Sweet Sabotage
The Pre-Game
"So when was the last time you went bowling?", I asked Ben.
"I wanna say it was sometime last year," he said with a smile.
"Oh, so I'd better be careful around you," I joked. "I haven't been in a while, but I can still chop some wood."
Ben glanced sideways at me and smiled. We were on our way to an old-school bowling center for a Friday night date. Somehow the topic came up between us and in short order, we decided to hit the lanes at a place near him.
When I say "old-school", I do not mean decrepit. Very few bowling centers of the run-down variety still exist. Most modern centers make it almost a glamorous experience for visitors, including automatic scoring on bright HD screens, neon decorations and other fancy lighting, and full bars. The center we were going to was in good repair, but not hypermodernized. Even better, they charged by the line - not by the hour the way new centers do now. Some places' fees are scandalously high, but I guess they have to pay for all those fancy bells and whistles somehow.
"What's your lifetime high?" he asked me slyly.
"201," I said, as I turned the car into the lanes' parking lot. "I did it in league play our final week. It was enough to get a cash prize and a trophy."
Ben cooed with approval. "And what was your handicap?"
"The same as it is today...cute guys like you."
He laughed then playfully punched my upper right arm. "Hey, that's my bowling arm," I jokingly chided, "Don't you touch that."
Both of us, having bowled in leagues before, still had our own shoes and balls, so we were able to skip shoe rental and go right to the lanes. We got lanes 3 and 4, almost at the far wall. This house had 28 lanes.
For a Friday evening, I was surprised at how empty the place was. It was a spring night when we went, so maybe everyone was outside enjoying the weather. A major musical touring act was also in town, so I'm sure that had to be a draw. The only other customer in the alley was way at the other end, doing what appeared to be practice rolls. His vaguely serious demeanor suggested he was there on business...probably in a league or something.
We got to the computerized scoring console - one of the few luxuries the center bothered to modernize - and I entered our names and pressed the start button.
The Competition
I stepped up, steadied myself, took the few steps toward the foul line and released my 12-pound, black rubber national-brand ball. I watched 7 pins fall.
"Very graceful," Ben said.
I smiled. Thinking the pickup would be easy, I stepped up and let the ball fly. It missed. An open frame for the first game.
"It's early," Ben said, stepping up for his turn.
"Mmm-hmm," I retorted playfully. "Let's see you do better."
Ben's first shot took all but 2 pins, the 6 and the 10 on the right.
"Okay, you bested me by one there," I called out.
He took his second shot. I thought he'd nailed it, but the ball arced just to the left, leaving both.
"D'Oh!" I joked.
After that first open frame, I tied together a couple of spares, as did he. By the end of the 4th, he had a 2-pin lead on me.
I wondered when I was going to see my first strike. In league play I'd usually connected at least once or twice in the front four frames.
It turned out I wouldn't have to wait long. I stepped up with the ball, got really still, and then - perhaps summoning the magic of the bowling gods - took my steps and delivered a near perfect hook shot. With a great crash sound, the pins scattered, leaving the pit empty. I turned, victorious, back to the scoring console.
"Hmmmmm", Ben cooed with a big smile. "I can see I've got my work cut out for me."
Ben came back with a fill of 7. I now led him by 6.
In the 6th frame, Ben got a strike while I posted a measly 5. But in my 7th, I would connect again. Although I got my stride correct, my release was a bit premature. It didn't matter, as the ball went for a left-sided "Brooklyn" shot, sweeping all 10 pins down.
"Oh my", Ben said, watching. I was still behind him by 11 now, but had made it to 100, at least.
By the end of the first game, I'd managed to beat him by about 14 pins.
He strode up to me to hug me warmly. "Not bad, champ. Let's do another."
"Sure," I answered. "That wasn't even close to my best performance."
I reset the scoring console to zeroes for game two and, again, I was first. Through five frames, I was holding a slim lead over him, by 5.
Ben knows I have a weakness...his bellybutton. I love his midriff, his thin, dark, vertical innie on his creamy, flat stomach. He often wears crop-tops when we go out or hang out around the house. Ben is also a bit of a scalawag. He's a bit playful. And he knows he's cute. All that would play out the rest of the evening.
My sixth frame, I took my steps, bent over, and delivered the ball over the foul line. This was one of those shots where the pins flew funny. But thanks to enough spin I'd put on the ball, only two pins were left wavering before one took out the other.
Ben jumped up to celebrate, throwing his arms up in the air, causing his black tee to fly up and his navel to flash before me. I felt my shaft stiffening a bit. I like peekaboo teases.
"Looks like you're getting hot..." Ben playfully teased me.
