In today’s parlance, ‘gamer’ is not what I am. I am equally sad at video games, online gaming, group participation games like Password or that game where teams compete to guess the title of a book or movie. I can hold my own in poker games and am okay at spades.

I play sex games with women, mostly married ones whose eyes wander my way. My best hunting grounds are convention-holding hotels. I attend social gatherings like weddings and funerals (look ashamed, tlogtlom!). Hint: not every attendee at a funeral is there for the deceased. A spouse or neighbor or good friend will request a ‘date’ for company. I can just walk up and start talking to strangers. The occasional happenstance meeting places like bars, restaurants, parks, free admission events and revitalized downtowns work.

Let me tell you about one time I got lucky. This pick-up site was a convention hotel, on a Thursday evening. No matter the conference, it ends on Friday. By six o’clock on Thor’s Day, conventioneers are packed and ready to go home. The wife’s treasured LBD, push-up bra, sexy panties and heels can be shoved into the suitcase later. On that last night of freedom, ‘anything goes’ before going back to Dullsville.

This time, I opted to grab a place at a long table seating those out-of-towners. I sat next to a middle-aged lady with a Little Black Dress which fit her perfectly. She was just the right height, shapely for her age, well-coiffed. She was my prey for the evening.

Next to her was a dark-skinned co-worker (?), then the boss. More from the same organization sat at the other side of the table.

My opening was straightforward. “Hi, I’m Greg. I live close by; welcome to our fair city.”

My target replied, “Thank you. My name is Karen. This is Isaac and our boss, Mr. Smith. The rest of our team is there.” She gestured to the four seated facing us, but gave no other names. Everyone had already had a few, but none were hammered.

I didn’t care about anyone but Karen, so that was fine with me.

Karen looked a little out of place, nervous. I like the lonely or desperate or needy: someone willing to engage a stranger. I paid attention to her only, heard none of the table’s shop talk.

Karen and I talked,  occupying ourselves and passing the time. We found some common ground: same college, albeit I am ten years her senior. She grew up near my hometown, so we could chat about her baseball team, the miserable-to-both-of-us winter weather there. We chatted and sipped.

As Billy Joel sang, “It’s better than drinking alone.”

So I listened to Karen and uttered the appropriate monosyllables and sounds of interest: “Umm! Wow! That must have been tough on you! Tell me about it. Uh huh?” I am an expert at body language, leaning in, asking her to repeat something if I think it might help me later, hand gestures of amazement and head shakes of disgust. I learned she had a roomie that night, and when she was supposed to call about the kids. All this to better plan my next moves. I determined I wouldn’t have any encumbrances. A good catch will let me know all that stuff if I just shut up and listen to the hints. 

My job number one was to cut her out of the herd, away from coworkers or associates.

“Would you like to dance?”

She turned to her left and I assumed she got permission from her boss to break away for awhile. One or two dances in the hotel bar was a good start.

Halfway through the next song, a slow one, I was bold.

I asked her to tell her friends that she was going to be on her own in a little while, but not to worry, this guy was a gentleman.

I have a social worker friend who told me his master’s subject was ‘Prostitutes in Downtown Detroit’. My sophomoric retort was, “Boy, those women must be great talkers!”

“No! They are great listeners,” was his reply. I tried to be a good listener as well.

We came back to the table, but the black guy and two of the women on the other side of the table were missing. Restroom? Smoke break? Phone call? Who cared?

After the third drink, I said, “Wow. This alcohol is getting to me. Can we just take a walk around the lobby or around the block, just to clear my head?”

The next step is incredibly necessary. She would want to screen me before agreeing to go out with me.

She quizzed, “What do you do? Do you live here? Do you have a family?”

I answered, mostly honestly, but added one line.

I confided, “I write porn in my spare time. I pick up a little money on the side but will do it for free. Still waiting for that big Fifty Shades Of Gray-type deal!”

Immediately, not giving my remark time to set in, it was time for action.

I took her hand and we approached the door, then I stopped abruptly. I leaned in closer than I should, took in her aroma and whispered questions.

Sounding genuinely concerned, I asked, “Do you need to visit the ladies' room? Do you need to let your friends know we are okay?”

Answers were irrelevant. I waited, just inside the lobby.

She returned, looking refreshed.

My biggest challenges loomed.

I did my homework and knew she liked comedy clubs and such. Without missing a step, I cracked a quick joke.

“Did you hear about the couple just like us, meeting for the first time? The guy says, ‘My place or yours?’ The punchline is: lady replies, 'If you are going to argue about it, forget it.'’”

Karen laughed, then realized I’d inserted us as the couple talking about fooling around.

I backtracked, “I told you I write erotic stories. Do you ever read or watch pornography?”

She said, “Sometimes. Do you ever write about threesomes or doing it in front of the husband?”

I answered vaguely, “Sometimes. Why do you ask?”

Silence, then a flippant, "No reason, yet."

We did this walking dance, still hand-in-hand, and continuing to speak. I sensed she was interested: I could tell by her gait. I slowed a little; she did too. She sped up; so did I.

More small talk or just quietude until we were alone. It might have been at a bridge or in front of some statue or building or just watching the moon. This time, we were leaning over the hotel mezzanine railing in an alcove, watching.

I moved closer. I gently squeezed her hand, released it and encircled her, pulling her close.

I whispered, “We can go further. I am ready, but need some kind of sign from you. ”

I never slowed down to wait for an answer. Instead, I stated my case.

“You look lovely tonight. The moment I saw you, I knew. You are poised, good looking, a real catch. I knew that I wanted to get to know you, get close to you. Like now.”

The kiss. Then once more, and she took over. Lips, tongues met. My hands slid to her her waist.

In unison almost, we said, “I have a room.” That made us both giggle.

I asked, “Shall we check it out?”

She established some ground rules. I knew I would acquiesce to all of hers. More alcohol or not? Quick roll in the hay or ‘Let’s take our time and get to know each other better-- we’ll get to that bed, but maybe not for a while.' Soft light or darkness? Music or not?

One question must have nagged her, but she was hesitant to ask.

Eventually, across the silence, “Do you really write pornography?”

I answered honestly, “Yes. I do, and some is quite good, they say. No, I don’t carry around samples of my work in a briefcase. I could share some with you by email or I could just give you a couple of my sites and my aliases. Oops...pen names!”

She showed interest. “You must realize women would rather read than watch those awful movies.”

I nodded and answered, ‘”This could be great for both of us! I might accept a commission, no charge of course, for writing a special story for you, even dedicate it to you by just ‘Karen’ or your initials.”

Karen responded, “You say you had a room here, in this hotel?”

“Yes, I do,” I replied. “It’s a small one, but my company keeps it for out-of-towners and I get to manage it. It’s free.”

Karen looked me in the eye, saying, “'Free' meaning you won’t be charged or 'free' meaning it is available tonight?”

I whispered conspiratorially for no reason but to emphasize that I was serious, “Both. But it has only two twin beds, so our romp might be constrained.”

Karen shook her head, got real close and whispered back, “We have a suite, two king-size beds.”

I kissed her again, this time with even more passion: lips, tongue, caresses to butt returned. Eagerness blossomed on both our parts. Actually, blossomed on lots of body parts.

Karen pulled away and got really serious. Her next words floored me.

“Let’s use my room. It is bigger.”

I said, “Of course, but what about your roomie?”

“I have one item that will stay in my room--my husband. He has been after me to participate in another  threesome. We’ve done this a few times before. Mostly, it’s been pillow talk and fantasizing, but I think I am ready to do it again.”

I nodded, thought about it and finally made up my mind.

I answered, “How can we know he will approve of this, right now? He doesn’t even know me, yet.”

My date smiled, “He knows. He approves. His name is Isaac. He spells it differently, but he is the guy I was sitting next to at the table. I texted him and he is waiting for us.”

“Wow!”

The married couple had a penthouse suite. Isaac was the black guy she had been sitting next to, in the bar. Sometimes he tags along on her business trips and pays for their rooms.

He showed me around. They had a sitting room/parlor area with two matching loveseats facing each other. Over each was a wide-screen television. Two doors on one wall led to two bathrooms, one with glassed-in shower; the other sporting a jetted tub large enough for two people. The door on the other side of the parlor led to a bedroom spacious enough for two king-size beds and all the conveniences of home.

I used the room with the shower to pee, splash some water on my face and recenter my head.

Her husband was easy to talk to, relaxed as if he’d done this a hundred times before. I held that thought, knowing that this was not their first time. How many before me, I guessed only a few.

Our hostess made the drinks, gin and tonics all around.

Karen explained, “My parents are biracial: mom is black, liberal, religious. Dad is a white college professor. Izaak’s (oh yes, he spells it that way) people are from Senegal. His dad was quite conservative and his mom was a white missionary who went native and married Izaak’s father. They died in a fire before I met my husband. We met in college and married after graduation."

Izaak watched her and nodded approval of their family background story.

I was able to chime in, “Isn’t Izaak the Moslem spelling/meaning of the Hebrew 'Isaac'? Some sports announcer once said that the basketballer Shaq’s name is another derivative of the same name.”

Izaak seemed pleased that I knew a little of his family’s culture.

That broke the ice, as it were.

Karen took over. She moved across the room, from sitting next to her husband to sitting next to me.

She put her hand on my knee, looked at her husband and said, “Kiss me, Greg.”

I looked over to her husband. He nodded and motioned, “Go ahead.”

We kissed with our eyes closed. I ran my tongue around her lips and she opened her mouth. I slipped my tongue inside, stroking her tits at the same time. Time stood still. No one was in a hurry and by my own count, we’d had five or six drinks already.

I decided that if he wanted a show, he would get one.

When we broke the kiss, the room was much darker, lit only by electric candles that had appeared from nowhere.

We stood up and embraced again, this time focusing on moving our hips in sync. I felt something strange.

Izaak was behind Karen, gyrating onto her rear. When I realized what was going on (they already knew), we fell into a really nice rhythm. She pushed her pussy onto my crotch, then I returned the favor. She put her hands on my waist and pulled me closer. Izaak reached around Karen and I moved back enough for him to unbutton her blouse. He was able to pull her blouse down toward her elbows, so she was immobile.

I thought, “I’m not really into bondage, but right now, I am open to all options.”

Husband undid her bra, exposing two of the most beautiful tits I’d ever seen. Despite her apparent age, Karen’s large tits stuck out proudly, with nipples that resembled pencil erasers. Her skin tone was tan, even to the tips of her nipples which were already reddening.

He offered me the left one. I accepted with both hands around that breast and I left myself enough space to suck on that nipple.

Karen turned slightly to her left, giving me more access. I spread the nipple out, exposing even more of her nerve endings. I put the whole areola in my mouth, wiggled my tongue and sucked hard enough on it to give it a hickey.

“Oh God, oh God, that is good,” she moaned.

A dark paw grabbed the right one and she twisted that way. I refused to let go. Instead, I started pulling at my share of tittie like I was jerking her off.

She twisted slightly to her right and Izaak cupped the right one, held it up and offered it to me. This time, he did a slow pulling, as if he was masturbating her right tit while I sucked on it.

I managed to stammer, “You guys are a good team. I love what’s happening.”

Karen turned to Izaak. She straightened her blouse enough to raise her arms. She held him tightly, kissed him and whispered in his ear.

I heard something like, “Let us be alone for a while. I’ll call you when I need you. Please.”

Izaak waved his finger at her in mock scolding.

He cautioned, “Only if you do as we agreed.”

Husband stepped back a few feet toward the other settee and put his hands on his hips, a gesture for the wife to comply with his commands.

“Take off his shoes and socks first. Greg, you’ll have sit down for a moment while she disrobes you. I will be disrobing her, not you.”

They took their time.

Off came my shoes and socks, then my slacks and underwear. The removal of the shirt left me naked in front of a married couple.

Karen took each piece of clothing and folded it neatly. My dick had been hard for some time, so when she saw the pecker tracks on my underwear, she smiled and sucked on the residue.

Izaak used his African voice to say, “It is an honor for the husband to undress the wife for her lover. Do you do that for your wife’s lover?”

I meekly said, “No.”

Karen said, “You should. Izaak is showing us that he appreciates your servicing me.”

The husband took advantage of her gradual nakedness to caress and nip at small pieces of her body.

I thought, “Maybe he is showing me her erogenous zones?” or, “Maybe he is showing how much he approves of the scene.”

I was distracted by a movement behind me. All the while Izaak was preparing Karen for me, I finally saw what was on the screen behind me.

I have seen lots of porn, but this was interracial stuff, to the max. A college-age, very white skinned girl was on her back, gazing at a huge black man’s dick that reached across her stomach up to her belly button. The guy rocked back and slowly slipped that thing all the way up the girl’s pussy.

Karen pulled me naked over to the other couch and we sat down. Izaak stayed mostly clothed.

The three of us: one man clothed, one woman and I naked, watched the couple fuck.

Soon, he pulled out and shot wads of cum onto the woman’s bare pussy, belly and breasts.

“I’ll stay entertained in here for a while. You two may adjourn to the bedroom.” Izaak’s words sounded like an order, or an offer, or just a suggestion.

Karen and I went through the bedroom door. She shut it.

I asked, “Are you going to lock it?”

She nodded agreement. The CLICK was unmistakable.

We did a dance to music only we could hear. She couldn’t get enough of my skin, touching me all over, sometimes pinching or kneading, sometimes stroking me like a tomcat.

I returned the favor by kissing her in the same places Izaak had. Then Karen turned around and I kissed her neck, shoulder and arm. Then the other side got the same treatment.

Izaak’s wife then laid me down on the bed and started those butterfly kisses, starting on my ear, then to my tits, then down my belly.

She worked up a lot of spit and kissed it onto the head of my dick. When it was damp enough, she circled the helmet with her lips, doing a slow jerk-off motion. I am not that well-endowed, but what I have is very, very sensitive. Coupled with my tendency to be very, very vocal, it meant my pleasure was obvious.

She stopped, looked up at me and asked, “In your porn, do you have the guys call their girls whores?”

I nod “Yes.”

Karen repaid my honesty with another round of crown circles, ball skimming and wet-palm jerking.

“What else do those men call those women?”

I answered, “Married sluts, cum sluts, bitches. My character will tell the woman he now owns her cunt. If she wants to be fucked, she’ll have to fuck whoever he pleases.”

It was like Karen’s sex engine just went into another, higher gear.

She started to echo what I’d just said: “I am your married whore tonight. I am your bitch. I’ll fuck or suck anybody you tell me to. I want your cum, all up inside me, on my tits, up my ass. I want to jerk you off with my tits and have you cum again and watch it burn in a puddle on my chest.”

My lady of the night got up off the bed, unlocked the door and called to her husband.

“Izaak, don’t watch porn alone out there. Come in here and see the real thing. Come see your wife fuck someone.”

With that, she came back over to the bed and straddled me. Izaak came through the door, almost fully clothed.

She talked to him, saying, “Every time you hear Greg call me a name, you can take off one piece of clothing. Understand?”

He nodded.

“Fuck me now!” I considered that an order and placed my pole right at her hole.

As the head popped inside, I said, “Okay, whore, fuck me like you want a bonus check to pay for your drug habit. You are going to need to really take it all if you want to be paid anything.”

Karen collapsed her whole body onto my shaft, burying me deep. I could feel her juices flowing.

I ordered her, “Jerk me off with your cunt, slut. Make me feel your asshole on my balls.”

I realized she moved even faster when I told her, “Damn, you sleazy fuck whore, show me how you use that pass-around pussy on a real dick.”

I looked over at Izaak and he was nude. His pole was enormous, longer than mine. My only difference was that my girth opened Karen’s pussy wider and got to her g-spot.

Suddenly, unbelievably, she hit a higher gear and started to jerk or twerk so fast I thought she was using me as her personal dildo.

I yelled, “I’m shooting my load into that hole of yours. Take all my cum, take it, take it all.”

She yelled back in ecstasy, “I got it. I got it. I got it. It’s shooting up my fuckhole now and I love it."

We collapsed and she rolled off me.

Did I doze? Not exactly, but Karen and I were jarred awake by movement of another person on the bed.

My new lover moved closer and whispered, “This is not over.”

I heard her say to her husband, “Reclaim me.”

READER: If you wish to hear and see what it is like to watch and feel two people making love with you right there beside them, wait for Chapter 2.