When did it stop being a game? It was just fun. Drunken, sexual, flirtatious fun to be sure, but fun with rules, and time limits, and restrictions, and clothes returned to their original state after each round. At least we tried, anyway. At some point Bobbi forgot to put her blouse back on before her sweater, and her sweater got caught in her bra strap in back. And I'm not sure exactly when my husband lost his pants.

It was just supposed to be a way to blow off a little steam before the holidays, before visiting my new husband's family, cast in the role of good little obedient wife and daughter-in-law. It was all Bobbi's idea, Bobbi who's everything I'm not - bold, brunette, buxom, and bouncy, Bobbi who's been flirting with my husband ever since she met him. Bobbi claims to like men like my husband, big men, men who can handle her. In theory, that is. In practice she seems to end up with funny, romantic, highly sexed slender guys who woo her and seduce her. So when she said her new boyfriend Eric had a thing for me, me who he'd seen like maybe twice ever, that he'd love to play this new party game with me, I didn't exactly believe her. I figured it was really an excuse for Bobbi to flirt with my husband even more than usual, but I went along with the idea because it sounded like fun.

Maybe it stopped being a game when I saw the way Eric looked at me, when I heard the way he cheered for me when I did my first stupid little fully-clothed seductive dance, when I realized he was taking more pictures of me than anybody else. I expect that kind of reaction from men who've already had me (my husband excepted, but the sexual component of our relationship has always been about my attraction to him), not from men who barely know me. Suddenly I wasn't so sure that Bobbi was pulling my leg about Eric wanting me. The next dance, and the dance after that, might have been a game, but my finger sucking, breast grabbing and hip grinding were all aimed directly at Eric.

I'm pretty sure Bobbi was playing when she made a big show out of licking chocolate sauce off my breasts while my husband poured it on me. I'm pretty sure it was to turn my husband on, not serious lust for me. I'm pretty sure.

Maybe it stopped being a game when my husband danced with Bobbi, after he'd lost his pants, standing behind her, her ass grinding back into his hardening cock, while I sat curled quietly in the corner of the living room couch, fully clothed, sipping my third margarita

Maybe it stopped being a game after my fourth margarita, when the drunk took over and consciousness began to fade. I'm assuming it had to have been some time after that, because I don't remember much beyond that point.

Maybe it stopped being a game when the music got so loud there was nothing in my head but the words, and the beat, and the melody. Something happened to get me from the corner of the couch to here, to this state. to the center of our bed, but the more I try to think about it, the less I care. I don't know where my husband is. I don't know where Bobbi is. I don't care. I don't care, I don't care. As long as it lasts, lasts forever, as long as I'm one with the music, one with the joy, the joy of movement, the joy of my moving hips, the joy of my swinging breasts, the joy of my flying hair, the joy of freedom, freedom from thought, freedom from rules, freedom to be, to be one, the joy of a new man, a man who wants me, the joy of Eric, beneath me inside me, deep deep inside me. I am one with Eric, my hands on his chest, his hands on my nipples, I am one with the music, I am up, I am down, I am forth. I am back. I am coming!