Gamers Pt 08

I woke up a bit woolly. Then I remembered where in was: in bed, with Angie. We were both naked. I propped myself up on one elbow, to look at her more closely. As I watched her sleep, I wondered what I had just done.

Jazz was the woman I loved, without question, without reservation - except for the fact that we were 10,000 miles apart. So what the hell was I doing? Was last night an accident? An aberration? I liked Angie, and considered her a friend. Was she pretty? With her hair braided, or curled, I found her attractive. But with straight hair, her full lips looked too big to me. She was also better-looking with glasses than with contact lenses.

How could my attraction to her be so selective? And how could my loyalty to Jazz be so ephemeral? Or was I simply coming to terms with the unavoidable fact that she wasn't coming back, and that I needed to get on with my life? Too many questions.

I needed a shower. I smelled like stale beer, and sex. My crotch and lower stomach were sticky. I gently disengaged from Angie, then managed to crawl out of bed without waking her. I peeked out of her room, and saw no sign of Trisha. It took only a moment to sneak across the apartment and close the bathroom door behind me.

A quick shower, some mouthwash ... I wrapped a towel around my waist and headed back to Angie's room to ... to what? Was I going to collect my clothes and sneak out? That would hardly be fair to her. What was I going to do?

- "Good morning." said Trisha.

She was in the kitchen, in her housecoat, starting a pot of coffee. "Would you like a cup?" she asked.

- "Umm ... sure."

- "Have a seat." she said.

- "I should get dressed." I suggested.

- "Don't wake her up. Sit down - really. It won't bother me." said Trisha. She wasn't even looking at me, so I guess the towel wasn't an issue after all.

- "OK. Thanks." I said.

She served me a cup of coffee, and toast. Trisha offered eggs and bacon as well, but I declined. She settled for grapefruit and sat down opposite me.

- "You don't look too hung over." she said.

- "I feel pretty good, all things considered."

- "I'm glad you stayed last night." she said.

- "Me too." I agreed. "Driving would have been a bad idea. I had quite a few."

- "Oh, that too." said Trisha. "But I mean, I'm glad you stayed with Angie."

- "Pardon?"

Trisha smiled. "I think it was the best thing - for both of you. You've been ... down, ever since Jazz left. And this is good for Angie, too. She's been feeling ... a little insecure, I guess."

- "Angie? Insecure?"

- "I know, right? She's beautiful. But after you and Kasia, then you and Jazz, and Les and Lucy, and then Max and Cyn ... a girl starts to wonder, when she's the only one left out."

- "But - what about you?" I asked.

- "Oh, I'm a bit of a special case, wouldn't you say? But I've been getting more than my share of attention lately. More than I want, actually. Angie has been wondering what's wrong with her."

- "There's nothing wrong with her!" I said, a bit loudly.

Trisha put a finger to her mouth. "Shush - she's sleeping. I know that. And

you

know that. But

she

needs to know it. So I'm glad you spent the night with her. In fact, I have to run a few errands, do a little shopping. So if you want to stay a bit longer ..."

I didn't know how to answer that. I've had some unusual conversations in my time, but that was one of the weirdest.

Angie came out of her room, wearing a bathrobe. It was clear from the expression on her face that she had heard at least part of the conversation between Trisha and me. She seemed a little unsure of herself. I reached out and put my arm around her hips, pulling her close.

- "Breakfast?" I asked her. "Or a shower?"

- "I - umm, I was going to get a shower." she said.

- "Great. Why don't you do that, and then we can talk."

I went to Angie's room while she showered, and sat on her bed. What to do? I knew what I wanted - or didn't want, to be more precise. My head and heart were still too full of Jazz. It would be dishonest, and probably disastrous in the long run, to attempt to conceal that from Angie. What did

she

want? Should I just ask her?

She returned, freshly showered, to find me still sitting on her bed, with a towel wrapped around my waist.

- "Oh!" she said. "You didn't get dressed."

- "Not yet."

She sat beside me, smelling wonderfully clean.

- "I guess we should probably talk about last night." she said.

- "Not yet." I repeated. I stood, and then pulled her to her feet. "I think you need to hear how beautiful - how desirable you are. We can talk after that."

I kissed her. She was willing. I toyed with her lips, and sought out her tongue. It was much nicer than last night without all of the alcohol. I love beer, but it doesn't make kisses sweeter. She tasted wonderful this morning.

I untied the belt of her robe, and opened it. Then I slid my hands inside, caressing her hips, her flanks, and around to her shapely ass. Angie was a voluptuous girl, with rich, full curves. Her body was a lush playground, and I intended to explore it.

Her breasts were large - a bit too large for my hands, though I tried to cup and support them. My lips were drawn to her small pink nipples, and I suckled them for several minutes, as she cooed and held my head in her hands.

I lowered her to the bed, and trailed kisses down her stomach. She had a slightly larger clitoral hood than the girls I had known before (in my limited experience). I went down on her slowly, lovingly, letting her know that we were not in a hurry, and that I was exactly where I wanted to be.

She came early, softly. I stayed there, avoiding her sensitive clit, but still kissing and licking her outer lips, her inner thighs and lower stomach. With my hands I could reach her breasts, and caress and gently squeeze them while I continued to lick her pussy.

It was quite a few minutes before her second orgasm, but this one seemed to be more intense, as she clutched at me, moaning.

I gave her time to recover. I slid up the bed, behind her, and held her close, though I couldn't keep my hand from straying to her breasts. Angie eventually started to return the caresses, and then reached into her nightstand again, producing another condom.

In short order I was wrapped, and back between her thighs. The moment of penetration was exquisite. I stayed inside her for a moment, without moving, savouring the sensations. Then Angie began rocking her hips, sliding herself the length of my erection. I helped her out. We began moving together.

I lifted her leg, and moved behind her. We spooned, with my cock sliding into her from behind. It left my hand free to play with her nipples. I wouldn't call it passionate, but there is something to be said for an unhurried, warm, friendly fuck. Angie came again, before I did, but she kept working her hips to bring me off, too.

We lay together, entwined, for some time.

- "That was wonderful." she said, eventually.

- "I agree. 100%."

She was silent for a while longer, and then she called my name, as if she thought that I had fallen asleep.

- "Dean?"

- "Right here." I answered.

- "Do you want to talk now?" she said. "I think we should."

- "Alright." I said. "Tell me what you want, Angie."

- "What

I

want?" she said, a bit surprised.

- "Isn't that why we're talking?" I asked. "You have something to tell me."

She turned her head to look at me. "How did you know?"

- "I have my moments, Ange." I had never called that before, but I decided that this level of intimacy deserved a diminutive. Plus, I liked the sound of it. "You are either expecting me to say something, or you have something on your ... mind." I had been about to say 'chest'.

She thought about that for a moment.

- "You and I are friends, aren't we?" she asked.

- "Of course we are." I confirmed.

- "So, you won't be upset if I tell you the truth."

- "Of course not."

- "And you would tell me the truth, if I asked." she said.

- "Of course I would."

- "Okay - I'm asking. Are you still in love with Jazz?"

I was able to look her in the eye as I answered. "Yes. I am."

- "I know that." she said. "So you need to know, right now, that I'm not trying to come between you. I love her, too. And I like you very much, Dean. But this isn't ... I'm not a substitute for her."

- "God, no. You are completely different." I said. "Wait - are you saying ...?"

- "I'm not going to be your replacement girlfriend." Angie wasn't shy - she said this while looking into my eye, at a range of six inches.

- "Wow."

- "Are you okay with that, Dean?" she asked.

- "Am I okay with it? Ange - I don't even know what that means." I admitted.

She let out a deep sigh. "It means that I'm not in love with you, Dean. I'm not Jazz, and I'm not a replacement for her. I really enjoyed ... last night, and this morning. But I'm not your girlfriend. And you're not my boyfriend."

- "Then ... what are we?" I asked. "I understand what you're saying, Angie. And I'm ... really impressed that you're saying it. It's the kind of thing Jazz would say." She grinned at that. "I'm just not entirely sure where we go from here."

Angie frowned. "I don't know what to call it. Friends with benefits? I don't really like any of those expressions."

- "We don't have to call it anything." I said. "But does that mean that if I was to kiss you right now, you wouldn't object?"

She smiled again. "No, I wouldn't. And if you wanted to do more than that, I wouldn't object to that, either."

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

It was really difficult to know what to say to Jazz. She would be expecting my description of the Halloween party - after all, I had been sending her my take on all of our games and other social outings. In the end, I decided that simple and straightforward would be best.

So I just said it: 'After the party, I helped Trisha and Angie clean up. Angie was going to apologize again (the usual), so I kissed her. Then we slept together. Yes, I had quite a bit to drink, but that's not why it happened. We did it again in the morning, completely sober.'

I chose to stop there, and hit 'Send' before I chickened out. Jazz replied a few hours later:

Angie!! Wow!! How was it?"

I had no idea how to answer that. I chose discretion: 'A gentleman doesn't discuss such matters.'

Her reply came only a few moments later.

Bullshit! Guys talk about that stuff all the time. Seriously - details! She has an incredible body, right?"

How many men have this sort of exchange with their former girlfriends? And then it hit me - I had crossed some sort of barrier. I was now beginning to think of Jazz as my ex-girlfriend. That made me sad. It was probably inevitable, though. I couldn't pine away forever.

But that didn't mean that I was going to describe sex with Angie to her. I stuck to my original position - sort of. 'I don't know about other guys, but my friends and I don't discuss sex in detail. But I will confirm your question about her physique: she does indeed have a magnificent body. I'm not sure how our relationship will develop. Angie made it clear that she doesn't want to be my rebound girlfriend. She suggested that we remain friends with benefits.'

I also told Les what had happened, but I didn't make a special announcement to the other guys. Gerry, for one, has lips so loose they sink fleets. Angie might not want me broadcasting it to all and sundry, in any case.

When I got together with the guys, we played Cold War, a spying and counter-intelligence contest set in 1960s Berlin. It's about halfway between a Le Carre novel and a Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon. Gerry and I won, mostly because I figured out the odds a long time ago. We all knew the game well, but the other three always seemed surprised when certain event cards came up. There are also three double agent cards. When the entire deck has been drawn, either you have them, or your opponents do. Max also labors under the delusion that a CIA agent will beat a KGB operative - when, in fact, the odds are exactly 50-50.

After the game, Max surprised us.

- "Hey, Les." he said. "You and Lucy want to double date with me and Vee?"

- "You and Vee?" repeated Gerry. "Since when?"

- "I asked her out after the Halloween party. Just thought she would be more relaxed in a group. I dunno. She's kind of shy around me - maybe she thinks I'm some kind of player, or something."

- "You

are

some kind of player." said Gerry.

I have no idea why, but I was mildly jealous. That's right: it makes no sense. But something in me didn't like the idea of Max dating Vee. I had no right to feel that way, so I just kept my mouth shut.

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

My parents went away for a weekend in early December. I invited Angie over. It was pretty much a straightforward invitation to have sex. To my delight, she arrived with her hair in braids, one of the hairstyles I preferred on her.

We had a few drinks, chatted for a while, and then I stripped her and ate her on the living room carpet. Then we fucked on the couch. Jazz was right: Angie had the most incredible body. I asked her to stay over, and she agreed. I fucked her once more, doggy-style, on my own bed, before we fell asleep together.

In the morning, I fucked her in the shower - a first for me. Clean, and yet very dirty at the same time. I was coming to understand the meaning of recreational sex.

See, I liked Angie. I considered her a friend. We gamed together, socialized with friends, and had great sex. I convinced her to go out with me - alone - just once. That evening I learned a great deal.

First of all, while her body was outstanding, I couldn't make up my mind about her face. When she curled or braided her hair, Angie looked mighty fine to me. But when she wore it straight - which she did most of the time, I found that Angie didn't look so good. To be crass, it was the difference between an 8 and a 6.

It was also a bit awkward when we were alone. We could talk for a while, and then we hit a wall. Angie liked to play games, but didn't seem to want to talk about them. The same thing happened with art and music. She had her favorites, but wasn't very keen to discuss them. Our conversations seemed to grind to a halt.

This wasn't an insurmountable problem. I could simply pull off her clothes, and mount her, or go down on her. But that only applied when we were alone. Angie had been right: we would not do well as boyfriend and girlfriend.

Trisha spent a night with a friend, and Angie invited me over. We talked for half an hour, and fucked for four hours. Well, not four hours straight - you know what I mean.

The bright spot to our relationship (if you want to call it that) was that it didn't interfere with game nights, or our friendships with the rest of the guys and girls. There was no awkwardness between us. We didn't indulge in public displays of affection, or make up cute little pet names for each other.

Another bright spot was that I started doing even better at school. Don't get me wrong: I was a good student before that, and was making enough money from scholarships to pay my own way. Mom and Dad fed and housed me, but I was covering the rest myself.

One of my professors was so impressed with my work that he asked me where I planned to go for graduate school. I hadn't really thought about it. But this Prof suggested that if I could keep my grade point average this high in my final year and a half, that I would be able to write my own ticket.

In late November, Trisha finally admitted that she and Gerry weren't just dieting and working out together. They were dating. Les teased Gerry unmercifully. He certainly had it coming. But Gerry didn't care. He and Trisha seemed to get along remarkably well.

Les and Lucy appeared to be set for the long haul. Max and Vee were a bit different, though. I only saw them together twice: once was a game, after which Max drove her home. The other time was a night out with the rest of us, when they seemed to have a mild disagreement.

On the 1st of December, I asked Lucy to meet me for a coffee. She gave me her patented suspicious stare. But the she smiled. "Sure. Tuesday? Around 4:00?"

- "It's a date." I said. "I mean, not a date-date, but -"

- "I know what you mean. It's cool. I wanna ask you something, too." she said.

- "Oh?"

- "See you then."

I had told Les, in advance, that I was going to do this. It was all entirely innocent and above board. I just had a question to ask Lucy. We met in a quiet cafe.

- "So ..." I said. "Here's what I was wondering. Do you think that Jazz would take it the wrong way if I sent her a Christmas gift?"

Lucy's reaction surprised me: she laughed in my face.

- "That's so funny." she said. "I was going to ask you what I should get Les for Christmas."

- "That's easy." I answered. "Clothes. A nice shirt, or a sweater. Haven't you noticed? Les has the fashion sense of a raccoon."

She laughed again. "Honestly Dean, I don't understand half of the things you say - raccoons have a fashion sense?"

- "No. And neither does Les. That's the whole point. He thinks that you only need two colors: black and white. Same with raccoons. Plus, they always wear the same thing."

- "Hmmm ... you have a point there. I was thinking about something a little more personal, though." said Lucy. "Still, that's not a bad idea. Thanks." She brushed her hair back. Ever since she and Les had gotten together, Lucy was hiding behind her hair less frequently. She still did - it's hard to change a long-standing habit - but far less often than she did before.

"Now, for your question." she said. "What kind of present?"

- "Does it matter?" I asked.

- "Duh. And what did you mean by 'take it the wrong way'?"

I sighed. This was the hard part. "I want to send her a gift, so that she knows I'm thinking of her. I want to give her something that she'll like - that she'll appreciate. But ..."

- "But?" said Lucy.

- "But I don't want her to think that I'm still in love with her. I mean, I am - I mean ... This is coming out wrong. What I mean is that I don't want her to think that I'm pining away for her. That I'm sitting there checking my mail every thirty seconds in case she contacts me."

- "Aren't you?"

- "What?"

- "Jazz says that you have superhuman response time. She claims that some of your answers arrive before she's even hit 'send'." said Lucy.

- "I'm not

that

bad." I protested. "Okay - maybe I am. But that's the whole point. I have to quit doing that. And I want to Jazz to know that she can get on with her own life. You know? I don't want to her to think that I'm trying to ... keep her to myself. Does that make sense?"

Lucy wasn't stupid. "You want her to know that it would be okay for her to start seeing someone else. Like you have."

- "Yeah." I said. "I guess that's it."

- "It wouldn't bother you?"

I told her the truth. "Yeah, it would. It would drive me nuts. But I would have to get used to it. Lucy, can I ask you something else?"

- "Sure." she said.

- "Is Jazz seeing someone?"

- "No."

- "Would she tell you if she was?"

- "Yes. We tell each other everything." said Lucy.

- "Would you tell me if she was?" I asked.

- "No."

- "Oh."

- "Dean - you know her. If Jazz was seeing someone, she would've told you. She'd tell you first."

- "You think so?"

- "I know so." said Lucy. "So - back to your original question. Would she freak out? Probably not. Depends on what you sent her."

- "I was thinking about a necklace. This one." I showed Lucy a picture of it on my phone.

- "What? Are you nuts? What does that cost?"

I told her. Lucy just shook her head.

- "No, Dean. That

would

freak her out. Jewelry is exactly the wrong thing to send. Why don't you send her something she'd like. Something personal, from you. Send her Amazons."