PLAYER’S DIARY – Fool me once, shame on you. I had to think about it that way to retain some sanity. But, boy, was I losing my mind.
For the first time in years, I was up all night. My mind was spinning, checking, probing. I had done everything right. Either India’s story was true and she merely came upon a circumstance that discombobulated me or she was the all-time original player’s player.
I had two options: I could try to rebound by calling her line until I got through to her, set up another date, and turn the game on her; or I could just act like it was no big deal, wait for her to call, and then let her lead herself into my den. If she’s playing me, the first option would be a show desperation and self-destruction. And the problem with the second option is simple: what if she never calls?
Hell, I was clobbered and desperate, I chose option one. I called her.
Funny, India took the call on the first ring. Her tone was gentle and polite, “I know you must hate me now, Ronnie.”
“I would if I could.” And after I said that, I really wasn’t sure if it was true or false. It would appear that I underestimated the effect of the night before, my game was off. Something had turned it off.
She went on, “For whatever it’s worth, I regret it . . . I apologize.”
“Oh, don’t sweat it, I’m as fine as the break of any dawn.”
“If you want me to come over–”
“That’ll be great,” I blurted before she could finish. Something was horribly wrong with me. I had won so much that I no longer knew how to take a setback. If I didn’t get a grip, I was going to set myself up for a sequel to yesterday’s thwacking.
“Do you want me to come over now?” she asked.
This time I took a deep breath and replied with some composure, “You can come whenever is fine by you.”
“That’ll be now.”
“I guess I’ll be expecting you then.”
She rang off.
Suddenly I felt a surge of confidence in my veins. Whether she had scored her Marvellous One by default or design, I was going to even it. I waltzed through a quick bath session and freshened up, wearing a white cotton shirt that revealed just enough hints about my physique, and a black pair of cauldron pants. I got the apartment smelling sweet with lavender and scrambled an urgent breakfast which I decorated tastefully on the dining layout. The stage was set.
Fifteen minutes later, my bell was chiming. I eased gracefully to the door with all the cool of a mythical demigod. With a half-smile on my face, I turned the knob and got struck by the surprise of the decade: it was Amber. I was totally stoned for six.
“I don’t have much time,” she said.
She came at me with the suddenness of a shark attack and took my lips in her mouth. I realized she wore nothing underneath the black silk gown on her as her body pressed hard against mine. I’d forgotten how soft and smooth her body was. I tried to pull away but she latched on to me firmly, . And then she was fumbling with my pants, stroking my growing erection.
My loins were on fire. Finally, the madness overcame my caution about India who I was still expecting to knock on the door at any moment, I lifted her and squared with her passion as we savored the moment. When I placed her on the dining table, impatiently swiping off the decorations I had meticulously arranged, she held my head and guided it to her wet mush. And then I buried myself in her and gave her a fellatio just as I knew would drive her crazy. She wrapped her legs around my head and moaned so loudly, while the table quaked with the trembling of her body. We kept at it on and on, and then she came.
It was time for the grand performance, the high point of the show. I let my cauldron pants slide to the ground, as my turgid member nodded in anticipation. But Amber pounced off the table just then and pulled her gown down. She pecked me on the cheek and said, “We both know India will soon be here. I’m gone.”
I didn’t hear the words clearly at first. But as the meaning settled in, I began to feel like the puppet in a circus show. I’d been fooled–not once, but twice.
Shame on me.