Bowling Bonanza
"A gutter ball leads to a hole-in-one with the fit blonde from the next lane"
Hollywood Bowl on a Saturday night was a warzone. Kids' birthday parties, competitive couples, and lads on the pull pretending they were actually here to bowl.
I was firmly in the last category.
Our lane was next to a group of girls—hen do, based on the sashes and the penis straws in their drinks. Most of them were focused on the bride-to-be, but one blonde kept looking over.
She was fit. Properly fit. Long blonde hair, athletic build, tight jeans and a cropped jumper showing a strip of toned stomach. And she could bowl—every roll a strike or near-strike.
"Stop staring," my mate Dave muttered. "It's creepy."
"I'm admiring her technique."
"Sure you are."
The blonde chose that moment to catch me looking. Instead of being weird about it, she grinned.
"Need some tips?" she called over. "Your last ball went in the gutter."
"I'm playing a long game."
"A shit game, more like." She walked over to our lane, crossed her arms. "I'm Jess. You're terrible at bowling."
"Ryan. And I'm choosing to be terrible. Strategically."
"Strategic failure. Love that." She nodded at my lane. "Bet I can beat you. Best of three frames. Loser buys drinks."
"What's in it for me if I win?"
She leaned closer, voice dropping. "Whatever you want."
I lost. Spectacularly. But Jess seemed to enjoy her victory drinks.
"You weren't even trying," she accused, sipping her WKD Blue. "You definitely threw that last ball into the gutter on purpose."
"Maybe I just wanted to buy you a drink."
"Could've just asked."
"Where's the fun in that?"
She laughed, bumped her shoulder against mine. "You're alright, Ryan. Terrible at bowling, but alright."
"High praise."
"Don't get used to it." She finished her drink, stood. "Come on. I want to play air hockey. And maybe see if there's somewhere more private in this place."
"For what?"
"Use your imagination."
The "somewhere more private" turned out to be the disabled toilet near the arcade. Not glamorous, but it had a lock and no queue.
"I don't usually do this," Jess said, even as she pushed me against the door.
"Do what?"
"Pick up strange men at bowling alleys." She was working at my jeans. "But you're fit and I'm horny and my mate's getting married tomorrow so this is my last night of freedom."
"Solidarity fucking?"
"Something like that." She dropped to her knees. "Now shut up."
Her mouth was incredible—skilled, confident, the kind of technique you develop with practice. I grabbed the handrail for support.
"Fuck—Jess—"
She pulled off, grinned up at me. "Not bad. Now your turn."
She hopped up on the counter, spread her legs. I dropped to my knees, pulled aside her thong, buried my face between her thighs.
"Oh fuck—yes—right there—"
She tasted like desire and expensive body spray. I worked her with my tongue until she was shaking, fingers twisted in my hair.
"Gonna cum—fuck—already—"
She came on my tongue, thighs clenching around my head. I didn't stop until she pushed me away.
"Inside me," she gasped. "Now."
I stood, lined up, pushed in. We both groaned.
"Move—please—"
I fucked her against the counter, her legs wrapped around me, her moans echoing off the tiles.
"Harder—come on—make me feel it—"
She came again—faster this time—screaming loud enough that someone definitely heard.
"Pull out—on my stomach—"
I did, finishing with a groan. She looked down at the mess, grinned.
"Impressive."
"Thanks?"
We cleaned up, fixed our clothes, emerged to suspicious looks from a mum with a toddler.
"Worth it," Jess said, dragging me back to the lanes.
Her friends were packing up, the hen do clearly winding down.
"I have to go," she said. "But—" She grabbed my phone, typed in her number. "I'm back from the wedding Sunday. Text me. We can have a rematch."
"Bowling?"
"And the other thing." She winked. "Maybe I'll even let you win."
I watched her leave with her friends, already counting down to Sunday.
Best bowling night of my life.