We play a game, she and I. We know the places in the woods where no one goes; those are our favorite places to walk. After ten minutes or so, my pace begins to slow. She keeps going, deeper into the forest, and when she is just out of sight, I change my path. Cut off the faint trail we’ve marked. Move between the trees. And then, when enough time has passed, my hunt begins.

And when I find her, she’s mine.

Sometimes, I frighten myself when I really pull back the now vaguely socially acceptable kinky fun I engage in to find some of the things that really grip me.

This is one of my favorite games.

rolledtrousers:

I like to play a little game, when you can’t speak. It’s a mean little game, but I find it amusing. You find it infuriating. That’s quite possibly what amuses me so about it, but then I always was a sucker for your reactions.

I like to talk to you, hold long conversations when your only input is the most monosyllabic of moans, perhaps a ‘uh uh’ if you really try. So I do your half of the conversation for you, because I’m generous like that.

“You know, the way you’re looking at me, it’s almost like you like being tied up and gagged like this. Do you like it?” You fix me with a piercing, angry gaze, all furrowed brows and needles for eyes.

“You mean you do? Oh that’s wonderful news. We should keep you like this more often then! I’d hate to get in the way of you and your passions.”

And so forth. It’s just a little game, but it’s one I enjoy ever so much.

Won’t you indulge me?

New Year’s Eve: Part 3

“Ivy, you look like a girl who can throw!” exclaimed a friend of the hostess who had I met a few times before. “Come be my partner for beer pong.”

I snorted, “you’ve got the wrong girl.” But, I was in the team spirit, so I decided to go join him. “I’ve got warn you, though,” I said as he arranged the cups, “I’ve never played beer pong before.”

Let me tell you, tumblr. I haven’t found my calling, but I did employ some old skills. Across the table, on the other team, was a hottie with a bunch of tattoos and some pink in her hair. So, we’re going to call her Pink. I think her male partner was cute, too. Whatever. Didn’t pay him too much attention.

But, I did pull the top of my dress down a little to try to distract him, but she seemed damn into it as well. So, I hammed it up, wiggled my butt, acted cute. I even saved the game through a combination of diving across a rug for the ball (hence my skinned knee) and sinking the last ball.

Not to mention Pink followed me back over to Drew and Walter, who were chatting up some freckled cutie.

Scoreeeeee.

Flirttexting.

Guy in my frat: Sorry I couldn’t be your date to that thing.
Me: Date? I was inviting you and a bunch of other people as friends.
Him: You’re the one who used the word date.
Me: Only I didn’t.
Him: I was joking.
Me: Sure.
Him: To the joke or to a date?
Me: Smooth.
Him: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
Me: Too bad you have no game.

I think I’ve found a new hobby. This sort of back-and-forth continued for a good chunk of the evening. He once told me after some liquid confidence that he liked to dominate women. I told him he couldn’t handle me. Apparently, he took this as a challenge.
I’ll just need to brainstorm some sort of nickname for him.

I show, you tell. You observe, you interpret, you misinterpret (sometimes deliciously).

It’s true that odds aren’t how you win most games. It’s how you play.

And you just don’t play fair.