Game On!

For a long time, I stood concealed in a dark corner. The bar staff were becoming frenzied as they ran back and forth, trying to keep pace with the sudden influx of customers. I could hear the hiss of gas escaping as pints were poured, the rushing sound as liquid hit the bottom of the glass and foamed up. This segment of time was important to me, the part of the evening where I was unnoticed. It gave me a chance to quietly observe the crowd and gauge their mood before their attentions were turned on me.

As time passed, the air around me became thick and oppressive as the punters gradually moved away from the bar and approached. I was assailed by the smells of differing aftershaves and toothpaste, overlaid by the odour of dampness emanating from their clothing. Despite the now overwhelming noise of the busy club, I could still hear their whispers as they came closer. Shameless they discussed my attributes, not just my physical appearance but pre-judging me with comments on potential performance.

Suddenly the spotlights were turned on. It was time.

I waited in mounting excitement, for her hand to reach out for me. This was my favourite part, the anticipation of foreplay. As she grasped my shaft, I heard her whisper, “C’mon baby – we can do it! You and me - the perfect partnership!” Nothing mattered to me now, other than the next crucial move. My senses heightened at the long awaited friction on my tip, light strokes at first but quickly increasing in intensity. I was swept to the precipice of ecstasy and pulled back as the pressure subsided.

Her thumb and forefinger encircled my girth and casually slid up and down my length. As I focussed on what was to come, the clamour of the watching crowd gradually dimmed to a faint hum.

Gone was the gentle touch - she was gripping so hard that I could actually feel the pulse deep within her flesh. I was incapable of resisting as she decisively positioned me. Then, Wham! It was Game On!

As I slammed into the white ball, which in turn dispersed the triangle of red and yellow, I could hear the roars of approval. As the kisses rained down, I preened inwardly basking in the adoration and praise bestowed on me.

Whoosh, I flew through the air, knocking the chalk from the table edge as I was whipped upwards and held aloft as if a trophy. She pranced around the pool table celebrating her opening move, playing to her audience. At first, I was happy to be carried along on the wave of euphoria but soon, realisation dawned on what had just happened. Every fibre of my being cried out but I was unable to intervene, unable to stop the disaster which would surely follow.

Shot followed shot and my fears became fact. Her confident grip slackened, her earlier assurance faltered as she mis-cued again and again. I felt the rush of wetness against me as her palms started to sweat. This along with the tremor in her hand was no small indication of her mounting frustration.

As her opponent potted the black – I was thrown back into the corner – sworn perfection to rejection in one fell swoop. As I lay discarded amongst the other pool cues, I replayed events in my mind and despite my grief, felt a flicker of renewed exquisite delight as I remembered the earlier attention to my tip. However, this was quickly tempered as my gaze fell on the chalk, lying forgotten on the floor where it had been trampled underfoot during the premature victory dance around the table.

Chalk, my other half, was central to my well-being. We were the true partnership. His continued application and support were key to my power and capability. Without his help and recognition, fulfilment would always be denied.