Playing The Sucker


On the way to the party, I buy a sixer at the grocery store. I come outside to find a torn, handwritten note on my windshield. “I’m so sorry. I backed into your car and left a huge dent. I’m so, so sorry.”

The note isn’t signed. There’s no insurance information or anything. No way of contacting whoever wrote it.

I look over my car, trying to find the fresh dent. Admittedly, it’s already beat to shit. It’s mostly my fault–I’m as good a driver as anybody, except for one or two minor incidents. Or maybe a dozen.

Still, I’m pissed. I’m not sure which dent is the new one. I guess I’m too aggravated to see straight.

When I get to the party, my friends immediately pick up on my awful mood. Someone hands me a freshly opened beer. I take a sip and explain what happened, to a lot of solemn “mmhmm’s” and nodding in sympathy.

Then, one by one, each of them starts cracking up.

John, one of my best friends from high school, claps me on the shoulder.

“Hey Mike,” he says, “you know how your car is already… you know, a little worse for wear?”

“Yeah, so?” I grumble.

“Nobody backed into your car today. I left that note.”

This doesn’t make any sense to me, and I’m already feeling a weird mix of relief and fresh indignation.

Amid the laughter, John further explains, “I figured you wouldn’t know the difference between the old dents and a new one.”

Today is April 1st. I should have known.


Somehow, I’m still irrationally annoyed by the now-defunct alternate reality in which someone hit my car and ran.

But I’m here to have a good time with friends. As the night winds on and conversations unspool, I forget that I was ever mad. Besides, I have to admit, they got me fair and square. I can’t be mad about that.

There are people here I don’t know. Some of whom, I vaguely recognize as friends of friends, people who usually pop up at these gatherings. Some of them are new faces. One, in particular, keeps meeting my eyes.

She’s petite, pale and freckled, hair in a bun, so blonde that it’s almost white. Tight jeans, huge hoodie that reaches halfway down her thighs. The Midwest farmer’s daughter from that one Beach Boys song.

What gets me, though, what I can’t look away from, is her eyes. They’re so blue that I can see them from across the room.

I’m not the kind to insert myself into conversations with women I don’t know. Nevertheless, I find myself walking up to the friend clump she’s standing in, drawn in as if by tractor beam.

As I approach, I hear her making a joke, but I only catch the last part of it.

“…It’s how long you edged!” she says. Everybody finds this hilarious.

She, too, joins in the laughter. Her laugh is loud, straight from the diaphragm. It’s a musical sound, and just a little unladylike. I deduce that she’s an undergrad, and still relatively new to it.

(I’m a grad student, and I’ve been at it for a while. It makes it easy to spot someone with a fighting spirit that hasn’t been ground out of them yet.)

We don’t talk to each other directly, at least, not initially. It’s a group situation, with the two of us speaking to each other in passing at first, then more and more frequently. Soon, we’re sharing smiles.

I’m surprised to find myself repeating the same thought in my head, over and over again.

I sure would like to fuck this girl.

I don’t know what it is about her. She’s cute, but I wouldn’t describe her as spectacularly beautiful. At the very least, she isn’t my usual type.

But some women just have a magnetism to them. It’s hard to describe. There’s something about them that silently telegraphs the message in the strongest possible terms:

“I am a joy to have sex with.”

“I will give you everything you want, including things you didn’t know you needed.”

“By the time we’re finished, your balls will have wrung themselves inside-out.”

Eventually, group rot sets in. Enough new people have joined the friend clump that it begins to separate into smaller friend clumps. (Party physics.) Sure enough, I find myself one on one with Renae.

Renae. That’s her name. Nae, for short.

I discover two things. One is that Nae is well aware of the vibe she’s giving off–the lethal level of fuck-me radiation that, as it turns out, she’s been transmitting to me specifically.

The other is that Nae doesn’t waste time and doesn’t mince words.

“I’m dying for a threesome,” she she tells me, completely matter of fact, in her high, lilting voice.

“Pardon?” I say, half-choking on a sip of beer.

“Let’s go back to my place. My roommate is there. We’ll all have a good time together.”

Something about this statement makes me hesitate, makes me suspect that, once again, someone has fingered me as an easy target for an April Fools’ prank.

Images fill my head. Nae kneels in front of me, naked, alongside another girl, probably fitting the same general description as her. They kiss each other as my cock, naked and erect, looms in waiting.

I can’t gaziantep masaj salonları put my finger on it, but something about this scenario seems too good to be true.

“Come on,” she says. “If you give us what we want, we’ll give you whatever you want.”

“Anything?” I ask, playing the sucker.


I think this over for a second.


Maybe I’m not just playing the sucker.

We’re a little tipsy, so Nae sets up a rideshare for us. I bid hasty farewells and head for the door, Nae close behind. We get some smirks on our way out. They know what this is. I guess I’m not shy about it.

The door closes behind the both of us. I’m officially walking into a surefire ambush. At least it’ll be interesting, wherever this evening takes me.

Sitting next to her in the backseat of the rideshare–a crossover vehicle, basically a glorified station wagon–I decide that some negotiation is in order. That’s how group sex people do it, right?

“Your roommate,” I start. “Is she…”

“Trust me, my roommate is down for whatever,” Nae says. “We do stuff like this all the time.”

I’m trying to keep it quiet, but Nae is speaking at normal conversational volume. I know the driver can hear us.

To compound the problem, I’m quite erect inside my gray jogging pants, and I know Nae can see it. The thought of her doing “stuff like this” with another girl–again, I’m imagining another Nae–isn’t helping.

“And your roommate knows we’re coming?” I say.

“Of course.”

I’m still trying to keep quiet. “And this is really happening. All three of us are going to… you know.”

Nae laughs. Again, that deep, unladylike laugh.

Then she says, in a stage whisper, “Yes. All three of us are about to FUCK.”

Something about the way she says it makes me believe it.

Okay, so this isn’t fake. I haven’t been promised a threesome, only to have it taken away as part of some sick April Fools’ gag. I’ve been invited to fuck a hot girl and her roommate, seemingly at random.

I try not to ponder the mysteries of this. Chalk it up to chance. Sometimes, the universe gives you something unexpected. That’s all there is to it.

One more question slips out of me, unbidden.

“What’s your roommate’s name?”

“Jordan,” she says.

“Does Jordan like to be fucked by guys?” I ask.

I’m dancing around a couple questions, I know.

But the presence of the driver has me being coy–coy about asking Nae if Jordan only likes girls, coy about asking if Nae is alright with me fucking Jordan, coy about asking if Jordan is down to be fucked by me.

“Yes,” Nae says, smiling. “In fact, Jordan will expect it.”

Then she adds, “As long as you don’t mind me watching while the two of you do it.”

And she glances at me with those pale, icy blue eyes, before taking another unsubtle look at the clearly outlined bulge in my sweatpants.


Of course I don’t mind if Nae watches. Me fucking another hot girl while she looks on, feeling her gaze upon us, those icy blue eyes. Anything. God. Fuck.

As the rideshare comes to a stop in front of one of the small rental houses near campus, my doubts have all but evaporated. We get out of the car, biddng the driver a distracted goodbye as he pulls away.

We walk to the front door. Nae opens it, lets me in, closes it behind us.

There’s one other person home, one person only–a tall, lanky young man, younger than me, but dressed similarly in a large t-shirt and sweats. He looks over at us from the sectional and turns the TV off.

“Who’s this?” I blurt out.

I don’t mean to be rude. But I thought Nae, Jordan, and I would be alone together. I hadn’t realized there would be company in the house. That might be the only thing that changes how I feel about this.

“Mike,” Nae says, “This is my roommate, Jordan.”

Jordan stands up, by way of a greeting. He’s tall. In fact, he’s the platonic ideal of tall, dark, and handsome. I immediately feel out-competed for some reason, though I’m more befuddled than anything.

One detail that particularly sinks in is that Jordan, too, has a pronounced cock outline in his pants. A big one.

“This is a joke, right?” I say.

Maybe it’s an April Fools’ prank after all. This guy is going to pretend to be the Jordan that Nae has been talking about this whole time, just long enough to get me. Then the real Jordan will come out.

I’m not leaving here without a threesome. I can’t. I’d be heartbroken.

“Jordan, this is Mike,” Nae said, ignoring my protest. “I brought him home for a threesome with us.”

“He’s cute,” Jordan says, looking me up and down with apparent appreciation.

“I thought–” I stammer.

Jordan interjects, “You thought I would be a girl.”

I look over at Nae for, I don’t know what, some kind of salvation.

She shrugs and says, “A threesome is a threesome. Besides, don’t you want to fuck me?”

Only since the moment I laid gaziantep masaj salonları escortları eyes on her, and desperately so.

“Yeah,” I mumble.”

She says, “And I’m definitely trying to fuck you. But what I want is a threesome, and I told you from the start that I wanted it with you and Jordan.”

I have to admit, I’m no less soft than when we came in. Hell, I might actually have hardened up a bit when she told me in no uncertain terms that she wants to fuck me. I could have her right here, right now.

There’s just one condition.

“I can’t just fuck you?” I say quietly, immediately feeling bad for saying it right in front of Jordan.

“You have to do whatever we want,” she says.

She walks over to Jordan’s side. They both watch me. I get it. It’s their way or the highway.

Then she says, “And in exchange, we’ll do whatever you want.”

I stand there in silence. I can’t bring myself to say yes.

But I can’t bring myself to leave, or say no.

Nae says, “How about this: Jordan and I are going to start without you. You can stand there. You can leave. Or you can join in.”

If you’ve ever been in a room with someone you’ve been trying to fuck and there’s someone else there who has obvious chemistry with them, you understand. I should go, but I don’t. Absurdly, I cling to hope.

She turns to Jordan. Their heights are mismatched enough that she has to tilt her head up to look him in the face. Rather theatrically, she lays her palm on the bulge in his pants. It makes her hand look tiny.

She says to him, “Does that sound good to you?”

Jordan, still looking at me through narrowed, fiery eyes, whispers, “Definitely.”

Then they embrace, and they kiss. It’s an intimate, unchaste, fucky kiss. I’ve seen couples kiss, but never like this. Outside of porn, I’ve never watched another couple having any sort of sexual relations.

Her back is to me. He’s big; I can see his body around hers on all sides. He grips her with hands big enough to cover the entirety of her tiny ass.

I have to admit, the sight of them is getting me surprisingly hot. I feel like I’m somewhere where I’m not supposed to be, invited to observe someone else’s intimate moment, and that just makes it hotter.

The kiss breaks.

She says to him quietly, their faces still close together, “Can I take your clothes off?”

He smiles, nods, saying, “Mmhmm.”

“Do you want Mike to see?”


She sidles around behind him. He stays facing me, his eyes on me, maybe gauging my reaction, maybe fantasizing about… whatever, I don’t know. For a moment, she disappears, blocked by his big body.

She reaches around his waist and pulls his shirt up. She’s so much shorter than him that he has to take over, pulling his shit off cross-armed in a way that I can only describe as pornographic.

Once again, I’m overcome by the feeling that I’m being pranked, that. none of this is serious. John and his circle of cronies is about to pop out of a closet and everyone will have a good laugh about it.

Then, from behind him, she reaches around once again and pulls his pants down to his ankles. And, suddenly, it feels very serious, and the feeling sinks in that it’s just the three of us for the duration.

He wears no underwear. His cock is at half mast, already as big as one of Nae’s forearms, dusted with dark curls. I’m struck by the mental image of tiny Nae being penetrated by this formidable instrument.

I really should leave.

Nae comes back around. She’s so casual, nothing amiss. It makes it feel all the more surreal.

She tells us, “I’m going to slip into something more comfortable.”

She opens a nearby door, apparently her bedroom, leaving the door open but slipping out of view. I see this out of the corner of my eye. I can’t even pretend to look away from Jordan, his nudity, his cock.

I feel Jordan staring back at me. It’s as if he’s daring me to do something, though I have no idea what. We’re standing there, halfway across the room from each other, like gunfighters at high noon.

The whole time, the only sound is a rustling from the open bedroom–Nae in her closet–until an eternity later, when the rustling stops, Nae having found whatever scandalous outfit she’s selected for us.

Then silence. It’s even worse than the rustling. I’m so horny, so hard, but I don’t even know why at this point. I shouldn’t feel this hot and bothered. All I see is Jordan, all I feel is him watching me.

Until Nae reappears in the doorway.

She’s just about nude. She’s slender, almost flat-chested, just a faint pad of belly fat below her pierced navel–the vestiges of the freshman 15. Her hair, let down, almost covers her tiny pink nipples.

She’s wearing a strap-on harness with a veiny silicone dildo, which she wears as naturally as if it were her own cock and balls. It’s large, but realistically so. Otherwise, she’s completely naked.

I’m no longer staring masaj salonları gaziantep at Jordan.

I’m so fixed on Renae, in such a dizzied state of mind, that it takes me a moment to realize that she’s staring back at me. Dimly, I wonder exactly what she’s planning to do with that ersatz dick of hers.

“I’m glad you’re still here, Mike,” she says. Her voice is quiet, thick with arousal.

God damn it. I just wanted to get laid. I thought I was promised a threesome with two hot women, and instead, I get…

Whatever this is.

Nae approaches me, her dick wobbling with the sway of her hips. She seems to have forgotten about Jordan. For that matter, so have I. He watches us from another world. She stands right in front of me.

Away from the crush of the party, out of her clothes, she smells wonderful, the faint scent of lavender and sweat. She looks up at me with those ice blue eyes, and I shiver.

“Make out with me?” she says.

Somewhere between a question and a command.

I tilt my head down to kiss her. She throws her arms over my shoulders. I pull her to me by her slim hips. Her mouth is warm and wet, her tongue aggressive. Our lips are quickly saturated with spit.

My heart is pounding. My cock is throbbing. I worry for just a moment that I might burst out of my pants.

I couldn’t turn this down. It’s the most normal thing that’s happened between us so far. Normal enough that I can almost forget about Jordan and his watchful narrowed eyes, or the dildo grinding against my leg.

Nae’s mouth separates from mine. She takes a step back, though we don’t let go.

“I want a blowjob,” she says.

“You want to give me a blowjob?” I say.

She shakes her head, then nods in the direction of her dick.

Again, that feeling of being pranked. After all of this, yet another layer, another twist to make it all feel like some elaborate setup.

“You want me to give you a blowjob,” I say. It comes out sounding kind of shitty, which I immediately regret.

She doesn’t seem to mind.

Her voice husky, she tells me, “I want to make out with you…”

Then she looks in Jordan’s direction, and she says, “…and I want him to give me a blowjob.”

My immediate thought is that I don’t want this, that it’s way too awkward.

But I look at this beautiful mostly-naked woman in front of me, her hands touching my shoulders so intimately. I smell her smell, and god, it’s damn near electric, I would do just about anything to fuck her.

I mumble, “If it’s okay with him.”

Jordan strides over, and I try not to watch as his own cock sways in the air–I think he’s more erect than before–or when he drops to his knees, his face just as close to my cock as it is to Renae’s.

If I didn’t still have my clothes on, the end of me would be touching his cheek right now.

Renae puts a hand on the back of my neck and draws my face to hers once more. She takes at least some of my attention off of Jordan, whose presence beween us means she and I have to lean in to kiss.

Amid the swirl of her tongue, the softness of her lips, I become aware of the bobbing motion below us. Through my eyelashes, I glance down. Past the edge of Nae’s face, I watch as Jordan fellates her dick.

He looks skillful, as though he’s done this many times. For a split second, I wonder what it would be like if he applied his expert technique to me, and it surprises me when I feel a twinge in my cock.

Nae’s face breaks away from mine, and she damn near takes my bottom lip with her. She sucks it aggressively before letting it pop free. Then she comes back in for more.

It isn’t that she’s demanding that I pay all my attention to her. At least, I don’t think it is.

I think she felt my attention drifting away, becoming fixated, and she brought it back–back to all three of us, back to the shared experience. And I realize that this is it. This is the threesome.

This is what I was promised.

I’m still glancing down at Jordan occasionally. She permits this, satified for the moment that I’m still invested in her. We range from sloppy making out to gentle, romantic, lip-tingling kisses and back.

Jordan is throating her, lubing her up with thick strands of spit, which dribbles from the tip of her silicone dickhead every time he releases her to catch his breath. Inevitably, he dives right back in.

The way Nae is kissing me, increasingly frantic, with mounting purpose, it feels like this is really getting her going.

The next time our lips part, I have to ask.

“Does it… feel good?”

I don’t explain what I’m talking about. But she knows.

She murmurs, “Physically, it doesn’t feel like anything.”

Then she glances down, and I follow her, and Jordan flicks a glance back up at both of us, but doesn’t stop sucking her dick.

If anything, he doubles his efforts under our heavy gaze.

We watch Jordan together, and Nae talks to me in that husky whisper of hers. She seems to have dropped a whole octave from when we were at the party. Her arms are still around me, her face so close to mine.

She says, “But, god, it’s hot. Having a good man submit himself to me. Being the total focus of his attention. The power I feel when I penetrate him, of him accepting a part of me into a part of him.”

The words she’s saying aren’t even about me. That doesn’t stop it from turning me on more than any dirty talk I’ve ever heard in my life.

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