Me and my buddy like to go
the bars and pickup one girl to bring home for sex. It's a system, he's the bait, the charming one with the easy laugh who buys the drinks and makes her feel like the only person in the room. I'm the closer, the quiet one who hangs back.Once we find a willing participant, we bring her back to our place. We'll have drinks, put on some music, and then my buddy will just nod at me from across the room. That's my cue. I'll sit down next to her, and we'll start the pitch. It's always the same: "We have a friendly competition. We like to see who can make a woman... happier. No pressure, but you're the judge."
Some girls laugh it off and think we are kidding. Some get offended. But every now and then, we find one that's totally down for it. It's usually the drunk ones.
What follows is not an orgy. It's a performance. My buddy will go first, and I'll watch, learning her tells, seeing what makes her gasp, what makes her back arch. Then it's my turn. I'll take what I learned and build on it, trying to one-up him, to elicit a louder moan, a harder shudder. It's a silent, sweaty contest of skill and stamina. The girl isn't just a participant; she's the prize. She gets to lie back and be pleasured by two men who are trying their absolute best to impress her. And when it's all over, we'll look at her and ask, "So? Who won?" Her answer is the only trophy that matters.