Everyone winning except for the host. Picking up his cards, looking at them, weighing them up, laying a big bet. The game proceeding. All folding, save the host and one other. The cards laid down. The host losing. No more money, time to stop, let’s go home.
The host begging, one more hand. The others inquiring, where’s your money? Don’t have any. Then don’t waste our time. The host raising his hand, hold on a moment. Taking his wife aside, whispering. Returning to the table. Lend me a hundred, if I lose it my wife says you can have her for an hour.
First hand, a win for the host. His face lifting, I told you my luck would change. Thereafter, steady losses, steady slugs of gin. After a while, the money finished. The host rising, hardly able to stand, moving to an armchair, collapsing on to it, muttering.
The wife looking at us. Well, I guess I’ll be having some sex tonight, it’s about time. Coming toward us, stroking the cheek of one, feeling the crotch of another. Men’s hands feeling her body, pulling her blouse over her head, unbuttoning her jeans, pulling them down.
The man in the armchair twitching, half-awake, still lost in cardplay, his wife’s activities a mere distraction. She naked on her back widthways on the now empty table, naked men standing round her. Her head backwards over the table’s edge, mouth upside down round a player’s cock. Across the table, her legs spread, a man’s face between them, licking.
After a while, the men changing places, the wife repositioning. Different cocks in different holes, a crazy rotation. The man on the armchair stirring, rising up, lurching to the table, trying to find the gin bottle, muttering, returning to the armchair. His wife’s face and breasts and hips now glazed with sperm, her fingers tracing patterns in it.
A police siren on the road outside. Waking up with a start. A minute passing. The night now quiet. The wife and the kitchen and the dream, gone.
