I didn’t have any difficulty making bets, for two of the women promptly decided to make me their prey and every time they had a chance to bet, they insisted upon betting with me. Maybe there isn’t any such thing as love at first sight, but I know for sure that there is such a thing as love-loving women loving to love at first sight. They didn’t make any bones about it at all, and before the game had progressed far these two were actually scrapping about which one was to have me.
And I couldn’t seem to keep out of that game.... I did win several times, and had one of the women down to her chemise, but all the time I was losing, too, first my shoes, then my blouse (when I thanked God for having put on my cast-iron brassière) and then my puttees.
At this point I tried to escape. I told them I didn’t like the game and wouldn’t play any more. But the two birds of prey got a strangle hold on me and I couldn’t get away.
At the very next hand, I lost my breeches, and the two of them sprang to collect their winnings. But I was frantic now and I made a mad lunge through them, grabbed up my shoes and blouse and dashed into the next room, snapping the door lock behind me.
When I was dressed again I listened to their arguments and pleas, but I wouldn’t come out until they promised to count me out of the game. I thought I was all set then.
But such was not the case, for apparently my boyish modesty had just served to arouse some longing in the hearts of these thrill-hardened women. I was taken possession of at once and thereafter throughout the evening I didn’t have a moment to myself: always there was at least one pair of arms around my neck and I was being kissed and caressed until I could have yelled out in an agony of disgust. The party broke up finally when I had to resort to physical force to extricate myself from the very unladylike and intimate embrace of one of my passion-ridden females. I had to do it. If I hadn’t hit her, she’d have known as much about me as I do myself.
Ben gave me hell on the way home. “What’n ’ell’s a matter ’th ya?... Them was all good girls.... What th’ell ya wanta fight for?”
“I don’t like that kind of parties,” I explained.
“Damfidontave my doubts about ya sometimes, Leony,” he declared thickly. “Ya act just like a woman sometimes.”
I didn’t argue with him because I knew he was drunk enough and had had such a good time that he would not let my sad case bother him for long.