I've always preferred the two-people version of the game: it's more intimate and much less chaotic and irritating. And I've also always preferred to play this version with a very particular second person.
We used to play it in two forms: one in which we kept written record and another one in which we didn't. The latter was the silliest, craziest and therefore funniest one. As we obviously could otherwise not remember the rest of the story, we had to repeat the whole thing at each turn, adding our three new words at the end. Which made it even more nonsensical, and meant that by the time we were around the fifth round we'd start forgetting half of the words and the story would get even more senseless.
As we grew older, many of these became erotic stories. And, soon enough, unless we were high on something or feeling particularly absurd, all of them were erotic stories in the end.
Throughout the years we have managed to create quite a collection of stories. I actually keep a cardboard box with all of our written ones in it. It's filled with all kinds of pieces of paper; from regular sheets to toilet paper, all the way up to napkins, tissues and even the back of a notebook cover. I put on top one of my favorite ones in the absurd category, the one that started with "I eat crayons". An absolut classic.
But there's one I'll never forget. We were just hanging out as usual, bored out of our minds, I thought. Until I noticed her hard expression, and so I suggested we played "story" -that's how we called it, to ease her mind and three-word her troubles away. She agreed, quickly adding she'd be the one to start.
I didn't even see it coming. She opened her mouth and the three words came out. No, not those three words. She wasn't going to say she loved me, I already knew she did. When you know someone for that long, you know you love each other. It's implied in the relationship. It doesn't matter whether it's an as-a-friend, a like-a-sister or a more-than-that love. Love's just love. Feelings, states of mind. It comes, it goes, changes, stays the same or for good. It can be more or less deep, stable or lasting, but by telling someone you love them you're not admitting anything they already don't know or suspect. You're just putting it into words, merely expressing it.
The three-worded story she began that day for the both of us started with even bigger words: "I need you". The three words that can move land, sea and air. We rarely say them, yet we wear them all the time, engraved in the back of our skin.
Even if we can't admit it, we hate to feel alone. And yet we do, every second of every day. Because we are, in fact, alone. So very alone. Life is really fucking lonely. And that's that.
But that day she offered all of her vulnerably beautiful self to me. Just like that. And with those three words she gave me, I made the next move to writing a whole new story, for the both of us: "I do too".