Mate in Three

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Taking risks has its rewards, both on and off the board.
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alextasy
alextasy
580 Followers

Does he see it?

C'mon. Make your move. Don't look too close. You know you want it. Just take it..

Black rook to C3, takes white bishop. Check.

"Yes!" I yell out loud, punching my fist in the air. "I've got you now, you jerk!"

A shadow falls over me. I look up. A little girl is standing by my beach blanket, watching me curiously in her cute little flowery bathing suit. She has a pretty, round face, sky blue eyes, pink cupid lips, and creamy complexion with bright, rosy cheeks. She looks like me.

My phone dings at me again. Darn it! I've been playing KingKiller99 for over two hours, and my battery is deep in the red. I take a quick scan over the lake. No sign of my boyfriend or my best friend. I remember they said something about going to get a milkshake. How long ago was that?

I steer my endangered knight back toward the center of the board. It looks like a defensive move. At least, I hope that's how he sees it.

I've played this guy before. He's not bad. He knew the sort of damage I can do with my queen, so he went after her early and forced me into a queen trade. I was crippled, and he knew it. From there it's been a war of attrition.

Stealthily, I've been moving my last pawn up the far side. If I can get to the last square and promote the pawn to a queen, KingKiller is dead meat. He's been trying to corner my king for a while on the opposite side of the board. It was a big risk, but if I can keep him distracted, it'll be 'mate in three moves.

He's going for the kill. He has to be careful not to force a draw. I move my king. His rook comes closer. I move my king back. He pauses. He's worried. He has to make a different move soon or he'll have to live with a draw. He hates to draw, and gloats especially snotty when he scores against girls. The jerk.

My phone dings again. No! I've got only a few minutes! Move! Move!

His black knight shifts out of the way. My heart flips. Right where I want him.

Pawn to H7.

He sees it now. One more space, and my lowly, innocent pawn will be promoted to a powerful queen. Instantly, she'll be in position to take either his king or his knight. The move I made earlier puts my own knight in a key position to protect the pawn, threaten his rook, and block his king's escape. He has no hope. I'm exhilarated.

The last thing I see before my phone dies is a message from KingKiller99. He resigns. The grin almost hurts my face.

I run across the sand and jump in the nasty water for a short swim. I know what all these little kiddies do in the lake, because that's what I did at their age. Right now, I'm too hot to care.

Where the heck is Matt? I grumble to myself. After my swim, I dry off and check the Snak Shak, then wander around the amusement park. It's not that big. I should be able to see either him or Jessica. A heaviness settles in my stomach, but I'm not ready to concede my fears.

After packing the towels and lotions into my beach bag, I march off toward the parking lot, figuring I'll wait by his car. When he shows up, I'm going to give him such a piece of my mind. He won't get my hand on his little weenie for a week!

But his car is gone. Any further denial is useless. Standing in the late afternoon sun in the middle of a half-empty parking lot, I drop my head into my hands and bawl like a baby. That mean and selfish boy! Why would he leave me like this? is he trying to teach me a lesson? No, I know why. It's the same reason all boys act so immature. There's only one thing they want. If you don't give it to them, then they'll look for it somewhere else.

Surely my boyfriend wouldn't completely abandon me. When he's 'done' with her, he'll come back. He has to. At least, I think he does. Maybe I shouldn't have been so engrossed in that game with KingKiller.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I lug it out to a shady area by the entrance. Matt can't possible miss me when he drives in. The sun gets lower, a breeze picks up, and I hug myself. It was a warm day, so I only wore a bikini and a sarong. I wrap the cold, still-damp towel around myself. He's still nowhere to be seen. Where can they be? Can it really take this long to - you know?

A low-pitched roar grows in the distance. it gets closer. A pair of thunderously loud motorcycles turn the corner and pull into the lot. The two black-jacketed riders look me up and down as they pass. I turn away, snubbing them and their loathsome leers. I know those two. It's Nick and Pete. They're nothing but trouble. They were a year ahead of me in school, but I think they both flunked a couple of grades. They constantly bullied the younger boys, got caught smoking in the bathroom, and said vile things out loud just to get attention. I was smart enough to stay out of their way.

The motorcycles circle the cars and pull up near the Snak Shak. I remember that the black-haired girl behind the counter had tattoos and wore too much makeup. I figure she's somebody's girlfriend.

"Where are you, Matt?" I scream out loud. It's getting late, and I want to go home! I start weeping pathetically.

The noise of the motorcycles cranking up doesn't interest me, nor do I pay any attention when they roar by me again. But when they both stop and the engines go silent, I jerk my head up. They're both climbing off their saddles. Nick comes toward me with a can of beer.

My head jerks from side to side, searching for a way to escape. I'm sure they could outrun me. A family is walking up the gravel in our direction. Surely the two troublemakers wouldn't try something right out here in the open, where anybody could see. Would they?

Nick asks, "Are you okay?" His resonant voice sounds surprisingly kind. I realize I've never actually talked with either of them.

"Yes," I answer. A sob rolls through me, and I'm forced to admit tearfully, "No! I'm not okay. I want to go home. My phone's dead and my -- my boyfriend drove away with my best friend and her boyfriend, and I don't know where they are."

But I do know what they're doing. Jessica has been doing it for years. She tells me about all of her guys and the nasty things she does with them. She prefers them two or three at a time, their hands and their mouths all over her, their -- their things penetrating her in every way possible. It's disgusting to listen to her, but I can't help but be fascinated by the lewd acts that she describes. I'm ashamed of how excited I get sometimes. I know I shouldn't, but sometimes I lie in my bed at night playing with my privates and pretending that someone is doing those things to me. I would never tell anyone, but those are some of my most satisfying orgasms.

But don't get me wrong. I'm not anything like her. I don't let boys do those terrible things to me. Sure, I don't mind using my hand to play with their little things. If they're good, sometimes I'll use my mouth. But I'm saving my innocence for someone who loves and respects me. And obviously that's not Matt.

"You look cold," Nick says. His deep, warm tone is comforting. He takes his heavy leather jacket off and lays it over my shoulders. "Hey. You're Sara, aren't you?"

I'm shocked. He knows my name? "Uh, yeah."

"Right," he says with a friendly smile. "Sara Wallace. I remember you from school. You're one of the smart ones. Not like Pete over there." He chuckles and nods toward his buddy, who's leaning on the seat of his cycle. Pete flashes an offensive gesture with his finger. Nick says, "You got a bunch of awards, didn't you?"

"Yeah," I grin, suddenly feeling less alone. "Honor Society, Phi Beta Kappa, chess club —"

"Chess club? Wow! Did'ja hear that, Pete?" he calls over his shoulder. "She was a chess prodigy."

"Well, not a prodigy," I admit bashfully. "I'm pretty good. Once I played five games at the same time, and beat all but one of them. That was a draw."

"That's incredible," he says, gaping at me. "You want some beer, Sara?" He offers his can.

"Um, no, I'm not old enough." I've never had any beer. Just a few sips of red wine when Dad handed me his glass. It was sour and disgusting.

He smiles and whispers with a wink, "I won't tell if you don't."

Maybe I've underestimated Nick. He's being so nice to me. It seems like an insult not to accept his offer.

I take a couple of sips. It's not bad. Sort of like water with flavoring in it. The alcohol makes it taste a little off, but I think I could get used to it. It's not nearly as yucky as the wine.

When I hand it back to him, he refuses. "You can finish that off, Sara." He reaches into his leather saddle bags and pulls out one for himself and another that he tosses to Pete.

We roll into a conversation about school, and he quickly has me laughing about some of the pranks he played. Releasing a live snake in Mrs. Bishop's biology class. Tossing a water balloon to a football player while he was trying to catch a pass. Stealing a bottle of laughing gas and piping it into principal Roy's office during a staff meeting. I'm holding my stomach, it hurts so bad.

While I listen to his wild life, I begin to notice Nick the man. His deep, blue eyes are intense. They seem to always be laughing. His untamed jet-black hair looks wet, no doubt greasy and sweaty from his helmet. Still, something about it seems sexy. A manly growth of dark stubble lines the sharp angles of his face. All the boys I've dated still look they have baby fat and peach fuzz. Not Nick. He's hard all over, with dark, sunbaked skin. His expressive hands fly around as he talks. They're so big.

He tells me about the places they've been on their 'bikes', as he calls them -- riding the coast of California, up into the wilds of western Canada where they lived with the Eskimos for a while, hunting grizzly bears and elk. After that, they rode south again. The passion in his voice makes me almost see the rugged Badlands and the majestic views from the Rockies.

His stories about their adventures dealing with the drug cartels down in Mexico start my heart pumping. Getting chased and shot at, arrested by the police who only wanted a payoff. Then there was the ride in a real helicopter to meet the big boss, listening to the Mexican thugs joking about pushing them out when he wasn't sure if it was a joke. I can't help but laugh again at the crazy ways they used to sneak drugs past the border guards.

My beer is empty. Nick takes the can from me and crushes it. His hand is huge. I've never seen such a hand, so dark and rugged. He holds the can lengthwise between his thumb and fingers. The cylinder crumples in his powerful, tanned grip. I wince at the slow creaking of the metal giving way. When the can is reduced to a disk slightly thicker than my phone, he tosses it to Pete and offers me another beer.

"Uh, I don't think I should." The truth is that I do want one. I'm acquiring a taste for it. But I can imagine what my Dad would say if I stumbled through the door smelling like a brewery.

I'm vacillating when Nick pushes the beer into my hand and says, "Tell me about Sara Wallace's life."

I'm embarrassed. After listening to Nick's spine-tingling accounts, there's not much to say about my dull, suburban life. But he listens intently to my lame recollections of high school and how excited I am to be going to State next year. He even laughs at my silly misadventures, like the panic of getting lost while canoeing with my family, only to discover they were only a few hundred feet away, waiting for me. I realize that I haven't lived. I've hardly been out of the state. Except for Nick and Pete, I don't know anybody who would ever get in a knife fight or willingly come face-to-face with a grizzly.

The most breathless times of my life have been playing chess. I'm fearless. That's how I've won so many times. I take risks, making unexpected moves in hopes I might lure my opponent's attentions away from my true intent the way I did today. Admittedly, they're calculated risks. I mean, it's just a game. So what if I lose? But the thrill I get when my adversary realizes that they're trapped is intoxicating.

Before I know it, I'm handing my new friend another empty can to crush. I watch in awe, gaping at the brutish power in those leathery hands. My wicked mind envisions how they would feel, pressing my bosoms or touching me in my most private places. The few boys I've met who have a clue about a woman's anatomy have been too timid. Their fingers always tease me as if I were a fragile, china doll. Somehow I'm certain that Nick's touch would not be teasing, and that thought incites a strange, churning desire deep in my belly.

I chuckle to myself. This isn't chess. I wouldn't dare act on such dangerous urges. I've been around enough boys to know how something like that could get out of hand. Especially in my current condition.

The beer has left me lightheaded and woozy. The parking lot is nearly empty. It looks like that jerk Matt isn't coming back for me. Maybe they'll let me borrow a phone at the Snak Shak to call my Dad. He's not going to be happy when he finds out what I've gotten myself into. Since I graduated, I've been trying to prove to him that I'm an adult and can take care of myself. This is not going to help my cause. I bite my lip to keep from crying.

"What's the matter Sara?" Nick asks, laying his big, comforting hand on my shoulder.

"I -- I need to go home," I whine. "My Dad's gonna' be really mad if he has to come all the way out here to get me."

Nick's tanned fingers stroke through my silky blonde hair. "Don't cry, Sara. Everything's gonna' be just fine. We'll give you a ride home."

I stare anxiously at the motorcycles. I've heard how dangerous they can be.

"Uh, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

But Pete's already zipping up my bag and hooking it over the tall chrome bar at the back of Nick's motorcycle.

"Everything's gonna' be just fine, Sara," Nick says again. Something in his soft, low voice and smooth manner ease my concerns.

Maybe I can take a small risk.

After tightening the helmet under my chin, he deftly pulls off my sarong.

"Nick!" I squeal, vainly trying to cover my near-nudity with crossed hands.

He laughs, and I feel foolish. I mean, it's a not like I'm stark naked. It's a bathing suit.

Then his face turns serious. He holds up the flimsy sarong. "You wouldn't this to get wound up in the spokes, would you Sara?"

"Oh. No, I -- I guess not." He's right. He's looking out for me. I should trust him.

He helps me get my arms into his thick leather jacket. I like this jacket. It smells like a man. I'm trying to figure out how to get my leg over the leather seat when Nick lifts me around the waist and sets me down on the cycle. My heart thumps faster. Even through the jacket I could feel the virility emanating from those mighty hands.

He climbs on and cranks up the engine. I feel the raw energy underneath me, and I begin to understand the allure. It's like the horse that I always begged for, but my parents would never give me.

"Hold tight," Nick says, pulling my hands around his waist. He guns the motor and we blast away, tires spitting dust and gravel behind us.

The G-forces threaten to jerk me off the back, so I wrap my arms around Nick's belly, only to find hard, rippling muscles underneath my hands. I turn my face to lay it flat against his back, protecting myself from the wind. He smells of oil and dirt and sweat. I inhale his musky scent and hang on tighter, enjoying the feel of his lean, gristled body. My inebriated brain is giddy. I love the way my long hair is waving in the breeze. When I close my eyes, I'm flying.

My bare legs are freezing, so I squeeze them against his narrow hips. Then I feel Nick's warm, rough hand clasp my leg, just above my knee. Yes! His fingers reach nearly all the way around. I hug him tighter, letting my fingertips explore the contours of his belly. He hits the gas and I scream, laughing as we shoot into orbit, passing Pete in a blur of white lines and landscape.

I'm leaning forward, using Nick's body to block the bitter cold wind. The intense thrum of the loud engine growling between my legs reverberates through the leather saddle. My butt scoots back on the seat just an inch or so, I arch my back, and there -- yes, right there -- the vibrations hit my most sensitive little spot. My bottom grows warmer. Liquid seeps between my lower lips, like when I get myself excited at home. Stealthily, so as not to clue Nick in to what I'm doing, I move my chest from side to side, rubbing my stiff nipples against his back. With Nick's hard, sweaty body squeezed against my breasts, the feel of his powerful muscles under my hands and his firm grip on my leg, I've never felt so aroused. The exhilaration of the world whizzing by at light speed and that marvelous rumble between my legs are rocketing me toward an orgasm faster than I've ever experienced.

Suddenly Nick lets go of my leg. He waves his hand in the air, and the motorcycle slows. I was so close. So close. Just a minute more, and I would have been done. It's unbelievably frustrating.

He turns onto a small dirt road through a corn field. This isn't the way to my house.

"Where are we going?" I shout over the low clamor of the engine.

"Pete needs to pee," he yells back.

We had passed a couple of fast food places a few miles back. Why couldn't he go there?

The road gets more narrow, with tall weeds down the middle and so near on the sides that they're brushing my legs. Small trees overhang the old beaten path. Pete could do his business on any of them. How far do we have to go?

Finally, we pull into a wide glen. They park their bikes and talk quietly between themselves for a few seconds. This is the first time I've seen them side-by-side. Nick is big, but he's lean and sinewy. Pete is gigantic. He's probably three or four inches taller than Nick, and he's built like a bear. His arms are nearly the size of my thighs.

I wait on the saddle. This shouldn't take but a minute. Maybe I can finish what I was doing before I get home. Pete wanders off into the woods. Nick returns, his slender butt leaning against the seat. What a nice butt. From a packet, he pulls out a small piece of paper, sprinkles some tobacco from a small plastic bag, and starts rolling a cigarette.

The evening light is dimmer, but without all that wind I feel warm. I take off the jacket and hang it on that chrome thing in the back.

"Is he gonna' be long?" I ask, a little petulantly.

"Pete's been drinking for a while. It may take him a few minutes. He's been known to stock up for a whole day before letting go."

I snicker.

Nick opens the saddle bag and takes out another beer. "Want one?"

"No," I answer. I hope I won't have time to drink it.

He shrugs and pops the top. "Suit y'self."

He lights up the cigarette and takes a deep puff, holds it, and then slowly releases the smoke. It doesn't stink like any cigarette I've ever smelled. It has a warm, musky odor. Nick offers it to me.

"No thanks," I tell him. "I don't smoke cigarettes."

"Me neither. I quit after my Dad died of cancer. This is the only stuff I smoke now."

The meaning begins to dawn on me. "Is that -- marijuana?"

He nods. "Good stuff. Grew it myself. Ever tried it?"

"No. I've never done any drugs."

"Except alcohol. And probably antihistamines. Maybe some anesthetic or nitrous at the dentist."

"Those were good drugs."

He snickers. "Drugs don't get much better than this."

Taking another long puff, he blows a cloud into the air. It does smell surprisingly good, sort of like the mesquite that Dad uses on his grill.

Nick gives me a penetrating stare. "You've never had much of a life, have you Sara Wallace?"

"I -- I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do," he says with a sly grin.

He's right. I know exactly what he means. I've spent my whole life in a bubble, coddled and protected, and constantly lectured on the dangers of acting recklessly. Nick and Pete? They've taken extraordinary risks and lived a hundred more lives than I can imagine. What is the quote? "A coward dies a thousand deaths...?" Now I'm finally an adult. A whole exciting world is out there waiting for me, and I'm too scared to take the first step. I want to travel. I want to climb mountains. I want to dive into an ocean and watch a shark swim by. I want to take chances. I want a life.

alextasy
alextasy
580 Followers