself on my cock again. Then she leaned forward, and fed her breast and engorged nipple into my mouth.

To this day, I can't listen to jazz music without thinking of her nipple in my mouth, and her hot, wet pussy gripping my dick.

I still don't understand jazz. But I appreciate it - a lot.

********************************************************************

Cyn's parents had money. Their house was one of those split-level suburban monstrosities, with hedges and fences surrounding their landscaped yard, with a vast patio and kidney-shaped pool. She invited us in, and showed us where we could change.

- "Let's have a swim before we start the game." she suggested.

It was the wrong day to introduce my new game. We were no strangers to beer and wine with our games. But, in this case, we had several drinks, in the hot sun, sitting around the pool. Yes, we could cool off by jumping in and swimming around. But there's no question that everybody had more alcohol on board than usual before we even sat down to play.

Second, there were those three simple words: girls in bikinis. Now, 80 to 90% of my attention was on Jazz, because she looked amazing. She looked so good I had to snap a few pictures. It was

my

game, and I could think of a few things I would rather be doing.

Lucy looked surprisingly good, too. Without her usual loose, punky clothing, and wearing a swimsuit, Lucy revealed a sexy little body, with a flat tummy, and a pair of small tits that sat up proudly on her chest like hand grenades - and the pins were poking through her suit.

But Cyn was positively indecent. Her bathing suit should have been illegal. There wasn't much material involved, for one thing, but when it got wet, it turned out to be virtually see-through. She had perfectly round breasts. Too perfect, if you asked me. They looked fake. But her round, pink nipples were clearly visible. As for her bikini bottoms ... camel toe doesn't describe it. She was one of those girls with prominent outer lips, and they were on full display.

Les was trying to ogle Lucy, while simultaneously pretending not to notice the other girls. Max had his eyes glued to Cyn's crotch. Gerry was practically drooling.

By the time we finally sat down to play, we had too much booze on board, and - for the males, at least - something other than board games on our minds. It didn't help that Cyn changed out of her wet, transparent bikini, into

another

skimpy bathing suit before she came to the table.

I should have simply called it off right there and then. But I was finishing my fourth or fifth beer, and my judgment was not what it should have been. I was explaining the rules - or trying to - with no success whatsoever. Gerry has a short attention span at the best of the times. Cyn was sitting next to Max. I wouldn't swear to this in a court of law, but I think her hand was occasionally straying to his lap. What game can compete with that?