I'm not sure why we called it "the game," but somehow it just stuck. It was also possible to refer to it in mixed company without arousing too many suspicions, and I think that may have been it's biggest selling point. Michelle suggested it, claiming she knew several women who complained of inferior hook-ups and selfish men. I guess she had been bragging about me as an attentive and thorough lover and one of them had asked if I was available for rent. Michelle and I had specifically designated our relationship as "open," so I was absolutely available.
Apparently some of these women had certain fantasies as well, and I remarked about how I'd love to help some of them come true. Michelle thought for a moment, and then suggested that we do something about it.
The "rules" were fairly simple. We would find suitable partners for each other, partners who were interested in sex. We would then set them up on a date, but with the outcome a foregone conclusion - sex. There were 3 main components: the meet, the word, and the number.
The meet was simple enough - The Ugly Mug was one of the better bars near campus, a little less frequented by the frat boy party crowd. The target would be told to be there, preferably at the bar, wearing a red shirt or sweater and wearing a special item Michelle and I picked out. She was an aspiring pilot, so I bought her a red, white and blue rhinestone pin in the shape of a plane. She bought me a pendant of a dragon's head, along with a chain. We would give these items to the targets and set up the time of the meet. The anonymity of it was one of the best parts. I loved walking into the bar and looking for the girl. Plenty of red shirts were always in evidence, sometimes more than one at the bar, but that only made it more interesting.
Michelle and I were soul mates, I think. We understood each other at some fundamental level. At least, she understood me. I'm not sure I ever figured her out, as she was always able to surprise and delight me. She knew my varied tastes and my sick little fantasies. We talked for hours about things like that and I think she remembered every word. She sent me a stream of unique women, not the cookie-cutter Playboy playmates every man thinks he wants. Tall, short, thin, voluptuous, young, mature, ethnic, whatever. For some reason I've always been attracted to the road less traveled.
For my part, I tried to send her what I thought she wanted. She liked 2 distinct types; young and inexperienced men so she could have her way unobstructed, and studs with something to prove. How I fit into her desires I still don't know.
Once the identification is made, I introduce myself like any guy would to a pretty girl in a bar, but with a slight twist. No other guy is going to ask her those two questions: What is the word, and what is the number.
The word was always the same, "Zebra." Not a word that comes up often in conversation outside the zoo. The word was the release valve; the sign that we need to drop the roles and talk seriously. In the heat of passion, it meant "stop," while the word "stop" itself held little meaning.
The number is what made it interesting. This was the level of intensity she desired from me. 1 was a gentle, romantic tryst, rife with foreplay and soft kisses, perhaps a backrub, and in general a comfortable lay. 2 was a little more robust, with less foreplay and a more varied menu of positions and intensity, perhaps an "average" session for normal people. 3 was a wild ride, a girl who wanted to get it on hot and heavy. 4 was an aggressive thing where I was to be forceful and commanding, short on compassion and long on the raunchy stuff, where the word "no" had little meaning. This was for the adventurous types. 5 was basically a rape fantasy, and one of the big reasons we came up with the "word." Michelle suggested this level, telling me about a friend of hers who really got off on the rough stuff and the sense of danger. I was skeptical, but I'm an adventurer myself so I figured why not? Level 5 was definitely the least common request, but there are a few wild stories to be told. At this level, the words "no" and "stop" were encouragements, and only the password would stop me.
Once this exchange was complete, the connection was made and we started to check each other out. I am 5' 10", muscular, barrel chested and strong. I don't have that lean pretty-boy body of a male model, but I had the six-pack and plenty of muscles for a woman to admire. I never considered myself especially attractive, but apparently I have that elusive "animal magnetism." Michelle swore I had pheromones on my side as well, and she was constantly telling me how good I smelled. Whatever the cause, I was rarely turned away at this point.
There are many stories to tell, and that was one of the best parts as well. Michelle and I would have lunch together the next day and relate our stories. Sometimes that got us horny enough that we had to run back to my apartment to satiate ourselves before the next class, and sometimes I made her wait all day.
The first time was one of the best, most likely due to the sense of adventure and daring in this plan. What if I got the wrong girl? What if Michelle picked a dog? What if the girl was just plain boring? I was worried that it might be a bad idea, but the prospect of nailing a strange woman was too much to ignore.
I walked into the Mug that Tuesday evening with butterflies in my stomach. Don't get me wrong, I have a fair amount of self-confidence and I'm not afraid to take a chance, but knowing I was going to have sex that night with a stranger was just so exciting! I made my way to the end of the bar and scanned the small crowd. There was no sign of a woman in red at the bar, so I ordered a beer, checked to make sure I had breath mints, and waited. I'm not accustomed to sitting alone in a bar, but I found it liberating to be able to watch the crowd. People watching may be a waste of time, but it can be entertaining when you have the time to waste.
I had wasted no more than 15 minutes when she came in. I saw the red blouse and the glitter of the pin as soon as she hit the door. She was of medium height, perhaps 5 foot 7, with medium length, full dark brown hair. She wore blue jeans and what looked like low black boots. I could tell even from a distance that her figure was very nice. As she came towards the bar I was able to watch her walk, and bounce.
She was very chesty, easily a D cup and probably more. She was well curved without being chubby or flabby at all. Her hips swayed invitingly and her head swung around, looking for me. I stayed put and tried to be inconspicuous. Hidden at the end of the bar, it was hard to get a good look at me, so even if she had been told what to look for she was unlikely to notice me.
She sat near the middle of the bar, her generous breasts nearly sitting on the polished wood surface. She caught the bartender's attention, along with lot of the other guys in the room, and ordered a drink. I was able to get a better look at her face now, and again I was not disappointed. She had a pretty, pleasant face, and nice teeth. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but then that type rarely catches my eye. She had bright wide eyes and tastefully done make-up. Michelle had done well so far. I wondered how she found this girl. She was certainly a student, but a friend, or classmate, or who knows what else? I started to wonder about how she chose the girls, but quickly snapped back to the task at hand. My target was nervous.
She had twisted around and was looking over the bar, trying to find me. This twisting of the torso gave a wonderful silhouette to her chest, and I became very excited about the evening. I'm normally a level 2 or 3 kind of guy, but this woman was built for luxurious pleasure and I was almost hoping for a level 1.
Her drink arrived as she twisted the other way, in my direction. I avoided her eyes on her first pass, then looked up and watched her scan the rest of the room. When she turned to get her drink, our eyes met. She did a double take and I had to smile a little. She was obviously nervous and a little jumpy, and the double take was worth a good laugh in other circumstances. I didn't want to spook her or increase her nerves, so I kept it to myself. I responded with what I intended to be a pleasant smile and a slight nod of the head.
She composed herself quickly with a slightly orchestrated sip of her drink, allowing herself a moment to recover. She knew she had jumped out of her skin and wanted to be cool, so she artfully ignored me for a little while. I did the same, not wanting to zoom in too quickly, and perhaps I could have some fun. I stared into my drink, around the bar, anywhere but at her face. I tried to let her catch me staring at her chest once or twice, but I don't now if it worked.
She picked at her blouse a little, making sure I had a good view of the pin over her left breast. She even turned herself toward me a little, again pulling the blouse tight against her flesh and giving me more reason to stare. She was getting fidgety, playing with the blouse and drinking too fast, so I decided to move in.
I drained the little that was left in my black Russian and stood up. Again, her head nearly whipped around, caught just in time to avoid an embarrassing reaction. Still, she watched me out the side of her eye as I moved closer and sat next to her.
