Author's Preface: Everyone in this story is eighteen years old or older. The story is entirely fictional. Constructive comments are always welcome. Thanks to deadeye_76 for his editing help.
Tammy is a character in several of my stories, but this story is stand-alone. If you haven't read any of them, Tammy is a good-looking, buxom girl from a small town in Texas. When she got to the University of Texas at Austin, she joined a sorority that had a well-deserved reputation as the slutty sorority.
Tammy Makes a Football Bet - Tammy loses a bet and has to pay the winner
My name is Tammy Tatum, and I'm a sister in the Theta Alpha Beta sorority at UT Austin.
I've always been a big football fan; Everyone raised in small-town Texas was. On days when big games were on TV, our town shut down. My town was so small and far from anywhere that it didn't have decent TV reception. People who could afford it put thirty-foot-tall antennas in their yards. Everyone else gathered at bars, churches, or any big space with an antenna to watch.
When I got to Austin, I was shocked that my sorority sisters never watched football on TV, not even the beloved Longhorns, and I had to go to a sports bar to watch the games with like-minded people.
I mostly followed the pro teams closely but kept up with the Big 12 college teams (the Longhorns were in the Big 12) and was aware of the high school teams within fifty miles of my town.
In my sophomore year, I was invited to join a group of fraternity brothers at Delta Tau Chi and a few sorority sisters to watch football on Saturday and Sunday afternoons and some Monday nights. The fraternity had a room with a 72-inch TV that the football group took over during games. The group wasn't as big on Mondays; we had to study sometimes. I'm not sure why I got invited into the group, but I suspect one of my sisters begged them to invite me, so I'd stop bugging them.
I watched the games with them but kept quiet for the first few games. I was watching the group dynamics as well as the game. The group started with 15 guys, six of my sisters, and me. My sisters, other than me, were there because their boyfriends were there, and they thought they'd have fun together. None of them were from small-town Texas, and they didn't know football from baseball. They had no idea about guys and football either.
After they realized that their guys were not going to pay attention to them no matter how sexy they dressed, and figured out their job was serving beer and snacks to their boyfriends, they stopped coming, and so did three pussy-whipped guys. I was the only girl left with 12 guys. A few others joined for a game or two but weren't die-hard fans.
It was hard for a girl to truly be part of the group. It was a boy's club and none of the guys thought that girls could understand the intricacies of the game, especially a girl with big tits. One Sunday, a fat, drunk guy assumed I was like one of the girls who'd stopped coming. He stumbled up to me and said, "I want a beer."
I loudly said, "Me too. Get me one since you're up."
Everyone heard and laughed. They shouted that they needed a beer too while he was up, and threw empties at him. That was the end of that nonsense.
That's when I began to be one of the guys, but I still needed to prove myself. One Sunday, the guys were passing a football around in front of the frat house, and it bounced near me. A guy I didn't know well asked me to throw the ball to him, laughing and teasing me, expecting me to throw like a girl. I threw that ball in a perfect, tight spiral from about twenty yards away. It hit him square in the chest, hard. All the others laughed at him.
"Sorry, I thought you'd have faster hands," I said before walking in.
Before the game started, the guy asked, "How did you learn to throw like that?"
"My father wanted a boy." I didn't tell him about the rest of my football career.
After that, no one treated me any differently than one of the guys in the group. I knew most of the men there, but not very well. There was one guy I'd never met, named Mitch. I hadn't seen him before because he transferred to UT at the beginning of the semester. Since he was a member of Delta Tau Chi at his old school, he became a member here. He was handsome and friendly, so we sat together, watched the game, and yelled about what the idiot quarterback should have done instead of the last play that lost them five yards. We became good football buddies and got drunk together watching football every weekend. He recognized that I knew something about football.
We had a standing bet on the games we watched together just to make it interesting. We'd flip for who got which team before the game. The loser took the winner out to a casual dinner after the game. At first, I thought that he might be just another guy who wanted to get into my pants.
There was no shortage of them. I'm cute, 5 feet 4 inches tall, with long auburn hair and blue eyes. But what most guys stared at was my boobs. I've got a bigger-than-average-sized breast and an hourglass figure. I wore jeans and an oversized t-shirt to watch the games, but I'd change before dinner to something that showed off my body a little better.
So far, it didn't seem like all Mitch was after was a quick score. We both enjoyed our talks over dinner. It was interesting being just friends with a man. He certainly looked me over; I would have been insulted if he hadn't, but he didn't stare at me constantly like I was a juicy steak.
I looked at him, too. Mitch was tall, muscular, handsome, and had a wicked sense of humor that showed his intelligence. If he had asked me out, I'd have happily accepted. I was surprised and confused that he didn't. He didn't have a girlfriend and wasn't shy.
While eating Mexican food after a game that Mitch lost, he said, "I have an idea. I like this 'loser takes the winner to dinner' bet, but we should also make another bet."
"Want to bet on who can throw a football farther?" Tammy smiled.
"No, I saw how you throw," and laughed. "I bet Jimbo still has a bruise on his chest."
"Okay, what kind of bet?"
Mitch said, "A season-long bet. We would bet on who would win the game we watched, and whoever picked the winner would get one point for the game. At the end of the season, whoever had the most points after the Super Bowl would win the bet and collect."
I said, "I like the concept, but I've got some problems with it. No one will want to bet on a team that's certain to lose. How would we pick out teams?"
"Do you know how 'points' work in sports betting?" He asked.
"I have a vague idea." I didn't want to tell him that I learned sports betting right after I learned to talk.
"Let's say the Cowboys are playing the Dolphins. If the Dolphins are expected to lose by 10 points, there will be a 10-point spread. So, if you bet on the Cowboys, they'd have to beat the Dolphins by more than 10 points for you to win. If the spread creates a tie, it's a push, and no one wins or loses.
For example, the final score is 20-18, giving the Cowboys the win, but if you'd bet on the Dolphins and beat the spread, you'd win. Let's say the spread was 10 points, you'd still win because they won, but by less than 10 points. To win if you bet on the Cowboys, they have to win by at least 10 points, so the score would have to be at least 29 to 18. If the score was 28 to 18, it would be a push."
His mansplaining made me confident that I wanted to do this and beat him badly. There's a side of me I'm not proud of, that comes out when I bet on football or, really, anything.
"So, how would we decide on, what did you call it, the spread?" I asked naïvely.
"Well...the Las Vegas spread is posted online. That would give us a starting point, and we could negotiate from there."
I could get an extra point or two from any guy with a pulse.
"That could work," I said. "What are the stakes on the bet?"
"We could negotiate that too, but it wouldn't be money, that's no fun. Maybe the loser takes the winner out for dinner at a fancy place where we dress up. I bet you look stunning in evening wear. We could renegotiate the stakes each week at dinner after the game, if we wanted to."
"How long would the bet last?"
"We could start next week, and the Super Bowl would be the last game. We'd only bet on the games we watched together. If there's a tie after the Super Bowl, we'll draw cards or throw darts for the winner, your choice. I'll even give you an out. If either of us wants to quit for any reason before the start of the Super Bowl, we can stop the bet by wearing a t-shirt that says, "I chickened out of a football bet I had with Tammy/Mitch", but once the Super Bowl game begins, neither of us can quit without being a welcher."
Where I grew up, being a welcher was worse than being a traitor. You were a pariah. The whole town would shun you. Hell, your family would shun you.
We stood up to leave. Mitch said, "Have we got ourselves a bet?"
"I'll let you know before the first game next week."
When he took me home, he walked me to the door and gave me a quick peck on the lips. "I know you'll take the bet," he said, then left.
The little kiss surprised me. It was just a friendly little peck, but it was a kiss. What the hell did that mean? And how did he know I'd already decided to take the bet?
+++++
Saturday came around, and as expected, I agreed to the bet, and the starting stake was dinner at a nice restaurant with waiters and tablecloths. We would dress to the nines.
We weren't required to change the stakes of the bet as the season progressed, but whoever was ahead would tease the other until they goaded them into raising the stakes. We had fun pushing each other. The beer we drank while watching the games didn't help.
One Sunday, he took me to a UT game on campus and bought me an oversized Longhorns jersey. He won, but it was nice of him to take me. I loved the jersey, and we had a great time. I may have been the loudest fan there, and was hoarse the next day.
At first, the escalation of stakes wasn't major. The first increase was to a nice dinner and a club. Next, it was a week of dinners at different places in town. Then it got into some more embarrassing stuff. We'd have to wear a t-shirt all week that said, "I lost a football bet to Tammy" or "Mitch doesn't know anything about football".
Halfway to the Super Bowl, the stakes started getting higher. His frat brothers knew we had a bet; my sisters knew too. They didn't know the stakes, and we wouldn't tell them.
I was one point ahead, and Mitch suggested that the loser had to serve drinks and snacks in a very sexy outfit at a poker game at either the fraternity house or the sorority house. I neglected to tell him that I'd worked at a nudist resort over the summer. I'd tell him later.
