THE POKER GAME LONG TIME AGO

In my high school years, a few friends would gather about once a month to play poker. Gambling was not the draw; we played penny ante. To lose $5 in an evening was a lot. We considered it a time of male bonding. We smoked cigars and drank a little. Those were the days.

One of the girls in our crowd had heard about the game. She wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend, just a friend who was a girl. She was cute: seventeen, small, with perky breasts, slim, blond, and lots of fun to be around. She begged to be included, but we said it was a guy’s game. Besides, our girlfriends would be jealous if she came and they didn’t. That logic kept her quiet for a while, but then she had a new idea. She wanted to attend as our waitress. She said she would serve drinks and sandwiches and clean up, just to be able to attend. That did it. We agreed. We also agreed that we would never tell our girlfriends, either.

The fateful Friday night came. The game was at Stan’s house. His folks were recently divorced, so his dad had moved out. And, his mom was going through her adjustment phase of re-entering the dating game with a vengeance. Therefore, we had the house to ourselves until morning.
I arrived early to help Stan set up because Stan was my best friend. Lynne arrived right on schedule, about 15 minutes before the others. We set up in the dining room, adjacent to the kitchen. We oriented Lynne to the locations of the food and drink and cups and plates. Right on schedule the others arrived. The game began with six boys of the tender age of 17.

Lynne was stunning. She had dressed like a cocktail waitress: short skirt, white blouse, black hose, high heels. She took our orders as the game began, and served us professionally, complete with serving tray and hand towel.

About an hour into the game, we noticed something. Her blouse was unbuttoned one button further than before. And, when she reached for a glass to refill, the bending and stretching motion gave us the clear indication that she wasn’t wearing a bra. For Lynne, this was not a problem, since she was 17 and had B-cup breasts. She gave several of us a real eyeful. Her breasts were firm and rounded, upturned at the end.

She gave no indication that she was aware of our stares.

Then, it dawned on me. Being normal, 17-year-old boys, Stan and I had given Lynne the once-over when she arrived. So had the other boys when they arrived. Since she was wearing a white blouse, the outline of her bra would have been clearly visible. If that familiar outline had not been there, we would have noticed. She must have removed her bra after the game had started. I’m not sure how long it took the others to piece this together. It took me about 10 minutes. But remember, we were only 17 and really naпve. The sexual revolution hadn’t started yet. An occasional feel was a memorable date. With a steady girl, you might progress to mutual manual and/or oral stimulation. Real intercourse was rare.

Another 15 minutes passed, and another button magically came undone. Then another. We played manfully onward, but our attentions were definitely divided. Her ministrations to our needs included more brushes of a breast across a shoulder, a hip across an arm. The turning point came when, as Jack folded after four cards in seven-card stud, and asked for a refill, Lynne came with a fresh drink and, after placing the drink, slid into his lap, asking, “I’m not much on this game. Why did you fold?”

Jack, always the gentleman, instinctively put his arm around her and picked up his hole cards. As he explained, she took the hand with the cards, folded them against her breast, and said, “Now I do know you shouldn’t show you cards until the hand is over.” Jack’s hand, hidden under both of hers, cupped a marvelous, firm breast and an erect nipple. I supposed it was erect because the other one was poking out the material of that stiff white shirt. As the hand ended, so did Jack’s free feel. As she hopped up, she made a point of looking back down at Jack’s lap, then asked, “Anyone else need a refill?”

Everyone needed a refill. She served us one at a time. As she returned on each trip to the kitchen, her blouse was open a little wider. She reached around Tom to place his drink on the table, rotating from left to right, putting a nipple in each ear along the way. For Terry, she faced him to reach across to his glass and brushed her blouse open on his nose in order to whisp her nipple across his lips. His reaction time was just slow enough to kiss nothing but cotton. By the time she came back with Rick’s drink, the blouse was gone.

Gentlemen to the end, we played manfully onward. She walked around behind us and rubbed our ears and necks with her fingers and breasts. Since she was behind each of us for a minute or more, we each had the opportunity to reach around and stroke her leg. But the one in the adjacent chair had the best angle. Only a contortionist could feel up a leg behind his back, but the player in the next chair had perfect access. I was the first to venture higher up her leg. Lynne obviously was in control of this situation, as she shifted herself to give an unhindered approach. My hand had gone up the back of her leg and discovered that she was wearing regular hose instead of pantyhose. The smooth flesh at the top of her thigh was warm and inviting. As I moved higher, expecting to find the bottom of her panties, I found only a bare bottom. She hadn’t worn panties, or at least had removed them at some time before any of us had gotten that far. I stroked and gently squeezed than luscious cheek several times before she moved on around the table. This voyage of discovery was repeated several times around the table. Stan was quicker than most, so he had more time with his hand up her skirt. He worked his hand between her legs, for which she accommodated him be spreading her feet to shoulder width. He stroked her slit apparently just right because her eyes closed and she turned her face a little upward. As she moved on to the next chair, Stan was obliged to return his hand. But he stopped to pass his finger under his nose, and then licked it clean.

With that, Lynne announced that Jack’s glass needed refilling, grabbed the glass, and disappeared. When she returned, the skirt was gone. She was left in high heels, black stockings, garter belt, and a thin silver necklace. For the first time we were assured that she was a natural blond. Her neatly trimmed bush had bikini-wax edged edges. Her pussy lips were neat and straight, but clearly puffy and wet. Her clit was a prominent little tube at the top. As she placed Jack’s glass in from of him, she sat in his lap and planted a big kiss on his lips.