Sexual Insanity

Entry Seven: King's Game

Author's Note:  I wrote this in July - I don't know where I was going with it.  I wanted to post it here to see what you guys thought.  It's another Younger Man/Older Woman type story influenced by all my late nights watching anime.  Tell me what you think!

See, this is the problem with being the only old lady in a sea of younger co-horts.

When you’re all out, drinking and having a good time, there comes a point when something happens that makes you realize how you’re too old for all this crap.  Even though there are those that would argue that the age of thirty-three is nowhere near the threshold of “old age”, it’s still old enough when you’ve got all of your classmates taking shots like their water, and one particularly young man demanding that we play a little something called “Osamu Gae-mu”.

Translation - he wants us to play “The King Game”.

You jerk.

I forgive you if you’ve never heard of the King Game.  The only reason why I’m aware of it is due to my knowledge of Japanese culture - and those late nights in my late twenties playing various Anime episodes.  Basically, it’s the Japanese version of “Truth or Dare”.  We all grab a different slip of paper - one has the word “king” on it, and the others are number.  The king gets to give out any orders he or she desires to the number they call out.  Then the slips are mixed up again, and the next round gets a new king, with the orders becoming more and more racy (because we’re supposed to get drunker and drunker with each passing round).

If they think that someone like me is meant to play games like this, I’m afraid they don’t know me at all.

This old maid should have stayed at home with her cat.

I’m not allowed to escape from this wild, intoxicated debauchery, though.  Oh no, I’m not allowed to be a “party pooper”.  I may be the oldest in this cohort, but I am still part of the group, and they must do all they can to include me in this night of craziness.  I may feel like the odd one out, but they all see me as “one of the guys”.

“Avery,” they said.  

“You’re always being left alone,” they said.

“You’re our friend, too,” they said.

“You have to come out and have fun with us,” they said.

“No,” is what I said...but they didn’t listen to me.

So here we are, drawing random straws, wondering who will be the “King” this time around.  We’re five rounds in now, and so far, all the previous kings have ignored me.  So far, it’s been random licentiousness at its finest.  Boys kissing girls, girls kissing girls, boys...pretending to kiss other boys, and of course, shot after shot after shot after beer glass.  And while I am very happy to be ignored, I can’t shake this growing anxiety in the pit of my stomach that warns me that this is gentle calm before the lecherous storm.

Doesn’t help that he’s been eyeing me all night...but I’ll get to that in a minute.  Just know that I don’t like that he’s watching me, because it makes me feel things I shouldn’t be feeling for some seven years my junior.