(Dear readers. If you are not entertained by a story that dwells on the size of a man's cock, then this story is not for you.)
Betsy Duncan started dating Chuck Gibson their senior year at Southern University of New Orleans. Her mother had sent her to the University to catch herself a bright husband, and Chuck was all of that. Chuck had a sparkling wit and personality. She also knew that he was a straight A student, who had his sights set on becoming a professor.
Betsy was a bridge master, having played with her mother since she was eight years old. She was so excited when she phoned her mother to tell her about her new guy.
"Mother, I'm dating just the greatest guy. You will adore him. He is witty, nice, smart, and... You will love this. He is an accredited master-of-bridge."
"Really! I can't wait to meet him. Why don't you bring him up for a visit this weekend?"
"I'll ask him. How is Dad coming along with the business?"
"So, so. I don't think that we will have near as much income as we did before, but your father seems to be really happy having his own business."
"Got to go Mom."
"Bye."
There were two Chuck Gibsons. One was the happy-go-lucky guy who fascinated students and teachers with his photography memory. The other Chuck Gibson was the grandson of Mike Gibson, riverboat gambler. That Chuck Gibson been taught everything that there was to know about gambling in general, and poker in particular. The tells, how to detect a cheat, and the odds of any hand combination. His brain was a finely tuned machine. He paid his entire tuition and costs of attending Southern by winnings from poker. That Chuck Gibson was all business, as you might well imagine.
The following weekend, after a nice dinner at Betsy's home, Jean, her mother said, "Betsy tells me that you are very good at bridge. Have you played in many tournaments?
"I had some luck and won the Florida, and the Denver tournaments last winter."
"Then you have met Phil Blackburn, the Grand Master?"
"Yes, I know him well."
"I'm impressed."
Chuck was impressed too, but not in a way that he could tell the Duncans. Jean Duncan was the most attractive older woman he had ever had the pleasure of being around. Not a woman who had seen much hard work. She wore feminine, soft, garments which while being modest, still left no doubt that she was a woman. Her hair was long, silky, light brown. Her perfume was faint, but there. Her eyes displayed that she was friendly, yet there was a mind in there that was measuring Chuck in a way that few could, or would.
Chuck was suddenly alert. The gambler instincts took over as he looked for her "tells," to determine if she was friend or foe. Her eyes were normal. He couldn't say. What he could tell is that he was being measured.
Betsy and Chuck were married in August. Jean Duncan gave Betsy enough money for them to have a four day honeymoon in Las Vegas. Chuck had some misgivings about accepting the gift. Sooner, rather then later, he would come to realize what a mistake that was.
It was Chuck's first chance to play poker with the real sharks of the game, men who played poker for a living. His Grand Daddy had taught him well. He sat watching a low limit table for several hours before joining the game when a seat opened up. After playing for sixteen hours straight, he left the table. Back at his room, he counted out his winnings, which came to four thousand, one hundred, and thirty-six dollars. His seed money was five hundred dollars.
He took a teaching position at a local high school, while he finished his masters. Once a month he flew to Las Vegas, for two days of poker. Consistently, he returned with five thousand, tax free dollars in his bag. Life was good.
Of course, Betsy told her mother of his winnings, as was to be expected. Jean played the poker slots at the local casino. She knew the game, or so she thought. Just before the Thanksgiving, two week break, Betsy approached Chuck. "Chuck, honey, my mother and I were talking. She suggested that she and I join you for your next Vegas trip."
"Gee, I don't know, Betsy. Those trips are all work for me. I don't eat fancy meals. I don't drink any liquor. I don't sightsee. Besides, with your mother along, we would need two rooms."
"We talked about that. She said that it would be okay for her to sleep in the second bed. Remember, it was she that paid for your wedding trip."
Chuck knew that he had been trumped. Off they went on a seven day trip to Vegas. By the third day there, he was ahead by sixteen thousand bucks.
That same day, Jean and Betsy were at the pool. A dapper, older gentleman, using binoculars viewed them through a window, as he said to the bellhop, "Are you sure that these are the Duncan women?"
"Yes, sir, that's them."
Just then, Jean, who could dive quite well, did a one and a half dive. As she climbed the ladder to stand next to her daughter, her swim suit clung to her, like a second skin. Her nipples could be seen, as could her cuntal mons, covered by her course cuntal bush.
"The mother is very well preserved. The Prince likes small American Southern women, with all their refined airs." Mr. Frome said.
"I would think that he would like the young chick?"
"Oh, no. It is the older woman who will understand what he will do to her as he enters her, who will turn and twist. Her mind saying no, as her body betrays her, finally accepting him."
One of the other players, an older guy by the name of Texas Burt, approached Chuck. "Yo there, Charlie Boy. I've a been watching you play. Who taught you to play like you do? You bluffed the britches off Slick once or twice."
Chuck just smiled. One never boasts about wins. "Ever hear of Mike Gibson?"
"Can't say that I have."
"He was my grandfather, rode the Mississippi river boats."
"Well, if you're interested, there is a high stakes, no-limit, game that goes on in the Red room."
"Will they let me in."
"I told them that I was going to talk to you. Your in, if you want to be."
