How dare that fuzz bucket wire-haired snaggled-tooth jerk tell me that I didn't know squat about playing pool! Somebody should inform the numskull that my daddy was the state 9-ball Champ for 4 years running and my Grandpa was the owner of this town's biggest and baddest billiard room in the early 1940's. Pool is my first, middle and last name. Oh well, hindsight is 20-20, so they say. I threw a $50 spot on the worn green-carpeted table. The game is on.
I had beaten my gambling addiction a few times but each time it came back stronger, beating me up worse. I loved to play while on an edge. I had the edge tonight like the angles of a triangle, crisp and sharp. My game was on and going strong. I beat him 4 of 4 games, and with every game the wager grew. Each time I skillfully sunk the 8-ball with a smooth as silk stroke. In my mind, when I took my shot, I imagined my cue stick was a long smooth cock that I steadily caressed, following through on the final down stroke, making the target ball slip into the dark welcoming hole of a pocket.
I sound like I own a cock. Well, I don't. I am a 25-year-old blonde haired blue-eyed petite woman. A Duke University baseball cap perfectly hides my soft curls. My plain blue jeans are loose fitting ones that fail to reveal the lack of male bulges. Breasts are harvested melons for the women in my family. Too bad, my seeds never sprung. I had no breasts hardly, just large nipples. Many thought I was a man due to my shape. But underneath this harsh tough as nail exterior, I was a soft pliable lady. I just chose to let assumptions and stereotypes remain.
I won 1 K off the arrogant ass. I was stuffing my jeans pocket when he said to let us go for one more game. What a dill weed! I had just taken 90% of his money, what did he have to offer. I don't play for jewelry or post-dated checks. I reminded him that he had nothing worth 1 K to me and that I was heading home. He asked if I could give him a few minutes. I had a full beer sitting on the jukebox collecting condensation, as Pasty Cline sang "Crazy." I informed the sweating mass of pudgy pudding that he had until the next to last swallow of my beer to make his point.
He ran into the bar area of the pool hall. A few of my buddies were giving me pats on the back telling me how great that I played. Like I said-the edge was alive tonight. I could not lose. It was written in the constellations. I bet if I called my tarot card reader that she would agree with me, and probably reveal that I was a small-breasted woman, too.
Humpty Dumpty came huffing back. If he insisted on another game, I wondered if he realized that all the king's horses and all the king's men didn't have enough glue to hold his game together. Behind him, reluctantly following was the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen. She had long thick bouncing black hair and big green eyes. She was tall and curvy, almost bursting out of the top of her red dress with cleavage. Her breasts would have fit in at my family reunion, as they were ripe full melons. Her skin was pale and translucent. Her full lips were scarlet and her nails were fuck me red.
My mouth fell open when he told me that his bet was his girl. She was mine if I won and if I lost, his money was once again his. What was I to do with a woman! The cheers and catcalls drowned out my protests. I watched in amazement, as the sweating desperate prick racked the balls. My eyes fell on the lady or whatever she was. She gave me a challenging look, as if daring me, taunting me to refuse to play. With my blue eyes locked in a contest of wills with her green ones, I gallantly rallied the crowd. This was no contest and would be a total mockery of a game. My edge was on. I was as infallible as the God of Billiards was.
