Page 68 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Then she takes a step back, looking me up and down. She licks her lips.
Oscar says, “Damn, girl, save me some of that sugar.”
Fatima ignores him and hands the shot glass to me, spilling some liquid over the edges. She orders three more shots of whiskey, which the female bartender (who looks like a soccer mom) serves in a flash. Now we all are holding shots.
“Do a toast, Nash,” Fatima says.
“Here’s to us!” I say.
Everyone drinks except me. We’re all in such close proximity and looking at each other that I can’t throw my drink over my shoulder like I’ve seen people do in the movies.
“Why didn’t you drink?” Fatima asks.
I try to hand the glass back to her, but she doesn’t accept.
I say, “I’m drinking later. Here. You can have it.”
“Drink!” yells Fatima.
Twyla follows suit. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
For some reason, Oscar joins in. “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
“Later,” I say.
“Whaaaaat?!” Fatima says. “YouareNash, right? You never turn down a drink.”
I feel I might be screwed if I don’t drink. Damn it.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m just playing with you.”
I drink. The alcohol burns my throat. I try to repress a cough (because Nash wouldn’t cough), but I can’t help it.
“You’re acting so weird tonight,” says Fatima.
I have to think quickly.
“Oh, yeah?” I lean in and kiss Fatima again.
This time, she opens her mouth, as if she’s trying to devour my face.
Oscar says to Twyla, “Don’t you feel left out?”
Twyla shrugs, grabs Oscar’s arm, and pulls him to her. She kisses him on the lips, and then she opens her mouth as wide as Fatima’s and makes out with him like he’s the last man on earth. He’s loving every second of it.
Then, almost in unison, Fatima and Twyla pull away from me and Oscar. And like they’re magnetized or something, Fatima and Twyla quickly move towards each other: lips touching lips.
Oscar’s eyes are wider than I’ve ever seen them. His mouth is open, in awe and delight.
Twyla softly bites onto Fatima’s lower lip and gives it a light tug. Fatima extends her tongue and glides it along every inch of Twyla’s lips. They make out slowly, passionately, as if that’s all they need to totally get off.
As they continue kissing, Twyla deftly takes hold of the back of Oscar’s head and guides him toward her and Fatima, until his face is pressed up against theirs. All three of them: their lips, their tongues, their mouths: they touch each other, explore each other, seduce each other.
Since the three of them are so close to one another, their faces seem to blend into one. They try their best to keep their lips on each other at all times. Sometimes one of them will slip and only be kissing one other person. But most of the time, they succeed in sustaining the three-way make-out session. They’ve got their arms around each other too, holding each other tenderly.
Then, Fatima grabs the back of my head and pulls me into the group hug, the group kiss. I’m kind of tipsy already, and this is all so weird, so I keep my eyes and my mouth closed.
I then feel a single tongue pressing up against the side of my mouth. At the same time, a second tongue touches the other side of my mouth. Then, with both those tongues still on me, I feel a third tongue against the front of my lips and sliding into my mouth.
