Bridge

Today I’d like to tell you something a bit awkward about me. Call it a confession of sorts.

I think bridge is better than sex. Okay, there are a few similarities. You have a partner. Before you get a rubber, you’re vulnerable. You can’t just come out and say what you mean or what you want, you have to use conventions.

But bridge, played well, requires a deep understanding of your partner. And it feels so good when your partner knows you. That you always under-lead an ace. That you bid a little too aggressively. That the ace lead indicates it’s a singleton. Just the little things that make it feel like he’s inside your head. There’s no such thing as playing selfishly. We all finish at the same time, in the same place. If it’s no good for your partner, it’s going to be crap for you too.

Don’t say it though. Don’t say it’s only because I’ve never had good sex. I’ve had sex with the sort of unicorn sex god that can maintain an erection after having an orgasm. Even after more than one. He was so good I was happy to retire from sex after him. Not the point. Just — I have had good sex, but I still maintain that bridge is better.

My best bridge hand, I bid and made 7S. Not important. My partner bid 1H. I remember the look of pure frustration on his face when I responded with my one and only bid of seven spades. Disbelief. Frustration. A hint of anger? That part’s hazy. But I won’t, I simply can’t forget the sheer pleasure on his face as he watched me make it. My only play that round was to claim. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, heart racing, breath ragged, my partner looked at me with stars and awe in his blue blue blue eyes. That I’ll never forget.

I’ll say it over and over until I die. Bridge: better than sex.

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