Ladies' Night
It had been a depressing evening. My football was playing in the quarter final of the Cup. We were favourites to win, and felt confident. My mate and I had decided to watch the game together, over a couple of beers and enjoy our victory.
Instead, we lost. The game was a joke. The referee was clueless, and with no video ref, we were at his mercy. We had a penalty turned down, which TV showed to be beyond doubt. The opposition's goal was offside - what was the assistant ref playing at? How could she miss it? We were robbed.
Worse still, it had caused a fallout with my wife. I had arranged this, and forgotten it was her birthday. More accurately, I remembered her birthday, and had gifts etc, but forgot that I had agreed to take her out. When Ian asked me to watch the match with him, I just agreed without thinking.
I realised as soon as I put the phone down.
"Shit!" I said to Michelle (my wife), "that's your birthday meal. I'll call back and tell him."
"Don't bother," she replied, "Megan called earlier. She wanted me to join her for a couple of drinks with Simone and a couple of friends. We can have dinner at the weekend."
I was amazed she took it so well, and even more amazed that she was willing to get together with her twin sister. She and Megan got on quite well, but Megan would usually have been with her husband. I asked if Michelle was sure.
"Yeah," she replied, "Megan and Geoff are having a difficult time. He's moved out. She found he was having an affair. It'll do her good to get out and have fun."
"Who else is going?" I wondered.
"Well, I know Georgia's going - and Cheryl. Then there's Megan's friend PJ. That's all. I think she wants to bitch about Geoff, so she just wants a select group."
Select indeed - Georgia was my wife's other sister, and Cheryl was my step-sister. PJ and Megan had been friends since school.
No doubt they would spend the evening moaning about how awful men are and Michelle would come home depressed. Join the club.
Ian was hardly great company. His girlfriend had left him a few weeks before when she found he had been chatting with a woman online and exchanging photos with her - intimate photos. He spent half his time saying what an idiot he had been and the other half contacting his ex and begging her to go back to him. I knew she had moved on, because I had seen her with someone else, but didn't have the heart to tell him. I had planned to tonight, but with the football result, I simply didn't have the heart.
We were sitting commiserating at just after eleven o'clock, and Ian was talking about getting a taxi home, when I heard the key in the front door. Michelle's arrival would, no doubt, speed up his departure.
However, rather than the quiet footsteps in the hall, followed by Michelle sticking her head in and saying 'Hi', I heard loud voices - slightly drunk voices - and the living room door burst open, allowing five women to pour in.
"Hi", said five voices, simultaneously.
"Hi," I and and I replied.
Michelle stepped forward. "Hope it's OK," she began, speaking slightly too loudly, as she had clearly had a little more alcohol than usual, "we got sick of all the noise in the pubs, and creepy blokes hanging around, so I suggested we come back here. We've got plenty of wine in, so we thought we could have a couple more drinks."
Ian stood to leave.
"No, no, don't go," Michelle insisted, "stay and join us. Have a couple more beers and you can share a taxi with Megan and PJ later." That made sense. They lived quite close to one another, and none of them was particularly able to afford the cost of a cab on their own.
Ian sat down, rather reluctantly. He would have preferred to avoid company, but he had no real excuse. Anyway, I knew he fancied PJ, even if he was still hung up on his ex, so maybe her presence would snap him out of his depression.
In fact, the ladies made quite a group. My wife, Michelle, is quite petite and curvy. She stands barely three inches over five feet, and although she has a slim waist, her boobs and bum are well rounded. She often complains about men 'talking to her tits, not her face', but as I point out, with tits like hers, they can hardly be blamed.
Megan is not an identical twin. Like Michelle, she is not blessed with great height, but neither is she blessed with curves. Her body is, in fact, remarkably average - pleasant, but average. What sets her apart are features she shares with Michelle - sparking, blue eyes and brown hair. It speaks volumes for Michelle's boobs that they draw more attention than her eyes.
My step-sister is a red-head. I barely notice her looks, but friends say she is good-looking, in a pale, mousy way. This contrasts massively to Georgia, who is vivacious, well rounded and seems to have few inhibitions. Like her twin sisters, she is not tall, but she is larger. Perfect for those who like generously proportioned women, and, again, several of my mates were very drawn to her.
Then there was PJ. She was almost six feet tall, broad shouldered and superbly toned. Her Carribbean heritage was evident, not just from her skin tone, but from her laid back, easy-going attitudes. As she entered any room, all eyes turned to her, but she would sit, quietly, and observe everything. When she spoke, however, everyone took notice. She was an Amazon in stature (thanks to sport and the gym), and a leader by nature - and she almost radiated sexuality. Everyone knew she had to be incredible in bed - yet no-one actually knew. Perhaps she preferred men from her own ethnic group. Or maybe she was gay. She was an enigma.
I sorted out the drinks, and we all settled down together. The women had drunk enough to feel loose and relaxed. They chattered together loudly and with frequent raucous laughter. Ian and were probably in a similar stage of drunkenness, but our teams defeat had left us feeling maudlin and quiet.
Eventually, Michelle turned to me and said: "For fuck's sake. Would you two cheer up. It's a football match, not the end of the world."
I shook my head at Ian. Some people would never understand.
Georgia swung round. "Let's play a game. See if these two can cheer up a bit."
She loved board games, and evenings at her house often ended up playing anything, from Trivial Pursuit to Scrabble to Mouse Trap and even Snakes and Ladders. I was not a big fan, but it was better than sitting around getting bored. The problem was, we had very few board games.
"How about cards?" Megan suggested. "Surely you've got a pack of cards."
We had - but only one. It was a pack of cards I had had specially made from some photos of Michelle when she went for a 'boudoir' style shoot. We had both loved the photos, mostly of her in lingerie, with a few topless ones, and while we could hardly display them for everyone to see, I had decided a pack of cards would make a good birthday present. I only used the lingerie ones, of course, the more intimate ones were in a photobook which we looked through at times.
"Of course we have," announced Michelle, "and it's about time we actually used them."
I was amazed she was considering using these cards - not so much because the women would see her in her sexy underwear, but because Ian would. Still, if she was comfortable with it, it was fine with me. The drinks she had probably helped.
She collected the cards from the bedroom and we all sat expectantly round the coffee table.
"Mark. Get that set of poker chips your brother got us last Christmas. They'll do for gambling chips. What do people want to play?"
"Poker," said Megan. No-one dissented, so it was agreed.
The big problem was that there were so many of us. Sharing chips between seven would mean very few each.
"Let's play in pairs," suggested Michelle. "Or two pairs and a three." Again, no-one dissented.
After a little discussion, we split into our little groups. Me and Ian, Megan and PJ, and Michelle, Cheryl and Georgia. I felt quietly confident. Ian played poker quite regularly, and I enjoyed the odd game. To my knowledge, none of the women played.
We shared the chips and started playing.
As the cards were dealt, eyebrows rose at the images of Michelle, stretched out on a bed, wearing bra and knickers, in a sexy corset and thong with stockings, and in stockings and suspenders, with a sheer top, her nipples definable through the folds of the outfit. "Wow. Looking fit, Chelle," commented Ian.
The women waxed lyrical about how fabulous she looked, wishing they had similar photos of themselves - all except PJ, who stated calmly that she had done something similar.
It was fun. People laughed, cursed the luck and moaned at the good fortune of winners. Ian and I were building a steady pile of chips. Had it been real money, we would have been ready to cash in and leave.
"We should have a prize for the winners," quipped Ian.
"And a punishment for the losers," followed up Georgia.
We all agreed, and started thinking. It was suggested that the winners be allowed to spend the next week relaxing, being served by the losers. A really poor idea, considering not all of us lived together.
Then PJ spoke - and when she spoke, everyone listened. "I think," she purred in her rich, Jamaican accent, "the losers should do a forfeit, set by the winners."
As we were winning, Ian and I loved the arrangement. The women seemed a bit unsure - especially Michelle, Cheryl and Georgia who had very few chips left - but eventually, it was agreed. I was already thinking of fun forfeits for my wife - waiting on me hand and foot all week, dressing up in Halloween costumes and going to the pub. Fun, but a bit humiliating.
