Part 1

Ice clinked against his glass as he sat down in his favorite chair. It was eight o’clock at night; the sun was setting; the house empty and quiet. He sipped his first drink of the day and thought, “It wasn’t that many years ago when...

The bus with 48 very horny college freshmen strained up the long driveway and stopped in front of the Bellman Social Center. I was one of those 48.

The problem with the upper northeast colleges started about 200 years ago. At that point some genius administrator came to the conclusion that colleges should be all male or all female; otherwise the distraction of the opposite sex would inhibit learning. The apparent obvious conclusion was mostly followed from that time forward and was the sole reason for the bus. College administrators, sometime in the last 50 years, granted that the bias to single sex colleges would create an uncontrollable urge for the students at one college to visit a college of the opposite sex. These road trips, as they came to be called, had two dangerous components—cars and alcohol. Now one might argue that these college bureaucrats left out a significant third danger called sex, but that was not considered relevant. To reduce the risk of cars and alcohol, the obvious conclusion was to schedule a series of ‘Socials’ at various colleges and subsidize the transportation to these structured parties via the bus. The solution to the problem generally ended at the beginning of sophomore year, at which point cars seemed to be more available to the richer end of the student body who sold seats in their cars to the poorer end of the student body.

As I waited for the bus to empty to my row I wondered if I was going to get lucky tonight. Lucky is a relative term in my position. In my dreams lucky would be to meet the most beautiful student on campus, sweet talk her for 20 minutes or so, and then hit the mattress and screw for the next four hours until the bus was scheduled to leave. However, lucky in the real world was maybe that I would be able to meet a girl who wasn’t terribly ugly and talk and dance with her during the social—maybe even have her give me her phone number.

On the other hand, based on past sexual experience and my inability to carry out even a half witty conversation with the female species, lucky probably meant that I wouldn’t break my leg getting off the bus.

My name is John and my ability or lack thereof with the opposite sex didn’t seem logical to me. I am six feet tall with a lithe body that had been sculptured by four years of swimming on my high school swim team. My hair is brown and closely cut since my above average but not great swimming ability had given me a partial scholarship to college to continue my swimming career. So it was a mystery that although the physical equipment was there and the sex drive was there —I had let my fingers do the walking quite a few times since entering college— but still some force field appeared when I was within three feet of a female and whatever witty or intelligent thing I was trying to say never reached the other party. Shy might be another word to describe my condition.

I was lucky tonight; I exited the bus without injury and walked into Bellman Center.

Did I mention bus? Actually there were a total of six buses that pulled up to Bellman Center—not all from my school—which meant there were approximately 300 horny males entering the Center that night. My first observation was that the host college had provided, at most, 200 females to greet the 300 males. And by some statistical curse of nature, some of these females would not be horny. The odds were not good I thought as I made my way to the non alcoholic punch bowl for a drink. I was poured a glass of punch (non alcoholic did I mention) drink by a 90 year old female who was probably really only a 35 year old college employee who had been assigned by the college to keep things orderly.

I turned and faced the dance floor. One song had just ended and another one was beginning. I spotted a few females on the dance floor that met my high standards—roughly 80% of them—but they were already with a partner. There really was no grand strategy at these socials. The tactics, however, were simple. Meet a girl as quickly as you can; ask her to dance; and never let her stray or an opponent would steal her. I understood the tactic. It was the execution that was the problem.

I almost jumped as a female voice spoke into my ear, “Hi.”

I turned to the voice and saw a vision—or actually a girl that was about five feet seven inches tall with dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and a thin, but not too thin body. Somewhat contradictory, her breasts were very prominent and stood out against the sweater she was wearing.

Did I say she had blue eyes? They were laughing blue eyes that were extraordinary.

I stood there for a moment unconsciously deciding whether to look at those extraordinary eyes or those extraordinary breasts. The force field came down as my tongue refused to function, but I was saved as she asked me, “do you want to dance?”

I croaked out, “Sure ... I’d like to.”

We went onto the dance floor just as a fast dance started. “Shit,” I thought to myself, “The song is loud, we can’t talk, and I can barely fake this kind of dancing.”

The song finally ended and a quiet, slow one started. I held out my left hand as a question whether she would dance with me again, and she came into my arms. We started dancing.

She looked at me and said, “By the way, my name is Linda. I’m a freshman here. Which college are you from?”

I told her my college and finally realizing I had left something out also volunteered my name. The dance continued and, consciously or not, I moved closer to her. Her hair smelled wonderful as she came close to putting her head on my shoulder. I felt those extraordinary breasts against my chest. Now I had a significant problem—I wanted to keep those breasts against me, but the throbbing erection that was starting would soon cause me some major embarrassment. Just as the erection was growing to serious proportions, I pulled slightly away from her, but I knew she had felt me.

The song ended; she smiled and asked, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Still worrying about how I was going to get off the dance floor with my periscope half up, I managed to say, “Linda, I never learned how to make small talk; I just don’t know how. But I really can talk.”

She really laughed at that and said, “John, I know you can talk. I’ve been listening to you. I was just teasing.”

She continued, “I’ve promised to dance with some of the other guys. Maybe I can catch up with you later.” Her eyes gave me one last smile and she turned and walked away.

I couldn’t help it. For the next two hours I kept looking for her, and when I saw her, I stared. She was by far the most beautiful girl I had met since going to college. One time she caught me staring; I quickly looked away.

Finally I spotted her as a song ended; she was standing on the dance floor talking with her last partner. I gathered my courage and walked up to her and said, “Linda, how about the next dance?”

Her last dance partner was obviously pissed when Linda said, “I’d love to.”

The music started; it was another fast, loud one. Linda took a step closer to me and said loudly into my ear, “Why don’t we go outside for some fresh air instead?”

Without waiting for an answer she took my hand and led my to a side door out of the Center. There were a few other couples outside as we walked around her campus. Every college has a campus center and Linda’s college had a nice quadrant with a field of grass and statues surrounded by various college buildings.

Linda had let go of my hand at that point as we walked side by side. She said, “Tell me about yourself.”

I answered, “I’m a fairly good swimmer which got me a partial ride to school. Without the ride I would be going to State where the tuition is much cheaper. I’m in liberal arts, whatever that means, and still haven’t decided what I am going to major in. I don’t have to make that decision until next year.”

Linda asked, “Do you like college?”

I glanced at her and said, “Not really. Money has always been a problem in my family, and even with the ride, it is costing a lot of money. And I guess I don’t like being a nobody. In high school my grades put me in the top 20 out of 300, and my swimming meant publicity and newspaper articles. In college I’m lucky if I will end up in the top half of my class, and I have learned that the difference between a good swimmer and a really good swimmer is so wide I don’t expect any more newspaper articles.”

“But you still must have a high school sweetheart,” Linda persisted.

I blushed and said, “There never was a high school sweetheart. I had plenty of dates because of my athletics, but most girls like their boyfriends to be a little less of an introvert. I guess I ended up being a boring date for most of them.”

Linda stopped walking, turned and said to me, “I’m a virgin John.”

I knew my face was beet red. I couldn’t believe she had said that. Then it hit me. She was asking a question, but why? Still blushing I replied, “And you wouldn’t be surprised if I told you I was too?” I continued, “Why did you tell me you were a virgin?”

Linda’s eyes were not smiling now, but they were watching my face carefully and said, “Because I want to talk to you about something and I’m afraid if I hadn’t said that, you would get the wrong idea about me, and everything would go bad.

“I want to tell you some things and ask you some questions and I guess that if you knew more about me, like my sexual experience, you might understand me a little better.”

I said, “Linda, you’re the first girl that I have talked to for more than a few seconds in over three months. I’ll listen to anything you say as long as you want to say it.”

Linda hesitated and then said, “My College does not allow sororities, but they don’t mind if friendship clubs are formed as if they were a sorority. There is no house and we all live in the dorms, but it is fun to be in a group of friends and do things together.

“So I have been trying to get into a club with some really nice girls. The upper class members have been watching us since the start of school, and a few weeks ago they quietly asked some of us if we wanted to join. Of course I said yes and it turned out that two of my best friends were asked also. So now, if we had a sorority, I would be called a pledge. Until I get through the initiation routine, I am a club pledge.

“There is a pledge leader who is a junior, and she decides what things we have to do. Some are fun, and some are silly, but I have been doing them. I’m a little like you in that I am lonesome, so I really do want close friends and the girls in my club are special. I really want to be a member!

“So I guess I better tell you why we are talking. I came to the social today to look for a partner to help me. That’s why I kept moving from boy to boy. I have a real big problem.”

Linda had been looking down as she talked, but now she looked at me and asked, “Will you help me?”

“Of course,” I said quickly. “What do you want me to do?”

Linda looked at the ground again and said, “The pledge leader has given out our final projects. If we do them to her satisfaction, I am no longer a pledge. I think she knew I wasn’t very experienced in sex because of what she gave me as my project.”

“What?” I asked.

Linda continued, “Sharon said that I had to make up a game with couples that had a strong sexual flavor, but the game had to stop before sex started. No orgy or anything like that. And then I had to talk at least three of the pledges to play the game with me; each girl had to bring a boyfriend and he had to play also.

“I’m embarrassed to be telling you this, but I really want to join the club, and I don’t know what to do.”

I thought for a second and said, “Well the obvious thing that a boy would think of would be some sort of strip poker game.”

Linda interrupted, “No, Sharon ruled out strip poker completely. She said that boys almost always play cards better than girls. The game I have to make up has to be completely random. It can’t be a skill game; it has to be a chance game where anyone can win or lose.”

“When is this game supposed to take place,” I asked.

“Three weeks from today,” Linda answered. “Can you help me?”

I hesitated for a moment and answered, “Sure I can try. What if I think about it for a while and then take the bus back here next week and tell you my ideas?”

Linda smiled and said, “Fantastic. You really are nice to think I’m not the biggest nut in the world to talk you into something like this right after we met. I really need help; not only do I have to think of the game, I have to recruit others to play it.”

Her eyes were smiling at me again. She seemed happy, or at least relieved that she had told me her story and I was still there. She reached for my hand and we started walking again. We walked for about an hour and talked about our backgrounds, but no more was spoken about the game.

It was time for the bus to leave, so Linda and I walked back to Bellman Center. My bus was filling up with what I guessed were 48 still horny freshmen. But maybe someone had been lucky. I didn’t care. I turned to say goodbye, but before I could say a word she stood on her toes and gave me a quick kiss. She backed away quickly and said, “See you next week.”

I was exhilarated as I got on the bus. It had been a lucky night. I now knew a girl and she was nice; no she was great.

Two miles down the road it hit me. I never asked her for her telephone number. Mentally kicking myself I thought of something else; I didn’t know her last name, and I never told her mine. So much for quick thinking!

Game Plan

The following week found me back on the same bus pulling into the same driveway leading to Bellman Center. Forty-eight horny freshmen once again were looking to correct their condition.

I was looking for Linda. No last name and no phone number. The bus stopped and there she was. She didn’t wave or anything; she just waited for me to get off the bus. She took my hand and her eyes smiled at me when she said, “Hi John with no last name.”

Obviously, she also realized we forgot a few significant things to tell each other. She asked, “Do you want to go to the dance for a while?”

I said, “No. I’ve been thinking about the game all week and would like to describe it to you so I know if I’m going in the right direction or not.”

“Super,” she said. “Let’s go to the campus fountain room and get a soda. With the dance going on it should be mostly empty; we can get a quiet table in a corner and talk.”

She took my hand and we started walking. We reached the fountain room building and went in. I went to the soda bar and bought two Cokes. I turned and saw that she had been right. There were only a few people in the room. Linda was sitting at a table in the far corner. There were no other people sitting close to our table.

As I sat down with the Cokes, Linda said, “I’m dying to hear your ideas. I’m running out of time and nothing I think of seems to be right. I’m getting desperate.”

I began, “Linda, I spent all week thinking about a game. You told me strip poker was out. And you told me that any game of skill was also a no. The first thing I thought of was a card game of chance. We could give each player 10 cards and play war. The first one to lose all their cards would have to do something or take off some clothes.

“That just didn’t seem too creative. There would be a lot of card shuffling and the game would probably take forever. So I gave up on war or any card game.

“I thought of spin the bottle, but even that was not very creative. But the more I thought about it, the more I liked a version of spin the bottle. Before I tell you my idea, you have to make some decisions.

“How far do you want the game to go?”

Linda quickly said, “No actual sex for sure.”

I continued, “Do you want people to take some clothes off or do things to each other?”

Linda thought for a moment and said, “Either one would work I think. Seeing someone take their clothes off would be exciting.” She blushed, “As long as it wasn’t me. But making people do things might be fun too.”

“Then you have another decision to make. If a person is made to do something to someone else, could the action be with anyone at the table regardless of sex, or only with people of the opposite sex, or only with their date?”

Linda remained quiet for a few minutes as she thought. Finally she said, “Well a girl doing something to a girl or a boy to a boy is too kinky for me. So that idea doesn’t work. I don’t know what you are thinking about yet, but a boy doing something to any girl at the table might bring up some jealousy problems or someone might feel they are either being picked on or ignored. So I think the easy answer is that you do things only with your date.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “Let me describe a game and you tell me what you think. It would be a version of spin the bottle. So that takes care of any skill—wherever the spinner stops is pure chance.

“We would have two spinners. The first, if there were four couples, would be divided into four parts. The game would start by having one of the dates spin the spinner. It would stop and point to one of the four quadrants, and that would tell us which couple had to do something.

“Each couple would have an identical stack of action cards. The actions would go from the easy to the embarrassing. So the couple who lost the first spin would draw their first action card and read it aloud. As an example, let’s say the first card said that one had to kiss his or her date on the butt through their clothes. So that’s the action.

“Then we decide who does it to whom. For each action there is a passive person and an active person. The next spinner is divided in four quadrants also, and they alternate between male and female. The second spinner is spun and if it lands on the female quadrant, the female is the active person and the man is the passive person. In my example, the female would have to kiss the male on his butt.”

“I like this so far,” said Linda. “It is all chance. But does it matter who spins the spinner?”

I answered, “Not really because the couple spinning might have the spinner stop on their own quadrant and force them to do something embarrassing. However, just to show that it is fair to everyone, I would have the spinner rotate around the table with each couple having their turn spinning. The male might spin the action spinner while the female could spin the active or passive spinner.”

Linda asked, “How bad are the actions going to be?”

“That’s up to you Linda, because I think you are the one who should make the actions up. I think it would much better if the actions are a surprise rather than tell people before the game. Of course, once the first action card is drawn, the other three couples will know what they are going to do for their first action, but they won’t know who will be doing it to whom.

“You could be as safe or extreme as you want. I thought of a lot of them. You could have one person give their date a kiss for 30 seconds, or they could French kiss for a minute. Maybe have one person massage the butt of their date for two minutes; or their breasts. Remember, it might be the girl massaging the breasts of the boy.

“I do think that all the actions should take place with the clothes on. Touching would be through the clothes in part one of the game.”

“Is there a part two?” Linda asked.

I answered, “I have an idea for part two, but that decision is up to you too. You have to decide if you want someone to end up naked in front of everybody. What do you think?”

Linda blushed a little and finally said, “If it were strip poker, the loser would be naked. I think my pledge leader wants this game to go pretty far, but not too far. I think someone has to be naked.”

“Then here is what I would do,” I continued. “Part one of the game should end by either one couple exhausting their stack of action cards or after a period of time. After thinking about it, I like the idea of going through a stack. The last action should be pretty embarrassing to the losing couple, and that seems to be a good way to end part one.

“Part two is very simple to explain. The same two spinners are used. First the losing couple is selected by the first spinner; then the loser between the couple is selected by the second spinner. The loser has to remove one article of clothing.

“I read three or four stories on strip poker...”

Linda interrupted, “You read dirty stories?”

I answered primly, “I only forced myself to do it for you Linda.”

Her eyes were smiling at me again.