"You've met the like of him before; a big, brash, never politically correct, loud-mouth; he's uncouth, obnoxious; always right (in his own mind); prejudiced; and insufferable. That's Joe Jorgen, or as I call him, The Asshole."
As this story begins The Asshole lived just down the street from me. We have a friendly neighborhood where no one likes to rock the boat so all of us on Swallow Court, a nice cul-de-sac in a nice, but not posh, suburb of a major Midwestern city in the U. S., tolerated Joe. Joe was invited to street barbeques, holiday celebrations, and other gatherings where we didn't want to exclude people. Plus everyone pitied - and liked - his wife June. While June was basically plain looking - at least in the conservative clothes that she always wore - she is kind and helpful. She also was often embarrassed by Joe's brashness.
I'm Peter Worth. I've lived on Swallow Court the second longest of any resident, several years before The Asshole and June moved here. I used to have a really happy life - until my wife of fifteen years, Cheryl, had a midlife crisis and took off to be a rock band groupie. Well, not really, but that might as well have been the case since the result was the same. Fortunately we had no kids and she moved out of the area so I didn't have to run into her, but it was a big blow to my ego. I always considered myself a good-looking, successful, strong guy; I didn't expect the heavy emotional toll it took on me.
Anyway, at the inception of this tale Cheryl had left about two years ago, and we had been divorced for about sixteen months. I hadn't really had enough of a return of my self-confidence to seriously date yet, and was as horny as hell. I hated the fact that I actually hired call girls on three separate occasions and anonymously met them at hotels in the area, but I was in particularly bad shape those three nights, and fucking a good-looking woman without strings did help, even if with a condom.
I had tried to keep The Asshole out of the monthly poker game that six of the men, and one of the females, on Swallow Court had, but when we were short six players (the ideal number) one time the kindest of our neighbors let it slip when talking to The Asshole that we had a sometimes game, and he wormed himself an invitation.
The first couple of times The Asshole played poker in our group he wasn't unbearable, but the third time he was in classic form. He was bluffing when he shouldn't have been, drinking more than he should have, and was evidencing no real understanding of the odds of winning with certain hands. He seemed to think that three-of-a-kind was always a sure winner when often it wasn't, and sometimes (depending upon the game) had little chance.
It just so happened that The Asshole's bad luck occurred on a night when I was hosting the game, I had good luck, and I was grumpy, all at the same time. Something had occurred during the day that reminded me of Cheryl and consequently put me in a bad mood; and I had lost a client at work (I'm a lawyer) besides.
To make a long story short everyone else had cashed in or dropped out but was hanging around since the last hand had me pitted against The Asshole and the pot was the biggest of the evening. The pot wasn't large for high roll games, but the highest ever considering our usually modest standards.
The game was Texas Holdem; I had the seven and ten of clubs in my hand; the flop had turned up the nine and eight of clubs and the jack of hearts; the turn exposed the three of spades; and the river had just exposed the jack of clubs. In other words I had a straight flush, and based upon what was on the board I couldn't lose.
For some reason The Asshole thought that he couldn't lose either and had asked three times if I would agree to raising the modest bet limits that we normally played with. Since there were no other players still in the game, I agreed each time. The Asshole emptied his wallet of all of his money and I did him one better by raising more than he had - $100 more given the higher bet limits that he had insisted upon.
His face turned red. "I can't call because I'm out of cash. Do you really want to win that chicken-shit way?" he snarled.
I was pissed; my bad day combined with his obnoxiousness and that it was only on his urging that the stakes had been raised made me want to punch his lights out. Instead I took a deep breath and snarled back "Put up or shut up."
Then he did something you only see in stupid fictional stories or movies, not real life. "I can call with a non-monetary incentive," he snickered. "I know that you ain't got no pussy since Cheryl left you hanging..." that comment almost got me out of my chair and my hands on his throat but somehow I maintained my composure enough to listen to the rest of his bullshit. "How about I give you a night fucking June; she ain't real pretty but she's a decent fuck. Got the balls to accept that?"
All of the rest of the players voiced protests while I sat and steamed. The smug look on his face was really testing my ability to control my anger. Suddenly a thought occurred to me. "That, plus if you lose you never play poker with us again," I sneered.
"Deal," he chuckled, and held out his hand.
I took it and though I wanted to crush it I just squeezed it hard enough to let him know that I was stronger than he was - his winch let me know that the message was received. "Deal," I said after releasing his hand.
He joyously turned over two jacks from his hand. "Four of a kind, sucker," he chirped and with an evil grin went to pull in the pot.
"Straight flush, sucker," was my retort as I laid down my six and ten of clubs.
His face fell and he slumped back in the chair. I handed each of the other players $20 from the pot and said "Please escort Joe the Loser out."
After giving me high-fives they did, as he mumbled to himself.
Of course I was never going to insult June - or the rest of the neighbors - by trying to collect on The Asshole's stupid bet, but I certainly went to bed smug that I had put him in his place.
*****************
It was a Saturday morning, more than two weeks since I humiliated The Asshole (and during which time he wasn't seen a lot outside of his house) when there was knock at my door. It was June.
I had seen June three times in the last two weeks and we had exchanged our normal pleasantries. I got the feeling that Joe hadn't even told her about the bet.
When I answered the door I said "June; what a pleasant surprise."
"I made some extra pumpkin bread and I thought that you might want a loaf," she smiled, holding an aluminum foil wrapped pleasantly odiferous object in her hand.
"I sure would; your pumpkin bread is legendary; please come in," I smiled.
She brought the loaf into the kitchen, I offered her coffee which she accepted, I cut off and ate a big piece while she just nibbled at a little one, while we had a general pleasant chit-chat. After she finished her coffee she seemed to get nervous, almost to the point of hyperventilating.
I was a little concerned, and I put my right hand on her left on the kitchen table and said "Is something wrong?"
"This is really hard for me...could you please just listen and not say anything until I'm done," she replied at a level barely above a whisper.
"Sure," I responded, lightly squeezing her hand.
She sighed and then started making what was obviously a rehearsed speech. "I know that Joe lost a night with me in the poker game a few weeks ago..."
I started to say something but she held up her hand in a "Stop" motion. I shut up as she continued.
"I know that you're too much of a gentleman to approach me about it and would never take advantage of me because of my husband's boorishness; and I know that I'm plain and that a handsome and virile man like yourself probably would have no sexual interest in me anyway..." she sighed again, looked me straight in the eye, and concluded with "but I want you to know that all you have to do if you're really horny some night is to ask and I'll pay up."
