T.J. walked away and Carter laughed as he read the rules out loud.
"Rule number one: P.O.R.N. is more fun with friends, invite them. Otherwise, you just look pitiful engaging in P.O.R.N. alone. Rule number two: Sharp objects should never be used in P.O.R.N. Poking someone's eye out will ruin the moment. Rule number three: Sneak attacks or "back door action" must come with advanced warnings or have prior approval. Rule number four: Only two balls allowed in play at all times to avoid ball-confusion, unless approved by the judges. Rule number five: P.O.R.N. is over when the other player(s) say it's over. Otherwise, someone is left holding useless balls."
Yes, sometimes I act like a twelve-year-old boy. Don't judge me.
"So what exactly does P.O.R.N. stand for and how do I get in on this action?" Carter asked with wag of his eyebrows.
"Well, the official title is Pong Organization Rules and Notices. But sometimes we shorten it to 'throwing shit at each other.' Frankly, I'm not sure you can handle P.O.R.N., Carter. It's an intense game of skill, determination and craftiness," I explained with a grin as I took the ball from his hand, turned quickly and whipped it across the bar to hit T.J. square in the ass as he was wiping down one of the tables.
"MOTHER FUCK!" T.J. yelled.
"It's all about being talented with your hands really," I said as I turned back around to face Carter.
I have absolutely no idea where this boldness shit was coming from. I felt like I was channeling Liz.
"Don't worry, Claire, I'm pretty good with my hands. I have a feeling I'd be excellent at P.O.R.N. It's all about how you angle your fingers and the stroke you use…when throwing the ball. Sometimes you have to do it slow and gentle, and other times you have to do it hard and fast."
Sweet baby innuendos, Batman.
"What time do you get off?"
In about ten seconds.
"Not until one. I have to close by myself tonight," I told him while I squeezed my thighs together and thought about his fingers stroking and pushing and hard and fast and gentle and…fuck!
"Can I just wait here while you work? I can help you close up and we can talk…or whatever," he said as he stared at my lips.
YES! Holy shitballs mother of YES! Yes, yes, fuck yes!
"Yeah, whatever," I said with a shrug as I walked away to stock the beer cooler and stick my vagina in there to cool it down.
13. Quivering Loins
For the next couple of hours I stared at Claire’s ass – er, I mean watched her work and chatted with her when she had a few seconds.
I also became a proud member of Team P.O.R.N. when I managed to throw a ping pong ball that ricocheted off of T.J.’s head and hit Claire in the tits. There was talk of making me the team captain after that one. Claire told me I really knew how to handle my balls, and I started to wonder if I was turning more than a little pervy by the fact that it turned me on whenever she said "balls."
I wonder what it would take to get her to say "cock?"
T.J. walked by just then, untying his apron and stowing it under the bar. I probably should have felt a little jealous at the fact that he was a good looking guy and he got to be in close proximity to Claire all the time, but watching them interact just made me laugh. They were like brother and sister with the way the shoved each other, threw insults back and forth and tattled to anyone who would listen. As a result, I decided I liked T.J. and I didn't have to kill him.
"Hey, T.J., do me a favor. Get Claire to say ‘cock’ and I'll give you twenty bucks."
"Deal," he said automatically before turning away from me.
All of the patrons were gone and Claire had just switched on the "closed" sign and was in the process of walking back from the front door.
"Hey, Claire, remember that one guy who came in here a few months ago, smacked your ass and called you Cutie Claire? What was it you called him?"
"A cocksucker," she replied distractedly as she got back behind the bar and began organizing bottles.
With a dreamy smile on my face, I slid a twenty across the bar to T.J. and he walked away. This was going to be a beautiful friendship. If he could get her to say, "Fuck me hard Carter," I might buy him a pony.
T.J. said good-bye and walked out the door while Claire finished straightening up. After a few minutes, she came around the corner of the bar and sat down next to me on a stool.
"You look exhausted," I told her as she rested her chin in her hand and let out a sigh.
"Is that a nice way of telling me I look like shit?" she teased.
"Absolutely not. If you looked like shit, I'd tell you. I would also tell you if the jeans you're wearing make your ass look big, if something you cooked tasted like it came from the bottom of my shoe or if a joke you told was not funny at all."
"Wow, that's very kind of you," she said with a laugh.