Not everyone played...
A few people, probably first timers to one of Eugene's parties, were in committed relationships and bowed out. A couple of the gay men said they couldn't do it, but most of them played along, hell, all they had to do was kiss me on the cheek (a few of them did).
"Your Official Fireball, Judge Jessica," Eugene declared, handing me an unopened bottle. I kissed the first trio, taking a sip of cinnamon whiskey between each kiss. The Fireball cleansed the palate and hopefully kill germs.
Goddamn if I caught mononucleosis like a high school junior at the prom.
"Number sixteen," I said announcing the winner of the first threesome to kiss me.
I heard two people groan and the third cheer.
The next trio approached me, numbers two, seven, and thirty.
"Fuck, Eugene," I said, "how many people signed up for this?"
"Thirty-two, bitch. Quit complaining. You're going to be so fucking wet we'll have to drain the pool."
Well, it's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it.
Maybe one of these guys is a Colombian hip-hop singer; I hear they can kiss like Adonis...
I WORKED MY WAY through the crowd.
Gay men, on the whole, can kiss well. At least the ones Eugene invites to his parties.
Lesbian women, however?
Fuck me.
Well, not literally, but even drunk and goofing around, I could sense the tenderness and sensuality of several of the women who kissed me. Especially number 21, who was an easy winner so far.
Round one had thirty-two people. That's a lot of kissing. I took a break, and when I came back, we were down to ten. One of the earlier winners had passed out.
Out of ten, we got to five, because those were head-to-head competitions.
The five included number 21, a sensual woman who smelled and tasted divine. Number 2, a tall man with a goatee, who I'm pretty sure I recognized as Paul, an old friend of Eugene's who I'd conversed with at numerous functions. So, Paul is one of those masculine gay men that doesn't stand out as being gay in a crowd, unlike number 28, who was a very soft, short, and more on the tender side, someone you knew right away wasn't interested in tits.
Both, however, were outstanding kissers.
Number 18 was also a woman, but not sensual in the soft way number 21 was a woman. She kissed me like she was a man. But Goddamn, I melted.
Last was number 8. She was a transexual (I guessed) because her breasts were implants and her hands were too much like a mans. But her kiss was strong, powerful, and toxically mesmerizing. I didn't want it to stop, honestly.
Because we had five, the official recorder picked two groups, a group of three and a group of two.
The first group was pretty easy, Number 28, Number 21, and Number 8. I went with Number 21, her kiss was entirely intoxicating, and I think she recognized that I was really into her, so she teased my breasts a little and ended the kiss just under my ear. I shuddered.
Numbers 2 and 18 were tough. I enjoyed both kisses very much. In the end, I decided to go with Number 2, figuring I'd make the final round between a guy and chick, instead of two chicks. But it was a toss up, really. I'd never been so worked up in my life.
I felt like a queen. No, not that kind, a Princess Queen.
I requested a ten-minute break to go to the little girls room and drink a glass of water.
Eugene wasn't joking earlier; I could have refilled the pool by wringing out my panties.
THE MOVIE PRODUCER flipped a coin. "Heads," he said.
That meant the man I assumed was Paul was going first, Contestant Number Two.
The crowd hooted and hollered.
It's kind of fun being blindfolded and kissing strangers while being egged on by a crowd. I felt like a movie star on a set. Take fourteen. Well, in this case, we were on take fifty or something ridiculous like that.
Just so you know: The kissing judge has the same kind of rules they have in mixed martial arts competitions: Tap Out. If I tapped someone on the shoulder, the kiss was over. A few kisses tonight only lasted about two seconds, not everyone is a good kisser, and a few of the drunks were too grabby.
Eugene is a party animal, but he doesn't endorse sexual harassment. In any case, I never felt uncomfortable.
Number Two approached me. He placed his hands on my upper arms and pulled me towards himself. I tilted my head. He surprised me with little butterfly kisses around my face, along the edge of the blindfold, and then around my ears.
"You're gorgeous," he said. A whisper. It made me shake. Goose flesh rose up my arms. He kissed my neck, then nipped my earlobe. My body convulsed again. He was good.
When he brought his lips to my mouth, he didn't bring out his tongue at first. He kissed the corners of my mouth in short, soft, pecks. Then he nipped at me with his teeth before slipping his tongue, finally, along my lower lip.
I was hot, bothered, wet, shaky, and entirely alone with him. I'd forgotten we were in a crowd. Blindfolds are fun; I'll have to admit, I wanted more.
He entered my mouth with skill, confidence, and tenderness. He kissed like he was hungry for me, but he did not take, he gave. Our tongues danced liked we'd practiced together before, strange because we were strangers, but erotic for the same reason. Maybe he wasn't really a gay man? Perhaps sensuality, if you allow it to come, just comes. Had we been alone, my panties wouldn't have lasted another minute, I'd have balled them into a wad and thrown them, along with my bra, shoes, and any other article of clothing I'd happen to find between his skin and mine.
When he finally pulled back, he kissed me just below the ear again, whispering to me as he withdrew. "Thank you, sweet thing. That was special."
I felt a sincerity in his tone that surprised me. Maybe we were both surprised.
It was a kiss to remember from a man I'd never see again.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I kissed a girl.
~ Katy Perry
I kissed a woman.
~ Jessica
THE FINAL CONTESTANT, number 21, approached me. I wasn't sure how she'd top the last kiss, but I was ready to see after a two-minute breather and a Fireball rinsed. I couldn't drink any more whiskey at this point in the evening (or I'd be the one vomiting in the pool), so I rinsed and spit. Like a wine tasting.
She approached me. I was nervous as hell, really, because I was afraid of my own emotions and feelings. As I've said, I've never been with a woman before. After her first two kisses, I wasn't sure I could keep that fact about me intact. I'm not sure what it meant for my life, but at this moment, I wasn't going to fight the feelings I had (which were sensual and lustful, but also tender and loving).
Maybe no exact English word describes the feeling and anticipation I felt as she approached. It was divinely irresistible, erotic, and off-the-charts sensual.
No part of her body touched me except her nose and part of her cheek against mine. She timed her breathing in opposition to mine, I breathed out, while she breathed me in. I could feel her inhaling me, my essence, my spirit, my soul, my being. She timed her movements exactly to mine. Only tiny spots on our face touched. She moved her body in perfect timing; I felt she'd become an extension of me.
She nuzzled me, pushing my head slightly, like a thoroughbred horse, when it brings its might and power to a child, yet gently takes a sugar cube, barely touching lips to the skin.
Finally, her hands came up to my sides, her thumbs gently resting at the edge of my breasts, teasing me, asking me, promising me. She moved her thigh between my legs and brought herself into my aura and kissed me.
Her lips were tender and her tongue soft, wet, sultry, commanding. I followed her tongue on a journey through my mouth, while she used her thigh to gently press against my inner leg, promising me more sensuality than I'd ever experienced, if I'd only let go. If I'd only say yes with my body language.
I was ready to.
Let go.
I wanted her, and I felt afraid. She sensed this, I believe,
because she moved to my neck and ears, kissing me softly, and whispering into my ears.
I can't tell you what she said because she knew me and I knew her. But I will say her last words to me before she released me, "Come for a walk with me."
My heart beat. I'm sure I flushed red.
I took her arm and raised it.
She won the contest.
If I had been more drunk, I'd have had my first sexual experience with a woman that night, but as it was, we only went for a walk and talked (after the crowd had stopped cheering, and she'd been given the ceremonial lei). Eugene always picked up the most beautiful and exotic flower lei for the winner, this year's prize was a mix of plumeria, orchids, and Hawaiian vines. It was stunning.
She was stunning.
It was Stella.
When I took off my blindfold, I found out I could still be a nervous child, like a sixth grader with a crush on the prettiest girl in class.
"Are you surprised?" she said.
I couldn't speak, I only nodded.
She took my hand, and we walked together, talking, getting to know each other. As the alcohol wore off, I realized I wasn't ready to make the leap into a sexual relationship with a woman. Nor did I want to have a one night stand with one, as pretty as she was that night (and still is).
But we became friends.
When she left, she kissed me on the cheek.
"You're a beautiful woman, Jessica. Tell me I'll be your first?"
"If I ever decide, if I'm even thinking about trying--I promise. It's you."
“WHAT? You're going to be a lesbian now?" Audrey was drunk. Audrey and Calvin were drunk.
It was five in the morning.
Eugene had passed out an hour before, most of the guests were gone, a few out-of-towners had retired to the guest bedrooms.
"No," I said.
"No, but?" Audrey knew me better than anyone on the planet. Except for maybe Midori (but she didn't know my sexual side very well, and I tried hard to keep that wall intact).
"No. But. I don't know. Stella is beautiful. Sensual. I thought about it. Really. But it's not me. Not me, me. If I ever decide to experiment, I want to choose beforehand, you know? Not do it because I'm drunk and caught-up in the moment and excitement. It's a big step."
"It's just sex, Jess," Calvin said.
"Yeah, if that's the case, when are you going to start fucking women?"
"Not appealing," he said.
"Well, see?" I stated.
"No. You're being evasive. You liked Stella--hell--you practically fucked her in front of a sixty people."
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did," they both said.
"Fuck you both," was my reply.
"Come over and here naked and we might," Audrey said. She didn't mean it, and Calvin had about as much interest in me naked as an eighty-year-old nun has in watching live strippers at a ping-pong show.
"Fuck, I'm going to bed." I went to the master bedroom, stripped to my underwear and found a tee-shirt in Eugene's closet. I snuggled up against his back. He was warm, snoring slightly, and I could have been a rattlesnake, and he wouldn't have moved.
In the morning Calvin kicked me out of his bed and told me to be useful, like a woman, and clean up the fucking house. He was joking, they had a crew scheduled to clean up, and all he really wanted me to do was unlock the house and make sure the cleaning crew didn't steal any of his 25-year-old Scotch.
I do love these guys.
Audrey was gone. Work, probably. I loved her, too.
I made coffee, let the cleaners in, and somehow managed to fall asleep again, on the couch.
Life was wonderful.
I dreamed about Kirk.
I needed to see him again soon. I wanted to crawl into bed with a man I could actually fuck.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I don't exactly have to have picture cards or better to put a lot of money in the pot. Sensing some hesitation or reluctance on your opponent's part is sometimes all you need.
~ Gus Hansen
You know the feeling that comes with the question: Does he love me or is he playing me? That is high stakes poker.
~ Jessica
“I KISSED A GIRL, and I liked it. I hope you don't mind it," I sang, out of key, I'm sure, but I was happy.
"Tell me more," Kirk said over the phone.
"Well, there's this party..."
I told him all about the party, the kissing contest, the drunk back-flips with flying dicks, and Stella.
"So, she twisted you a little?"
"Yeah. I mean..."
"What?"
"I like men. I like you. I'm starting to have doubts about my plan, but I know, I really know, I'll regret quitting. I'm not going to quit. I'm just confused. Stella made me feel things I didn't think I could feel."
"Maybe you should..."
"I don't know."
"Let's get together?"
"Yes. I'd like that."
KIRK WAS AN ALPHA. And confident. He backed up his thoughts with action.
He's already researched the WSOP tour schedule and found a cabin to rent not far from Cherokee, North Carolina. The Harrah's Cherokee was hosting two weeks of events starting in a week and a half, and he'd reserved a cabin for us (if I was free and willing) for a long weekend before the action started.
I looked at my calendar for about a second and agreed.
I'd been tentatively thinking about going anyway, although this time of year it's cold there, and I'm not a huge fan of the snow for long periods. But with a hot man? It would be fun.
ON MONDAY I spent nearly an entire day with Olive. We walked along the sand, played fetched, and chased a few squirrels.
I put off some financial things, budgeting, planning, money moving, to Tuesday. I also did some clothes shopping for the upcoming weekend (a few matching bra and panty sets). I felt good, and I wanted to look good, extra good, for the weekend.
On Wednesday I met with Audrey for a quick lunch. I knew that I would be unavailable for a movie night for nearly a month, so I wanted to make sure we got some time together.
"I love you," she said. We parted, and I told her I loved her, too. And I really did appreciate her; it's good to have someone that simply loves you. No bullshit.
On Wednesday night I played in my weekly game at the Hustler.
I was beating up this whale, well, not just me, the rest of the table was feeding off his largeness. He was playing too weakly, the rest of us were being aggressive. He really didn't like being pushed around by a young girl, as he'd taken to calling me. I was in the cut-off seat in a particular hand and pushed him hard.
"You're trying to steal my button."
The cutoff seat is the player that plays right before the button, the dealer's position. Many aggressive players like to steal the button, and I'd been reading Gus Hansen's book, so I was feeling aggressive and ruthless.
I didn't speak. I just became a stone statue.
"You're not holding any cards. Are you?" He looked at me trying to get a reaction.
I don't think I gave him one, but he called my raise.
I had nothing. He was right about that.
The flop was raggedy and unsuited, but it did have a Jack.
I raised with a standard continuation raise. Both blinds had folded pre-flop, so it was just the two of us in the hand.
Me, the aggressive tiger, and Mister Weak-ass Whiny Bitch.
He called my raise after slightly cursing under his breath.
The turn was no help.
I raised again, without hesitation. A big raise. A pressure raise.
He hesitated.
And hesitated.
But, finally, he called me.
The river was no help.
My hand was shit.
The board held a jack of hearts, eight of diamonds, and a three of spades. A seven of hearts hit on the turn. The river was a two of hearts.
I hadn't even remembered what I had in my hand, other than it
was just worthless rags. I was playing the player the entire hand, not the cards.
I shoved All-in after the two of hearts hit on the river. One would think that that play was the act of an amateur, pretending to act strong, when in fact they were just bluffing.
But the thing is, at this level, everyone has read poker expert Mike Caro. Everyone knows the gambits, bluffs, tells, lies, and this move is often a reverse, a push with a really monster hand, trying to induce a call from a weaker player who also knows that shoving like this is usually a move by a bad hand.
The weak-assed bitch looked at me.
He cussed again, under his breath. He stood up and started chattering. I had him covered, if he called me, he was going to lose another two grand plus, about twenty-three hundred, give or take.
He couldn't decide. Eventually someone called, “Time.”
He knew the safe move was to fold, but he couldn't walk away, he had to call, and he did.
"Nice call," I said. Shit. I'd pushed him too hard, especially being a woman. I should have known he was going to call. I prepared to stack out a couple thousand, which put me back to around even for the night.
That's poker.
He showed his hand, a queen and a jack. He had top pair. Shit.
He asked to see my hand. Because he'd called me, he could have asked the dealer to instruct me to show first. But he showed first, and I knew I'd lost.
I could have just mucked (thrown my hand into the pile of cards and wait for the next deal).
But, I figured the best thing I could do here was show how terrible and shitty my hand was. It would help my image, and I could tighten up for the rest of the night.
So I flipped them.
A king and four of hearts. Crap. No, crap, crap. I had a flush.
"Flush,” somebody said.
"You didn't just slow roll me, did you? Goddamn it. That's a shitty fucking thing --"
"Sir!" The dealer warned him not to cuss.
Fifty-Two Pickup: Aces (Jessica Rogers Book 1) Page 11
