Life's a Crapshoot

Life's a Crapshoot

z119z

© 2013 by the author

"There. $10,000 in small bills. But don't take my word for it. Count them if you want."

The money lay in stacks on the table. Will had smirked in disbelief when the man mentioned the sum. He hadn't bothered to hide his skepticism. In response the man had left the room. A minute later he brought back a large black briefcase. He opened it up and one by one placed the piles of money on the coffee table in front of Will. Each stack was an inch or two tall and held together by a rubber band. The man picked one up and held it in front of Will's eyes. He slowly riffled through it. A puff of air brushed Will's face. The bills smelled of ink and the many hands that had touched them. Musty. Old. Well used. Tens, twenties, a few fives. Nothing higher. All small denominations.

"No one will know you have it. I'll even throw in the briefcase so that you have something to carry it home in. Just use it to buy small purchases in cash—when you go grocery shopping or to the movies or to buy drinks in a bar. Then you can use your salary to buy more expensive things. If you use it up slowly, no one will know that you have it. Just don't spend it all at once or take it to your bank. This much cash in small bills will draw attention. Go ahead. Count if you like. Don't mind me. It's all there, but I won't be insulted if you don't take my word for it."

The man had been ahead of him in line at Starbucks. He was much taller and much larger than Will. That was the first thing Will had noticed—that his eyes were level with the middle of the man's back. He had to look up to see the man's neck. The man's shoulders and torso were so wide that they blocked his view of the counter. He would have had to bend sideways to look past the man. Not that he wanted to. There was too much about the man that he wanted to look at, starting with all those muscles in his big arms. It was like getting a gift or a free pass. He could look as much as he liked.

The man wore old jeans over a gray T-shirt. His ass was so big that his wallet bulged out, and the bottom edge of the T-shirt was visible through the cloth of the jeans. He didn't appear to be wearing underpants—at least there were no lines visible. There was a loud shout from the street, and the man turned briefly to glance out the front window, giving Will his first view of the man's chest. His nipples puckered the shirt, which did nothing to hide the curves of his pecs and the fact that they overhung his abdomen by a generous margin. Will tried not to stare.

A few minutes later, as Will was standing at the table with the various kinds of creamers and the packets of sugar stirring skim milk into his Grande Americano, a well-tanned arm with a covering of black hair reached past him to pull a couple of napkins from the dispenser. There was a fleeting but electric contact of skin on skin, as the brown napkins fluttered against Will's arm.

"Excuse me." The voice was deep and confident.

"No problem," gasped Will. The moment was quickly over, but Will's heart gave a lurch and his breath caught in his throat. He felt like an idiot. "No problem." Not for the first time, he wished that such events didn't catch by surprise and he could think of something clever and witty to say. It would be nice to hear a chuckle of amusement and know that he had made an impression, an impression that might lead to more. But no, he had to stammer out a cliché. "No problem." Jeez, how lame.

And there weren't any free tables. It wasn't his day. Will snapped a plastic lid on the cup. He would have to carry it back to his apartment and drink it there. It would be cold by the time he got home.

"It's always busy on Saturday morning. Come on. We can go back to my place."

Will never knew why he went with the man. He didn't know him, and he had made it a rule never to have casual sex with a stranger. He could look—looking was allowed, but no touching. He didn't go to bed with anyone until he had gotten to know them. He had promised himself more. He deserved more, and he offered a potential lover more—a strong and lasting relationship based on empathy and love. That meant no one-night stands, no getting drunk in bars and leaving with a body, no Grindr, no personal ads. And now a complete stranger with a great body had said a few words to him, and he was dogging the man's heels like a puppy. But the man had been so friendly—like they were old friends and he was just inviting Will back to his place to continue the conversation they had been having when they decided to stop and get a cup of coffee.

It just wasn't possible to say no, not to that body and that smile and that voice. So Will smiled and nodded his head and followed the man. They hadn't far to walk. The man lived two blocks away. As he unlocked the door to the brownstone, he put his free hand in the middle of Will's back and nudged Will in first. The man kept his hand on Will's back and guided him into a small living room. "Let's go in here." Two overstuffed armchairs faced each other on either side of a fireplace. Between them was a glass-topped coffee table. "Have a seat." The man pointed to one of the chairs.

Will looked around as he sat down. "This is nice. Is all of this yours?"

"Yes. The house isn't wide, as you can see. Just twenty feet. It's forty-five feet long. But there are five floors, and each floor has two or three rooms. Plus there's a small yard in back."

The man put his coffee on the table and eased himself into the other chair. Once again, Will grew conscious of how well-built he was. His thighs strained his jeans. The man idly scratched his right arm, drawing Will's attention to it. The bicep had to be four or five inches wide. A vein snaked up the middle of it and disappeared under the sleeve of the T-shirt. Will ran his tongue over his lips. The man had the type of body Will searched out on the Internet and fantasized about.

"My name's Scott, by the way."

"I'm Will."

"You're from the South, aren't you?"

"Yeah, from Georgia. I guess the accent gives it away."

"Don't ever lose it. It's sexy." The man smiled at Will's pleasure at being told his voice was sexy. "How long have you been in New York?"

Later, in thinking back on the conversation, Will realized that Scott managed to get him to reveal a lot about himself, without talking much about himself. Each time Will answered one of his questions, Scott had another. It was oddly flattering to have someone so interested in him. Will hadn't had much opportunity to talk about himself since moving to New York six months earlier. It was so relaxing being with Scott, and Scott was so understanding and sympathetic that Will even opened up about himself and spoke of things he usually kept hidden, sometimes even from himself.

"My family kinda knows I'm gay, but they don't want to know it officially, if you get what I mean. They don't want their suspicions to be confirmed. They were quite happy when I left and moved here. Now I'm not around to do anything to embarrass them in front of the neighbors, and they can pretend I'm dating some `nice girl.' They haven't disowned me or anything like that. I know some people down home who were thrown out by their families, but my parents and my brother and sister made it clear they won't be unhappy if I don't visit very often."

And, "My job's OK. There are worse jobs, and the pay is good. Not great, but good. But I don't love it. And I'm sorta overqualified. But at least I'm employed. I know a lot of people who graduated with me who still don't have a job. I just worry I'll be let go if I don't work hard and look happy and enthusiastic. It's not like I'm irreplaceable. Anyone could do what I do with a couple hours' training. I get the impression they'd sooner fire me than give me a raise, no matter how well I do."

And, "No, I don't have anybody special. Actually, I don't really have any friends yet. I know people from the office, and we go out sometimes after work, but it's not like we're close. It's just a group of people who're together because they work on the same floor in the same office."

When Scott said, "You appear to be alone," Will nodded in agreement. He wanted to say something more, like "Will you be my friend?" but that sounded so needy. It would drive Scott away. So he bit his lip and smiled shyly, darting a look at Scott. When he saw Scott looking back, his eyes shifted to a corner of the room. It was as if Scott had read his mind and knew what he was thinking.

Scott's next question took him by surprise. "Are you a gambling man?"

"No, not really. I mean I've played poker, but I wasn't any good at it."

"Have you ever played craps?" Scott stood up and walked over to a small desk in a corner of the room. He pulled open the center drawer and rummaged around. Will heard the sounds of objects being pushed about. "Ah, here they are." Scott walked back and set a small cylindrical cup and a pair of dice on the table. The cup was about four inches high and appeared to be made of leather. There was a narrow gold band a half-inch from the top. The dice were clear red plastic with white pips.

"I've never played. I don't even know the rules. All I know is that the game has something to do with throwing sevens and elevens. Oh, and `snake eyes'—I know what those are."

"There are several variants. The version I like is quite basic and simple." Scott dropped the dice into the cup, closed off the top end with his fingers, and shook it. After a few seconds, he upturned it and tumbled the dice on the table. The dice rolled an inch or two and came to a stop with a five and a three showing.

"The player rolls the dice. I prefer to use this cup, but other people shake them in their hands and then toss them against some sort of back stop. If the player rolls a seven or an eleven on the first throw, then he wins the round. If he throws snake eyes—a two—or a three, or boxcars—a twelve—he loses. If he throws anything else, he continues rolling the dice, until he hits the same sum again or throws a seven or an eleven. If he throws the same sum before rolling a seven or an eleven, then he wins. If he throws a seven or an eleven first, he loses."

"Sounds simple."

"That part is. I have a wager for you. Oh, don't worry, you aren't in danger of losing any money. In fact, you could win quite a bit."

"What do you have in mind?"

"I propose we play five games. You will roll the dice each time. If you win at least three games, I will give you $10,000. If you lose, I win you."

Will giggled. He regretted it as soon as he heard himself. But the way Scott proposed the game, it sounded so silly. "$10,000 just for winning three games? Why would you do that? And you could have me now, without playing the games. I've been hoping you would ask for the last two hours."

"I'm quite serious. Wait here. I'll show you. I'll go get the money." Scott bounded up the stairs to the floor above. A door opened and then closed, and a few seconds later Scott came back the stairs carrying a black briefcase. He snapped it open and began putting stacks of money on the table before Will. "You can count it if you want."

When Will hesitated, Scott picked up one of the stacks and fanned the bills so that Will could see them flash past. "It's all here. $10,000. But go ahead. Count it."

"But why would you give me this much money?"

"I'm hoping not to. I hoping I win you instead."

"But I still don't understand. I'm ready to go to bed with you now."

"I'm not talking about just going to bed with you once. I'm talking about owning you—forever. If you lose, I own you."

"I can't. I mean, I just . . . . You're not serious."

"I'm deadly serious. You win, and you walk away with $10,000. You lose, and I take you upstairs and lock you away, for the rest of your life. I'll be good to you, and I'll take excellent care of you. But you will be my property for the rest of your life."

"This is crazy."

"Is it? Would it be any worse than the life you're leading now? Your family wants you to go away. You have a nothing job. You have no friends, no love life. No sex life, for that matter. Right now, you're imprisoned in a meaningless life. I can offer you more, much more. If I win, I will become your family. Your job will be to please me. You will have a friend, a lover, a partner for sex. You find me attractive. You would not have come with me if you didn't. And you wouldn't have stayed here answering all my questions if you weren't hoping for something more. I'm offering you something more. All you have to do is roll the dice a few times."

"But why talk about owning me? We could be friends or lovers."

"I like to own things. I want to own you. I want to own all of you. I don't want to share you with others—with your job, or your family, or other people."

"This is crazy."

"Then leave. The door is unlocked. I won't stop you."

Will leaned forward in his chair as if he were about to stand up. After a second, he leaned back and held up his hands, palm upward. "I don't understand. Can't we just go to bed together?"

Scott shook his head. "No, that wouldn't be enough for me." He picked up the dice and dropped them back into the cup. The hollow noise they made as they hid the bottom was the only sound in the room. Scott examined Will as if he were taking inventory. "I'll tell you what. You have no reason to trust me. These dice may be loaded. There is a CVS two blocks up. They have dice. They're on the third or fourth aisle from the entrance. On the right hand side, about a third of the way back. They're with the playing cards and some other games. Here's ten dollars. Go and buy a new pair of dice. That way you'll know the dice are fair. It will also give you a chance to think about this. If you're not interested, you can just walk away and not come back. It's up to you." He held out the ten-dollar bill toward Will.

Will stared at the money as if it were about to bite. The bill was almost hypnotic. It was as if he had never really looked at a ten-dollar bill before. All those complicated swirls and loops and the off-center picture of Jefferson. No, it wasn't Jefferson. That was the twenty. It was somebody else, but he couldn't remember who. Scott held the bill so still and unwavering. Will didn't know how long he sat there. Suddenly the money was in his hand. He hadn't thought about it, hadn't consciously decided to take it. One second Scott was holding it out; the next second he had taken it, stood up, and shoved the bill into the right-hand pocket of his pants. He didn't say a word as he walked out.

Will pulled the front door of Scott's house shut behind himself and looked up the street to his left. He couldn't see the CVS Scott had mentioned. There was too much in the way obscuring the view, but he knew that the drugstore was somewhere in that direction. His own apartment lay in the other direction. He stood at the bottom of the stairs looking first in one direction and then in the other. He glanced back at the front window of the house, expecting to see Scott watching him, but the top half of the window was covered by a white shade and nothing was visible through the open glass at the bottom. Just a black rectangle. He shivered. It wasn't cold, but it felt damp, like there was an unseen fog rising from the sidewalk.

He stuck his hand into his pocket and felt the money Scott had given him. He didn't need to make up his mind right that minute. He could walk toward the CVS. He didn't have to go inside. That would give him some time to think. It was crazy. The whole idea was crazy. Sure, he could use the $10,000, and if he followed Scott's suggestion to use it gradually for small purchases, no one would know that he had it, and that would allow him to use his salary for bigger things. $10,000 tax free—that was enough for groceries for over a year, maybe two years. And he wouldn't have to scrimp.

And if he lost, how bad would that be? Scott would own him, but what could that mean? Slavery wasn't legal, and Scott couldn't keep him locked up. He was just joking about that. He couldn't be serious. And he had to admit that Scott aroused him. He would make a great boyfriend, a great lover. Maybe even a great "owner," if that weren't just his joking around. And Scott was right. His present life left a lot to be desired. His job and his family would be a lot more tolerable if someone like Scott were part of his life. When he won the $10,000, he would give it back to Scott. That would impress Scott, show him that all he—Will—really wanted was a chance at a relationship. That was a gamble he was willing to undertake.

An image of Scott popped into Will's mind. They had been talking, and he was answering one of Scott's questions. Scott had picked up the Starbucks cup and sipped at his coffee. But he hadn't put it back on the table. He had lowered it and rested it on his lap, right over his groin, holding it with one hand. With the fingers of his other hand, he had begun stroking the cup. Up and down. Slowly. Over and over. Those long, muscular fingers stroking his cock—no, his cup. It was his cup, not his cock. Where had that image come from? He hadn't even seen Scott's cock. Although the bulge at his crotch when he spread his legs apart was promising. Will could feel Scott's fingers on him. Gently stroking him. Finding all of his sensitive spots. Scott's arms embracing him. Scott's lips on his. Arousing him. Scott's cock . . .

Will moaned. A woman with a child looked at him in alarm. He quickly composed his face into a bland mask of indifference. When he looked around, he discovered to his surprise that he was already inside the CVS. He hadn't even been aware that he had entered the store—he had been so intent on Scott's fingers stroking him. It had been so real. He stopped and began to turn around, to get out of the store. Another shopper coming up behind him glared at him and walked around him, shaking his head. Will hesitated and then turned around again. He glanced up at the signs hanging over the aisles. The third aisle from the entrance was marked Household Products, Stationery, Office Supplies.

He hesitated again. He was close to the point where he had to make a decision. Well, he was in the store. He might as well check out the dice. Maybe the store would be out of them, and he could go back and tell Scott that and tell him that they would have to postpone the game.

The dice were right where Scott had said they would be. Each pair was enclosed in a clear plastic rectangular bubble attached to a piece of cardboard. Will pulled one of the packages off the hook. The dice were small, less than half an inch along a side. He jiggled the package. The dice rattled a bit but there wasn't enough space for them to turn. A five and a two were showing. Seven. Scott had said that was an automatic win if he rolled it on the first toss. Maybe that was a good omen.

It still was crazy. Nobody gave a stranger $10,000 just for winning three games of craps.

"Can I help you, Sir?"

Will jumped.

"Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean to startle you. Have you found what you were looking for?" The clerk tried to stifle a smile, as if he knew why Will wanted the dice.

Will blushed. He often did that when surprised, and it embarrassed him. Jeez, he was like a kid caught shoplifting. He held up the package and said, "Yes, thanks." Now he would have to buy the damned things. The clerk would wonder if he didn't. He joined the line waiting for a checkout machine. There were seven people ahead of him (another good sign?), and he thought it would take a while to reach a machine. But it didn't. The line seemed to melt away, and he found himself standing before a machine.

"Welcome to CVS. Please choose your language."

Will dutifully pressed English.

"Please scan your first item, or if you have your Extra-Care Card, scan it now."

Will swiped the barcode on the package of dice across the scanner. The machine beeped. The dice cost only $1.49. He put the package in a bag as directed and then cycled through the rest of the commands. With the sales tax, the total price was $1.62. Will fed the $10 bill Scott had given him into the machine and waited for the receipt and the change. He folded the coins inside the bills and the receipt and stuck the money into his right-hand pocket.

The bag with the dice hardly weighed anything. When he stepped outside, the wind caught at it and twirled it about. He folded the plastic bag tight around the package and held it securely in his hand. It gave him something to occupy his attention while he thought about what to do next. He had to return the change to Scott. It was too much to keep for himself. That would be like stealing. He would ring the bell and hand Scott the bag and the change and tell him that he had decided not to play. He might lose Scott, but that was better than playing the game. Now that he thought about it, what kind of a person would propose a game instead of just inviting him to hop into bed? If Scott wanted a relationship, he was ready to have one, but only if Scott were serious about it.

The walk back to Scott's took no time at all. Even the light at the only intersection turned green just as he was walking up to it. So he couldn't use the excuse of waiting for the light to change to delay. He walked up the stairs to Scott's front door and rang the bell. When Scott came to the door, he would hand him the bag and the money and explain that he was willing to explore a relationship but not at the price of playing a silly game.

"It's open. Come in." Scott's voice came from within the house.

Will reached for the doorknob and turned it. The door opened before him. Scott's feet and then his legs were visible on the stairs as he walked toward Will.

"Hey, come on in. That didn't take you long. You must be anxious to get started. Just lock the deadbolt behind you. I see you found the dice. Great. Let's sit down in here again. We can use the coffee table. If one of the dice falls onto the floor, you can do the roll over again." Scott took the package from Will and walked ahead of him into the small living room and sat down in the chair he had occupied earlier.

"I . . . ."

"What?" Scott was examining the dice. He peeled off the cardboard backing and then tumbled the dice into the cup without touching them. "There. All ready." He looked up and smiled at Will.

Will felt in his pocket and brought out the money. A dime fell on the floor. He bent over to pick it up. He held it out toward Scott.

Scott stood up and grasped Will's hand in his. "Don't worry about that now. We can deal with that later. Sit down. Let's get started." He put an arm across Will's shoulders and drew Will into a hug as he guided Will toward the other chair.

Scott's body was so warm, and so firm. It was shocking. Will worked out, and he thought he had a hard body. And he had been with other men with hard bodies. But Scott's body seemed far more real than any of the others he had touched. Scott still smelled slightly of soap. He must have taken a shower that morning before he went to Starbucks. There was a faint odor of coffee on his breath. And, Jesus, he was so hot. This was the sort of man he had dreamed about having as a lover.

Will half-stumbled into the chair. He felt light-headed. He was gasping for breath. What was the matter with him? He needed to calm down. He took a deep breath and tried to relax, but it was no good. His hands were shaking.

"Are you all right? Can I get you something? A glass of water?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a bit nervous."

"Understandable. There's a lot riding on a few rolls of the dice." Scott picked the cup with the dice up and set it on the table in front of Will.

"What about my stuff, my clothes and other things? What happens to them if I lose?" Will couldn't bring himself to look at Scott. He stared at the cup. It was much larger than he remembered. If he could keep Scott talking, maybe he would realize how stupid the game was and how unrealistic it was. If nothing else, it was just impractical.

"Nothing. I will leave them where they are now. You will simply disappear. You will give me your phone, and tomorrow morning I will walk over to your apartment building. I won't go in, but I will send a text telling your employer that you have a new job and are quitting immediately. You will give me the right phone number at your office. That way, if anyone traces the call later, it will appear that you made it from your apartment. After I finish sending the text, I will remove the SIM card from your phone and then toss the phone and the SIM card into the river. If your office is like other offices, your desk will be cleaned out immediately. You will be shut out of the computer system. In a few days you will be replaced, and no one will ever think of you again. You said your parents don't expect you to contact them frequently. So they won't start worrying about you for a few weeks. It's only the seventh of the month. Are your rent and utilities automatically deducted from your checking account each month?"

Will nodded yes.

"So your landlord won't know that you're no longer occupying the apartment until the money runs out. With any luck that should be a couple of months. By the time someone gets around to noticing you're gone, a few weeks will have passed. And by then no one will remember seeing you walk off with me, or buy a pair of dice at CVS, or entering my house. No one."

"You've done this before."

Scott leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He smiled to himself. "I have thought it through. No one will disturb our arrangement."

Will suddenly realized that, while he had been out buying the dice, Scott had removed the money. He looked around for the briefcase. It wasn't within his line of sight. He didn't want to be obvious and look behind him, but somehow he knew that it was no longer in the room. Scott hadn't ever intended to give him the money. It was all a joke.

Scott's left hand rested on the arm of the chair, the fingers hanging down over the end of the arm, relaxed. As Will watched, Scott began to caress the fabric of the chair with his hand. Up and down. Back and forth. Slowly. Patiently. Scott would caress his body the same way. Slowly. Patiently. Would it be so bad if Scott "owned" him? Anyway Scott was just joking. It was just a game to him. Just something to spice up the relationship. It didn't mean anything. It would make going to bed with him even better. They would joke about it later.

The cup holding the dice felt good in his hand. He closed his fingers over the top and then began shaking the dice.

Will wondered what the odds of winning at craps were.

Did the house always win?

He hoped so. He was looking forward to shaking Scott's dice for a long time.

(Please send comments to z119z2000@yahoo.com. Thanks.)