Naked Twister

[JG]

Another slot on the high street. Many screens. Many sports. Little pens. Hot drinks.
No one knew where they came from. The people. Was it from the buses? the trains? No one could really say.
But they were there.
Always there.
Drunk ones. Loud ones. Stoned ones. Sad ones. Tall ones. Gormless ones. The odd highly intelligent one who 'should' know better.
Poor ones. Poor ones. Poor ones. Poor ones. Rich ones (source unverified). Poor ones. Poor ones who used to be rich apparently and more poor ones.
The opening hours were now more than 24 hours per day. New days and hours had been invented to keep them there and maximise profits. The shop opened at twumfty to the glumpf and it stayed that way until Twyfdays which were always the year after yesterhumpf.
It was ultra urbanised. They stuck together, orbiting around the mass of depressing pointlessness. You couldn't stare directly at it, it was just too depressing. The trick was to look out to space and hope you didn't stop and think too much. You just had to keep going. Being incredibly vocal helped to drain out any brain logic that could bring you back down to earth. It was that or become a zombie.
It was the law for the pane of glass in the door to be shattered and covered with a laminate screen. Someone had got annoyed. It was inevitable. With this much entertainment on offer it was how things tended to pan out.
"Blood clot! Blood clot!" shouted the uncouth inmates as another outsider blew all the self proclaimed tipsters into touch. No one noticed the odds were shorter than a dwarf walking along the surface of a planet with an incredibly strong gravitational field. No one noticed the toilets were only cleaned once a week now by contract cleaners. No one noticed that a slightly cheaper brand of coffeematexsubstitute had been plopped into the tubes of the hot drinks vendor.
NO one noticed as the lone maniac gingerly opened the door.
There was one terminal free. Terminal four had a ball of Asians wrapped around it. Terminal three had a very angry black man shouting about teeth in front of it. Terminal two had closed ages ago and all departures were now from terminal one. Terminal one was free.
His finger pressed the surface. This created a disbursement of charge that meant a microprocessor somewhere could update the liquid crystal patterns to reflect the placement of the finger.
Spliski! Noffski! Splunkski! cursed some Eastern Europeans as the number 7 was illustrated.
He went along the rows and columns of mind crushingly boring games. Various forms of roulettes and cards dominated the iconography. Then there were the slots. However he kept going. He went past the wierdo poker golf. The bizarre Simpsons Baccarat. The utterly kooky Cheese Bagatelle. He skipped zero gravity pontoon and now he was in decidedly wierd territory. He selected Thailand Tantric Twister orgy.
He was confident. It was a fixed odds game, but with a cock as skilled as his, he knew he could smash it.
The gaudy Converses squeaked into position. The fans inflated the manouverable girls. It wouldn't take long. It was a tad embarrassing though.
The dice rolled as the girls got into positions. This was normal. The air of the fans attracted some attention. The gormless man of curious race was staring. He cracked open the Durex as Black 22 came in next door. The game was dead, it was lucky he had the flexibility of a triple jointed jelly baby as he arched his back and twisted his head around so that his big toe was on the blue dot and his now engorged penis was firmly in place in the red spot. Keeping this position was the serious problem. Physical duress would wash away. He had to hold things in place for as long as the game required.
He was hypoxic. Carefully trained. He had slow twitch muscle and non tetanic fibres that allowed him to expend energy efficiently. He could hold the pose, the trick was not to ejaculate until told to do so. The girls were stunningly beautiful and made from HD plastic.
By now they were all watching.
"Dat white boy is up to someting....I haven't seen no blud play dat game before"
"Wat da fuck is up with dat shit?"
"Blood clot! That is not roulette! BLOOD CLOT!" boomed a Rastafarian at such high volumes that public address systems manufacturers flocked to the site to try and capture his loud voice in a patented technology to implement in all future products.
The time passed by. It always did. For him, this was an exercise in execution. For others, it was an education. Most of them couldn't process what they were seeing, but they stared.
And stared.
And stared some more.
And they stared.
And stared.
And they stared some more.
And they stared.
Did it excite them? Did it confuse them? Did it titillate them? Did it offend them?
They were neutralised. They were zombified. They knew it was different, but they couldn't comprehend.
Outside the universe. Inside - the pocket of banality. A cohesion of sin, misery and plastic optimism basted on the fat turkey of profit.
They stared.
Then the tone sounded and he let his senses flow. A powerful orgasm wracked his entire being almost to a trans-ethereal level. He couldn't move too much but his body violently shuddered against all his controlled will. The sense of release was blissful. He knew he'd done it. For a few moments he felt utterly content and lay, somnalescent on the plastic dotty mat, staring at the corporate branding within the 'office'.
He took the ticket to the counter and picked up his £500. The plans were coming back into focus. He knew he was going to have a whale of a time in the next shop. He swiped the screen on his pie phone, flicking off the puff pastry covering the safari icon. Google Maps was primed and he was off. They could not comprehend. He knew they could not emulate. By now the plastic was safely sucked back into the silicon and the contract cleaner would be removing the stray ejaculate in approximately two days time. He looked back but he could see nothing. Already the well oiled machine was doing its job and the mysterious occupants were untouched by what they had seen.
They carried on staring, their hollowed out souls fighting for life.

[maverick69]

I once played twister with a bunch of hot girls in a youth hostel in Mexico...when i was like 19. German, Swedish and Scottish..the irony was the scottish girl was the hottest of the lot wouldn't have thought that eh. It wasn't naked either which is a shame

[bubbles]

i believe every word mav...except "girl"