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| Stories Bingo’s Home Bingo’s Lair |
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Part One, Chapter 3 The dice came up with seven for which the card said: "She picks out a skirt and a top which will get her noticed. He takes her to a place of her choosing. After half an hour they leave. Roll the dice again." Bring went to her car and brought in her bag, a tan canvas duffel. She unzipped the top, humming something Peter did not recognize. She rummaged through the items, found an article of clothing, put it aside, and rummaged some more. She finally decided on another, looked at Peter with a grin on her face and closed the bag. She peeled out of her jersey dress, folded it neatly and placed it on the dresser. Peter thought her movements were graceful. She lifted up a dark garment, held it in front of her. He saw that it was a very small skirt. She stepped into the skirt, drew it up and positioned it. The skirt had an elastic waist. She then bent down and lifted the other garment, which appeared ragged. She slipped her arms through it, and then drew it over her head and drew it down. It was a torn t-shirt, the bottom half was missing and there was a rip at the neck. Holes on the front and back, where it had been rubbed against a sharp object, showed small spots of skin. Both the skirt and top were black at one time, now faded to a dark gray. Bring stepped away from the bed and looked at Peter. "How do you like it?" She slowly spun around. "You'll get noticed. Most of that tattoo shows, do you want that?" Bring laughed. "Of course." She turned again. "Does it do anything for you?" She stopped, faced him again and smiled. "I'd be dead if it didn't. I like that peek of the bottom of your breasts. I like . . ." "How about when I do this." She raised her arms and watched his eyes. "Or this." She bent over forward, looking up at him. "Or this." She turned around and bent over, placing her palms flat on the floor. Peter sighed. "All three. I like all three." He started to get up, then sat back down. "Are you sure you want to do this?" He watched her; she was busy getting the game materials together and placing them in her black bag. She looked sideways at him. "You're not sad are you? You don't mind sharing me, at least so far as letting other guys look at me? Better not forget these." She stuffed the condoms in the bag. Peter shook his head. "And you don't want to forget these, your bucks." She got them from the bedside table, from under his book. She came over and stuffed the bucks in his shirt pocket. "If they don't show, girls won't know you're eligible." "The loony bin," Peter sighed. "What?" "Eligible for the loony bin. What am I doing?" "You're taking me to Screwy Louie's. We can have a beer if you'd like and we can take in the local color." She picked up her canvas bag, hung it from her shoulder, and came towards him. "Coming?" She held out her hand. Peter took it, raised himself, got his billfold and keys from the oak dresser, and followed her out the door. The sun had gone down. He locked the door and they walked to his van parked in front of the room. Bring was ecstatic over his beat up van, his fifteen-year-old work vehicle. She loved the tool shelves on the side walls and the carpet on the floor. "Sometimes I need to take things home to work on them," he told her. "Window sash I'm working on for instance. The carpet helps keep them from getting damaged." "I need to get my box of devices and my collection from the car, then I'm ready." She opened the trunk and got out two boxes. They were about the size for copier paper, one was longer and squatter. "This," she said, sliding the long box in the back, "is devices. This," sliding in the taller box, "is the collection." "For the game?" "Of course. Devices generally don't get used until orange and red suits, though one never knows. The collection is used in all the suits." "Of course." Peter got in the driver seat after shutting the back door. Bring was in the passenger seat. She thumbed through his CD's, approved of several, discarded others. She slipped one in the boom box. "Oh, this is wonderful. I've never been in a van before," she said. "Never?" "Never. This is a first." She fastened her seat belt and turned around to examine the back. "It's big, isn't it?" "Not the easiest thing to drive, but great for what I do," Peter said. He started to back out of his parking spot. "Make a left, then go two blocks. At the light make a right. Too bad it doesn't have more windows." Peter looked over, Bring had her right foot on the dash. He had a good view of her labia rings. "Did it hurt to get those?" "Hurt?" She turned to him, holding her hair back from her face with her hand. "Those rings there." He tipped his head toward her. "These. Oh these. It hurt a little when I got them and I have to be careful they don't get tugged really hard or snagged on something. About like an earring, maybe a little more tender." She smiled briefly. "I like having them. Turn right here at the light. Then we go on this road for a ways until we are at the edge of town." Screwy Louie's was a boxy cement block building, single story, set back from the road. There were no street lights out here, on the edge of town; there wasn't a sign on the road. A neon Miller logo glowed in the window. The gravel lot had a fair number of cars and trucks. The only noise outside was the road traffic, which was loud since vehicles were allowed to pick up speed just before the bar. They parked, Peter got out, started to lock his door; Bring was behind him already. "Don't bother," she said. "Nobody steals anything around here." He looked at her, nodded and followed her toward the bar. She held out a hand behind her. Peter took it. They walked into the bar. There was no music. Wood tables with chairs were set up in the center of the room. Booths lined two walls. The bar and two pool tables were on the other wall. A blackboard stood by one pool table. There weren't many customers. Bring took him to a booth, nodded toward a seat. "Sit. I'll get the beers." She started to turn away. "Need any money?" Peter reached into his hip pocket for his wallet. "They'll run a tab. We'll settle when we leave." She smiled, "They're nice people here." Peter sat down and watched Bring walk toward the bar. She stepped on the balls of her feet so that her rear moved from side to side. The back bottom hem of her short skirt patted her rear with each step. She talked with the man at the bar for a minute. He got her two beers, he laughed as she started to step away. She turned back and said something to him, then came toward Peter smiling. Peter noticed from the front, as she walked, her top moved. Not a lot. But it moved. Halfway across the room, the barkeeper yelled out, "Hey missy, is he Steve?" She turned, shook her head. "No. He won me off Steve in a poker game last week." "Lucky guy." "I think so." She laughed. "He's not so sure." She turned around and almost trotted toward Peter. She giggled when she put the bottles on the table and sat down beside him. She took one of his hands and laid it on her leg. "Jimmy is such a hoot." "Jimmy?" Bring's skin felt cool and firm under Peter's fingers. "Jimmy, who owns this place." She nodded toward the bar. "Shall I put money in the jukebox? We could dance." "Sorry. Don't dance." He took a sip of beer. It seemed like everyone in the bar was watching him. "Too bad. Oh well." She drew a circle with her finger on the table. "Alliterative revival. What caused such a poetic flourishing in the north?" "Oy." Peter looked at the ceiling. "This isn't easy for me." "I hope it's not too hard. We're here to have fun, you know." She sipped beer. She pressed against him a little more. "Perhaps you're disappointed in something." She winked at him. "Like S. E. X. wasn't on the first card. Don't worry. Well, I mean I guess it would be possible to play for several days and never fuck, but that's not very likely." Two men got up from a booth. One went to the jukebox, the other walked toward their table. At the same time the music started, he stood before them. "I was wondering if it's okay if missy danced with us?" "Sure," Bring said. She hopped up. She looked back to Peter. "Remember, half an hour." Peter was a little miffed at her when they got back in the van. "Did you have to let him feel your ass?" "Well, I was so sorry for him. He had a pocket full of bucks and I was already taken." She smiled at Peter. "He said you were some lucky fellow." She laughed. "His brother was so cute. He just stood there and stared at me with his big eyes." "And Jimmy." Peter started the van. "He said the beers were on the house." She smiled again. "I throw the dice this time." He turned the engine off and watched her toss the dice onto the floor between them. "A three." She shuffled through the cards. "That's one of yours. See?" She stuck her tongue out at him. "What did you write?" The card said: "He licks honey off Bring's breasts. Throw the dice again." "Oh Peter, that's so nice." She leaned across the space and kissed him. "And here I thought your problem was you were such a horn dog." She sat up. "You're just hungry." She laughed again. Peter started the van and backed out of his spot. "We turn left here and go back the way we came. At the light, go through and find a spot to park. I know just the place." She put her feet up on the dash, leaned down and turned on the boom box. They found an easy parking place, which was nice since the van was not that much fun to parallel park. There was a small grocery a few doors down. "You'll like Martha. I've known her all my life." Bring took his hand and led him into the store. An elderly woman stood at the counter and smiled broadly at them. "Belinda and a new beau. How sweet." "Martha, this is Peter; he's here to do research." Bring drew Peter to the counter. She leaned closer to Martha. "We're doing the game together this weekend." Martha beamed at them both, first regarding Bring, then Peter. "That's so sweet. I know you both will have a fun time." "That's why we're here. We need honey. For the game." Martha's eyes grew large. "Honey. Oh my." She patted her flanks with her hands. She looked at Peter and then dropped her eyes to the counter. "Oh my." She smiled and said to Bring, "Well, you know where the honey is." Bring let go of Peter's hand and started off for the honey. "And you, young man. What kind of research?" Peter blushed inside. He had not been called a young man for twenty years. "Middle English poetry, I'm looking into . . ." "Say, are you the alliterative revival fellow?" She smiled at his brief nod. "When I was younger I read the Brut, the Ancrene Wisse. A bit earlier than your period, but fun. Yes." She watched Peter. "You like our Belinda?" He said, "Yes," and started to say more, but Bring was back with several items in her arms. "Honey." She put a small jar of dark honey on the counter. "And this," a loaf of dark bread. "And this," cheese which looked homemade. "And this," a pomegranate. Martha collected the items and dropped them into a bag. "You've chosen well, Belinda." She handed the brown paper bag to Peter. "I can't bear to charge you. You've both brought back such dear memories." She peered up at Peter. "The Bodley St. Margaret. How I struggled with that." Bring leaned across the counter and gave Martha a hug. They left to Martha's wishing, "You youngsters have a good time." When they got to the van, Bring said. "In back, it's perfect." Peter opened the door, pushed the boxes to the side. She got in first and walked on her knees toward the front. He followed. She laid the bag down and peeled off her t-shirt. He started to speak, she said, "Don't worry. Nobody cares. Besides, there aren't many windows." She bent over and took the jar of honey out of the bag. "Here." She handed it to him with a smile. "I can't wait." She leaned back so her legs were stretched out. She rested on her elbows, her head thrown back so her hair almost touched the carpet. He took the jar, opened it and was still for a moment. It smelled wonderful. Like wildflowers, or . . . he could not verbalize what he smelled. He had never smelled honey like this. He stuck his finger in the jar and tasted it. It tasted like . . . wonderful. He stuck his finger in the jar again and put it to his lips, but stopped. Bring was making snoring noises, then she giggled. He took a finger full of honey and let it drip onto her breasts, making circular motions, dipping it into the jar, then holding it over her again. Her nipples were erect, the honey was thick and did not run quickly, even in the heat of the summer evening. He dipped his finger in the jar one last time, then held it to her lips as he started to lick the honey on her breasts. He could feel her tongue lightly touch, then withdraw, then touch his finger again. He was more greedy. The nipple rings felt strange to his tongue. The nipples with the rings through them were more rigid. Her breasts, by contrast, were cool and soft. His tongue easily sank into their surface. He put his finger into the honey, held it up to her lips, and resumed his meal. She breathed softly; he could feel the exhalation of breath on his finger, he could feel her chest barely move. He had to descend one side where a drip followed a rib. When he was done, he removed his hand from her lips, lay down so his head was pressing the side of her diaphragm. They both were silent for several minutes. Bring sat up and stroked the hair around his ear. "Ready for a snack?" She bent down and kissed his cheek. "That was the best." They ate cheese on bread. They ate part of the pomegranate. Peter kept on shaking his head. He had never eaten anything before that was so . . . he did not know plain bread and cheese could taste this good. When they were done, Bring brought out her game things. "Ready?" He nodded slowly. "You throw the dice this time." They came up an eight. She read the card, looked at Peter and said, "It's all right with me. Here." She handed the card to Peter. The card said: "He strips her and ties her to the bed. He goes out and sells her to five men, a buck each. When the others are finished, he is the sixth. He unties her when done. Roll the dice again." Peter stared at her. She nodded at him and smiled brightly.
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