Bowling for Babes. I've heard rumors and stories about them for years, mostly from testosterone-infected men. The stories they tell are wildly exaggerated and impossible to believe. I thought they were just strutting in front of the rest of us to impress someone, mostly themselves. What they've claimed is outrageous and preposterous. I don't believe them and neither should you.
At least I didn't.
I'm an all American male. I'm thirty-eight years old. I have a high-school education and I work in construction. I have since I was sixteen. I drive my pickup truck to work every day.
I'm married with two children. Both are in public schools. My wife works part time for pocket money. I pay the bills. We live in flyover country and we go to a Lutheran church every Sunday.
We live in a housing development in a small town. We vote in every election, even for mayor and school board. I have three guns in the house. Two handguns, one for me and one for my wife, and a hunting rifle. All are safely locked when not in use.
Most of the people in our area are the same as we are. Solid citizens, believers in the Constitution and overlooked by the politicians from the coasts, and that's fine by us. Most of us served in some branch of the military and prioritize our lives, God, Country and Family in that order.
We have simple American names. Mine is Sam and my wife is Rebecca, her mother loved Cheers and named her after Kirstie Alley's character. I'm slightly overweight, a little round in the middle. My doctor would probably describe me as overweight but not obese. Construction work keeps me in reasonable shape. Rebecca watches what she eats. She's not slender but she's far from overweight. She has a few extra pounds, all in the right places from where I sit.
My wife is a babe, hotter than most of the other local women. She doesn't cheat and doesn't ask if I do. We've have an agreement that an occasional extra cock or pussy might add to our sex life but, to my knowledge, neither of us has exercised the option.
We live simply. Rebecca keeps busy with the children and the neighborhood book and garden clubs and I work, play softball in the warm seasons and bowl during the winter.
Softball is an excuse to drink beer. The bowling league is competitive. Bowling is an excuse to drink beer and test our manhood. We bowl every Tuesday evening at seven o'clock. We have sixteen teams in two divisions and command half of the alleys in the local thirty-two lane establishment every Tuesday during the season
. We all have our own equipment and the bar at the alley provides all the beer and pretzels we need.
Each team consists of four to six players and four of them represent the team each week. There are a few good bowlers but most of us suck at it and that's what makes the league competitive. There are no women in the bowling league.
Our team name is the Blues. We have matching blue shirts that we wear each week. There are six of us and none of us is happy with the team name but all the good names, like Strikers, Splitters and Alley Cats were already taken.
We never bowl without an audience. The bar does a brisk business on Tuesday nights. Mostly single or divorced women scouting the players interested further competition at the end of the evening. I generally don't pay them much attention. I've always thought I have enough on my plate without female complications.
That is, until recently. For the last three weeks, the same woman has been sitting behind our team, watching us bowl and cheering for us. Last week she began to get our beer and pretzels from the bar for us. This week she waved at Jason and me when we were finished and packing our stuff to leave. It was clear that she wanted to talk to us. We lagged behind the others and she came down into the pit to talk.
She introduced herself as Rosie. She was probably in her late twenties or early thirties, above average looking with minimal makeup, bottle blonde hair, green eyes, puffy lips and tits out to here. She was effusive about how competitive we were and how competitive men made her tingle.
I looked at Jason and gave him my look that said, "She's looking for someone to tickle her tingle."
Jason is younger than I am and single, so tingle tickling was in his wheelhouse and Rosie had some appeal. On the other hand, I was ready to go home.
Rosie put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't hurry off. I get it. You probably think I'm just another bimbo looking to get laid and I've zeroed in on you two tonight. To be honest, some of that is right. I do love to fuck but I'm not easy."
"That's not how I see it," I said.
"Understandable. Remember how I said I love competitive men. Well, I don't give it away. I like to be competed for. I like to be the prize. You and your friend here appear to be equally matched. Both of you need bowling lessons. I propose a match with me as the prize. I'll even offer incentives along the way. What about it?"
"What kind of incentives?" asked Jason always negotiating. I hung around for the answer.
"Okay," Rosie responded. "How about you bowl and line and I offer something for achievement? For example, for each spare, I might offer a kiss."
"What's offered for a strike?" asked Jason.
I could see he was buying in to the woman's spiel. I told myself I wasn't going to but I hung around in case he needed me.
"For a strike, I might let you squeeze my tits. For two strikes in a row, you can rub my pussy. For three in a row, I'll give you a blowjob and for four or more, you can fuck me."
"So, I bowl a game," Jason clarified, "and I collect each of your incentives along the way?"
"You got it, sailor," Rosie said.
"Here?" asked Jason looking around at the large space with people still bowling and sitting at the bar.
"Close," answered Rosie. "You see that door in the wall at the end of the building? Well, there's two more lanes on the other side. Very private."
"You know, that with those kinds of incentives, my game might improve dramatically," Jason wished.
"I hope so," responded Rosie. She looked at me. "You coming too?" she asked.
"Two's company," I said.
"I can help with that," Rosie said. "See that gorgeous woman at the bar?" she asked.
I looked at the bar. I noticed a woman wearing a tight sweater, yoga pants and long dark hair halfway down her back. She waved.
"That's Liz. She loves competitive men as much as I do and she knows the rules. If you both want to play, I'll ask Liz to join us. You can compete for either of us or both of us, if you wish," added Rosie.
I was weakening. I wondered how much better my game might get with the proper incentives.
"Okay," I said, surprising myself.
"Great," said Rosie. She gave Liz a thumbs up. "There is one other thing though," she said. "It costs more to bowl on the other side of the wall."
"How much?" asked Jason.
"Ten dollars a line," said Rosie.
"That's pretty stiff," commented Jason.
"Nothing's free, even incentives and stiff is what we're hoping for."
