Playing tie-up poker with Colleen m/f

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calebtras
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Playing tie-up poker with Colleen m/f

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Playing tie-up poker with Colleen

One warm spring evening, Colleen and I walked up the stairs to our hang-out, the roof of the 5-story building on the corner of our block. It was one story taller than the brick row-houses along the street, so the men smoking and drinking or tending to their pigeon coops on their roofs were lower down and couldn't see us. As long as we didn't laugh or argue loudly, no one knew we were up there.

We sat cross-legged on the tar-paper with an upended milk crate between us and played Challenge Poker, a game we'd invented.

Colleen and I had been doing everything together for more than a year. We felt a need to talk out what was bothering us, something that kids in our working class Irish neighborhood in Brooklyn didn't do back then. Maybe that's what Confession was for, but we didn't trust a priest; we'd learned through our shared adventures, to trust each other. Truth or Dare hadn't been invented, or we didn't know about it. Colleen and I had played poker using bottle caps as chips. (When aluminum cans replaced soda bottles, they eliminated 2 other New York City games skelly—flicking bottle caps with your fingers, and spin the bottle—a kissing game.) We came up with a new way to play—each time you lost a hand, you had to answer a personal question.

We started our Poker Challenges talking about smaller stuff—getting bumped in the hall at school, something mean a teacher said, a back-and-forth put-down confrontation on the street corner. We'd sympathize, say what we would have done, what we wished we'd have said. With each hand, we escalated, until each of us reached the thing we really wanted to talk about.

Colleen knew what my biggest issue was, so when she won the next game, she asked, “So how's your Ma doin'?”

I'd been waiting all week to tell Colleen. “Her new boyfriend told her she was fat. Then he tells her to stop smokin' 'cause it's makin' her teeth yellow. He's got a beer gut pushin' his pants down so you see the crack of his ass when he bends over, and he's got a row of those big white teeth look like piano keys the army gives you, 'cause his real teeth probably rotted out. One minute, he's telling her how sexy she is, how round her ass is—this is with me in the kitchen. He don't care I hear him talk about my Ma that way.”

“Yeah, and if you go in your room, even you can't hear, you know what he's up to,” she said. “He's playin' her.”

“He feeds her compliments and she laps it up. Then, just when she's ready to climb into his lap, he makes fun of her again. Builds her up, puts her down. He' gets my mom like a junkie, beggin' for his sweet-talk bullshit, then he takes what he wants.”

When I'd gotten it all out of my system, I won a hand. I wasn't sure what Colleen wanted to talk about, but it was usually her father, so I asked, “Who's the biggest asshole you gotta deal with?”

“My cousin Joey,” she said. “When my cousin Bridget came to see me, Joey came with her. He knew my father would be drunk watchin' TV and good for nothin', so he came right in my room. When me and Bridget tried to push him out, he starts wrestling with me. He knows I can't make too much noise, 'cause then my father will come in and blame me. Me and Bridget are punchin' him, yankin' his hair, but he gets his arms around me and turns me around so he's like this.” Colleen folded her arms so her hands were on her breasts. “I go nuts but he gets me on the floor, lyin' on top of me getting' nasty. Bridget is punchin' his ears and head but he don't stop 'til she kicks him in the balls.”

She was angry, as she often got, but this time she was holding back tears. Joey was 17, 3 years older than us, built like a grown man. He hung out with guys who were like a gang. I said, “Maybe I could come up behind him . . .”

“That's not why I tol' ya, Terry.” She wasn't angry; she was reassuring me. She knew I wasn't a tough, protective boyfriend. She liked me because I was the opposite. I slid to her side of the milk crate and hugged her. I was worried Joey might have put her off all boys. Maybe she saw it, because she kissed me.

“Let me win the next hand,” I said.

“Fuck the game,” she said. “What you want to ask me?”

It was time for us to shift to what we'd known all along we would do. “Can you kiss me for five minutes straight?”

“Neither of us got a watch.”

The train was rattling by. “Kiss me until the next train goes by.”

She sat in my lap and wrapped her legs around me. It was a long time before the sound of the next train, giving us plenty of time to kiss. After a year being together, we'd evolved an unspoken agreement—clothes stay on, and I can touch everywhere with my hands. She was still wearing her school clothes, blouse and skirt. (Girls had been permitted to wear pants to school for years, but Colleen's parents were old-fashioned—convenient for me.) I undid the buttons to her blouse, and reached around and unhooked her bra, leaving it loose on her shoulders. Her skirt had ridden up around her hips. As we kissed, she took my hands in hers and pulled them around, behind her back. This was her signal. Still kissing, I undid my shoelace and wrapped it around her wrists, tying them behind her. Colleen knew it thrilled me to make out with her while she was tied up. I now think she liked being tied not because it turned her on, but because she could drop the tough girl exterior she kept up at home, school, and in the streets. She could be gentle, yielding, and vulnerable, the part of her no one saw but me.

I slid my hands up and down her back, her breasts and abdomen, under her panties, squeezed, caressed. She would push me back and lay on top of me, or we lay side by side, or I sat behind her, just hugging her. When she became excited, she'd squeeze me with her legs, press her chest against mine, thrust her tongue deep in my throat, breathe hard on my neck. Other times we'd break down giggling. Most of all, Colleen liked to be held, tightly. We never went all the way; never thought about it. We were exploring. We felt safe together.

As an adult, I learned how much work it is to build a trusting relationship, while Colleen and I as kids grew close naturally, through talking, touching, and tie up games.
AlexUSA3
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Post by AlexUSA3 »

When I read your tales, it's always with a childish smile in one eye and a tear in the other.

Her own cousin... damn... right in front of his sister even.
CGC Short Stories (F+f+/F+f+): viewtopic.php?f=8&t=20527
Find my other CGC Stories in the same link above!

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calebtras
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Post by calebtras »

My Colleen stories are a way to retrieve a fond memory almost lost in the fog of the past, reconstruct it, and re-experience it. Glad you enjoy it.
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Canuck100
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Post by Canuck100 »

Lovely story, once again.
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