On My Way Up

Then one time we went to study together at the local library. Something a lot of people don't know is that most big libraries have private study rooms for serious researchers. Gina could coax a cat to give up a sardine and we wound up with one on the top floor - big windows with a big view, a long desk running under them and three chairs. We set up our books and laptops and were soon far into a joint essay.

We had a great history teacher. Mr Prudhome would allow you to take almost any position provided you could back it up with coherent argument and cite good references and sources. 'The Effectiveness of the Kellogg-Briand Pact' was never going to win any prizes for interesting but it was the sort of thing a couple of serious nerds could sink their teeth into.

I was pleased with our progress and all too aware of Gina sitting next to me. She smelled good. I didn't know what it was at the time; all I knew is that it was more than soap. I could also {see} she was also happy about the work - and both hesitant and excited at being alone with me behind closed doors. We were both pretty shy, but I had dreams, of course. On impulse, I leaned over and kissed those sweet, wide lips for a second.

"Thanks," I said softly. "You're great to work with."

Her eyes opened wide and she licked her lips, a pointy pink tongue-tip just visible. Then I got another thousand-Watt smile and could {see} that she had seriously enjoyed that brief kiss.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Gran used to say. I swept my hand behind her head, pulled her slowly and gently in towards me. She didn't resist. Instead, she leaned into me with a brilliant smile. That second kiss was much longer and grew more passionate with every breath. To my surprise, her lips opened to my tongue and hers probed behind my own lips. My blood pressure shot up.

As did something else, of course.

I've said I was lacking in experience and that's absolutely true. I was as uncertain as any young virgin male. And I couldn't drill down far enough into her mind to {read} things like, I wish he'd nibble my earlobes, but I could certainly tell when something was pleasing her. That gave me, I guess, a real advantage over the average kid in his first serious make-out sessions.

For such it was. It was me who peeled off her blouse, but it was Gina who saved me the classic teen anguish of fumbling with her bra. Her hands fiddled for a second behind her back and then came forward, pulling the strap with them. She paused, her hands over her breasts to cover her nipples. I could {see} a bit of worry - embarrassment, concern I wouldn't like them. Silly thought - men always like boobs.

I eased her hands out of my way with my own, covering her sweet globes. I gently played with them and {watched} her excitement grow. Obviously, I was on the right track.

I broke the extended kiss and pulled back to examine those precious gems. Firm, sitting high on her chest and with dark areolae, I thought they were perfect.

"Beautiful!" I breathed and {saw} her emotions change for the better. I leaned down and gave each nipple a soft kiss. Her breath hissed in. Her hands pulled my shirt off and we had our first bare-chest hug. I thought it was the most wonderful moment in my life. It's a sad reflection on our culture that 95% of us get 'way too little skin-to-skin time in our lives.

I noticed that Gina kept glancing at the door, so I pushed a chair up against it; it wouldn't block it but would give us time to hold it shut if somebody came. At the same time, I {eased} her worry, just a little. While the staff might have been pissed if we had been discovered and while we might have been barred in future, we were both 18 and legal as could be.

When I turned back from the door, she'd already dropped her panties.

I was amazed. Even being able to {read} her as I could, her eagerness was still surprising. Needless to say, I was hard as a rock. I knelt in front of her and kissed her navel, gently. She wiggled happily. I ran my tongue down her abdomen, pausing when I had passed her carefully-trimmed patch of black curls.

"You don't mind that I didn't...?" she whispered.

"Why would I mind?" I replied softly. "It's you - I love you and I love everything about you." My hands slid slowly up her thighs. When they reached her womanhood, I parted her lips just a bit, rotated my thumbs to massage her pretty bits.

She was the first woman I had actually smelled and I was entranced. Her scent was sweet, exotic and immensely arousing. Her legs were still together when I reached out with my tongue. She shuffled, leaned back against the desk, moved her legs apart. I leaned forward and gave a tentative lick. I could hear her sigh and {see} her pleasure.

Reaching under her legs, I lifted her up to sit on the desk. I ran my tongue up her inner right thigh, then her left, then for my first time, tasted that wonderful dew. I had no experience, but I wasn't lacking in ambition.

Gina helped, guiding my head and fingers. My tongue swirled around and around her pearl, back and forth along her lady lips. I could hear her excitement and remember hoping nobody was in the stacks outside. Suddenly she gave a low roar and pulled my head tight against her, quivering in her delight.

Her pleasure was so strong it almost exploded my brain. I could {feel} every spasm inside her, feel her, my - no, our - breasts pulsing. Not in all my furtive youthful experiments had an orgasm ever felt so good - and this was somebody else's.

Be damned - so that's how it's done! I think she liked that.

Then, Well, shit - so did I!

In a minute or two, she released my head and I leaned back on my heels to grin at her. Her face was flushed, her nipples swollen. Her eyes were closed and I could see the pulse in her neck, ten to a dozen. Eventually she opened her eyes. A soft smile came across her face, a look of utter contentment.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I want you," I whispered back.

"I want you, too," she replied. "Did you bring...?"

I hesitated. "Um, no. I thought you were..."

"No."

"Damn!"

A look of dismay crossed her face and she roused herself from her relaxation. Standing up, she took my hand and pulled me to the middle of the carpeted floor, guiding me to lie down. Awaiting developments, as they say, I cooperated and lay back with my head in my hands.

My beautiful, wonderful girl knelt on either side of my legs. I could see wetness on her lower lips and could {feel} a touch of embarrassment, of hesitation, of uncertainty in her mind. It had been my first time and was pretty certain it was hers, too.

I smiled up at her. "Whatever you do will be fine by me, sweetheart."

I could {see} her love, confidence and anticipation grow.

Her hands fumbled with my belt and I lifted myself on heels and shoulders as she tugged down my underwear and jeans. My woody popped loose, stiff enough that it bounced at bit, like a mother wagging her finger at a truant toddler.

Gina giggled. Then her face turned serious and she reached out towards it. Her hand stopped just short. Uncertainty was plain on her face. Then she reached out to hold it halfway up the shaft.

I sighed and smiled. "Go ahead," I encouraged her. "It's all good. Feel free to explore."

She smiled and her fingers began to slide up and down, squeezing the different parts.

"That's so cool!" she murmured. She squeezed, fairly hard. "Does that hurt?"

"No. It actually feels pretty good. Try pulling your hand up and down."

She smiled and did so.

Let's get something straight. I'm embarrassed about what happened next, but hardly ashamed. It was my first time and, like any 18-year-old boy, the phrase 'hair trigger' had my photograph posted beside it.

Not more than ten strokes later, I groaned and came. Most landed on my chest and stomach, but some hit her on the face. As she sat back hurriedly, millions of potential Me's oozed off her face and onto her boobs. I found it very exciting.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm kind of new at this."

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Is it usually like this?"

"Um..."

"I think you enjoyed it, though?" she grinned.

"Oh, yes!"

After, of course, we had no tissues to clean up with. I had to donate my socks. Gross, but what are you going to do in an emergency?

OK, so it wasn't something out of a best-seller. It was our start and we both thought we'd done very well.

* * * * *

The hardest part of getting a college education wasn't going to be getting accepted (I had a 3.8 GPA), it was how to pay for it. Gran had kept me fed and dressed, but four years of university simply wasn't there. Even a couple of scholarships were not enough. So I cheated and took up poker.

OK, I didn't really cheat. Let's say I gained 20 years of experience really, really quickly. Remember that old song about the gambler? "Son, I've made a life out of readin' people's faces, knowin' what the cards were by the way they held their eyes." One of the reasons a good gambler wins is because he's spent years learning to read his opponents' body language and facial expressions. Sadly, I didn't have that kind of time. I didn't have the money to fund years of poker-playing experience, either.

But being able to {read} the person across a table was just as good. I knew I wouldn't be able see their cards, but I would be able to tell if they were 'happy and confident' versus 'displeased and worried'. It should, I thought, give me an edge previously available to only top-tier gamblers.

I started small, the illicit small-stakes game everybody knew the school jocks played at lunch hour in the change room. They let me in, figuring I'd be an easy mark, a chance for non-physical revenge. I ran up the $7 in my pocket for 20 minutes, building a pile of over $50 on the tiled floor in front of me before I deliberately started losing. The others, who, despite the Fear I had {planted} in their crowd, had been ready to drown me in one of the toilets, grew happier as I lost more and more. Eventually I announced I was skinned and got a round of condescending smiles from the jocks. Jimbo, the football team quarterback, mockingly told me to come back when I got some more money and they'd show me how to play poker.

I thanked him politely and left, leaving them laughing behind me as the door closed. What they didn't realize was that I'd been quietly slipping bills into my pockets during the game. When I got into a stall in the washroom, I counted them and realized I was $32 of their money to the good.

OK, that wasn't anything even remotely like tuition money, but I was satisfied that I could {read} myself into a fair pile of money, given half a chance. And the jocks? None of them could count past ten with their pants zipped anyway...

.

I found a way to fake my way into the casino at the local reserve. Technically speaking I was still underage for the tables, but the operators didn't care all that much and didn't look that carefully. That first evening, I took a Coke to a low-stakes poker table and left with just over $300 in my pockets.

I started going back at least once a week and made sure I left visibly broke sometimes. I wanted to build up a reputation as a new player, but a lucky one, one who learned quickly.

I never bothered altering anybody's mood. I figured that would be really unethical (yeah, me, ethics, go figure) but more importantly, it was more or less unnecessary. However well they controlled their poker faces, emotions inside them surged with each card - hope, exultation, disappointment, greed, fear. Between those and knowing some basic probability for the flop, I might as well have been looking over their shoulders - pretty much like a life-long poker sharp could do.

It worked. It wasn't long before I was playing for higher stakes and winning far more often than not. One night a couple of months later, I noticed three guys standing behind me. One was a sour-faced little weasel; the other two were just big. I figured the three of them for casino staff and that turned out to be the right guess. {Reading} them, the two big clowns were thicker than a pair of Labrador retriever pups with full bellies and were obviously just muscle. The little guy however was sharp - damned sharp. I could {read} suspicion, curiosity and well-leashed aggression. It didn't take me long to figure out that he was trying to work out how - or if - I was cheating.

I {dialed down} his negative emotions and {spun up} a little bit of admiration, sympathy and respect. Knowing that there had to be cameras, I made sure to keep my hands above the table, deal cleanly and so forth while still winning.

It must have worked, because he eventually left satisfied. In the next couple of weeks, the other staff came to see me as a bit of a minor in-house celebrity. I even got a nickname among the regular players. I should've been ready for 'The Kid', given my age, but it was irritating. I found it condescending but took some consolation in the fact that the players who mocked me the most were also the ones sending the most money home with me.

In due course, I got an entourage, I guess you'd call it, a fan club. People started lingering to watch me play. I even got some applause from time to time, which was altogether a new experience.

It turned out that the casino management was very pleased to have me winning regularly. Seeing somebody else win big always makes a poor player think his luck is about to turn if he just starts betting big. And the casino was taking its percentage whoever won, so that was cool, too.

So, it worked out and I got a reputation. I was careful to bank most of my winnings and actually hired an accountant to deal with taxes - no way was I going to trip over some basket of government audit toads. I was honest with Gran, to some extent. I didn't tell her about the Power but told her I had a system and was winning. I promised to play only out of winnings and, after a curious look, she agreed.

.

Gina and I both got accepted at the state college. We both had the marks to go to a big-name university, but decided to stick close to home, for financial reasons if nothing else.

I was spending one night a week financing my education at the poker table and had lots of time for my studies at the college. Those I couldn't fake my way around, but I had already learned how to study and the competition was pretty lame, now that I think of it. My grades kept improving and I found myself on the Dean's Honor Roll.

Things jumped a step when the casino manager asked to talk to me one evening. He said they were thinking of starting an open high-stakes poker tournament and would I be interested in competing? Now, this guy wasn't some brainless high school jock. He was damned smart - and ruthless as hell. He also knew, probably to the penny, how much I was winning. I said I'd think about it.

Gina and I talked about his invitation. It was her approval that made me tell him the next week that I'd be happy to participate but would need to schedule my availability around my studies and exams. Smiling back, he asked me if Study Week would be convenient. That was three months away and it would indeed be convenient.

It started small, I guess, as these things go. There were only a couple of local reporters, thank God, and only 20 or so players, none of them more than what Hollywood would call B-List. There'd been a bit of publicity and the casino charged a modest admission, knowing that would actually boost attendance. I'd had to dip into my college fund for the $2,500 entrance fee. I think that was the toughest decision I'd ever made.

Within a couple of hours, half the pack had washed out or walked away. {Reading} them, I could tell they were just amateurs, people with more money than skill or common sense.

That evening, I was one of five left. One of the others was an obese slob, food stains on his clothing. His mind was much less untidy however. Shit, this guy was good!

The second was nobody in particular, Mr Average, wearing very ordinary clothes and thick glasses. He seemed really confident for some reason.

Number three was a thug to my eyes. Don't ask me why. He wasn't wearing colors or sporting gang tats, but everything about him sang out 'thug'. {Reading} him, he had a predatory mind.

The fourth at the table was something special. She wasn't as young as she dressed, but she was still very pretty - and turned out to show off a spectacular figure to its best advantage. I had a hard time keeping my eyes off her rack and could {see} the others at the table were equally affected. Her mind radiated amusement and confidence, but I couldn't {see} much evidence that she knew a Jack from a Joker.

I won't go into the details - it's all past-tense anyway. The bimbo I ignored - with considerable difficulty - and the odds caught up with her. Thug got wiped out by the machine-minded slob. I was concerned that he'd do something drastic afterwards, but the big fellow didn't {seem} concerned, so I let it go.

Mr Normal? Well, the security camera tape of my whispering to a security guard to check his eyeglasses has been viewed half a million times online. He and his roving confederate with a hidden camera were escorted out of the place in handcuffs.

In the end, it was down to me vs the fat boy. That game too has been studied and dissected over and over. Put simply, I won and came away with the $25,000 pot. The big guy was $10,000 to the good and left smiling. (No, I hadn't {touched} him, thank you so very much.)

The casino was obviously happy. There'd been a fair audience, most of whom had not only paid to get in, but also ate, drank and - eventually - gambled. It'd be good publicity and the management could've paid the prizes out of the side-take.

It had been my intention to take Gina out to dinner that night, but I was surprised to discover that the casino had comped us a room as part of the prize. We got 'The Bridal Bower', a penthouse suite. I have no idea what Gina told her parents, but I phoned Gran and told her that I'd won and I would be staying the night. She merely warned me not to drink too much.

We set about exploring the first penthouse either of us had ever seen.

The place was massive. I think you could've put Gran's entire house in it. The carpet just about came up to my knees and was as soft as Gina's lips. The suite smelled nice, like something exotic and welcoming. Outside the floor-to-ceiling window was a balcony big enough to hold tag football games on - and a hot tub! I'd never seen such extravagance but figured I could get used to it.

I wondered who could normally afford the price but put that aside with the thought that I could - or would, someday.

Gina never ceased to surprise me. Gina, as usual, was smarter than me and had jumped in with both feet to make the most of the opportunity. When I stopped staring outside, she was standing there dressed in a housecoat that would've paid rent for many houses in town. Its twin was in one hand, held out for me. In the other was a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

I loved this girl.

"Babe, I really need a shower," I said.

"Bubbly first to relax shoulders, then shower, then hot tub," she smiled.

See what I mean about smarter?

I skinned out of my clothes and pulled on the housecoat. She took my hand and led me outside. There were chairs overlooking the dark space between the casino and the city. From our height, we could see the lights of cars on the city freeway, airplanes taxiing on the airport runways in the far distance. And lightning bugs. Down below, there must have been a lightning bug convention; there seemed to be clouds of sparklers drifting around the casino grounds.

It was very peaceful, very quiet - and very romantic.