The Contest 17

Drew: The Setup

I got into this thing kind of in the middle. But then I made it my own, so to speak. At first it was just a rumor being spread around the clubhouse. How the rumor started, I couldn't guess. Swear to God! Kinda.

"Did you hear about the contest", I heard one asshole say to another asshole in the locker room.

I had gotten out of the shower and was donning a clean, dry rugby shirt to clear my soul of another wasted afternoon swatting at balls. I barely heard the first asshole speak, as I had been mumbling to myself about that damned 18th fairway with the lake that seems to magnetic to my golf balls

Usually, discretion being the better part of valor, I hit around that stinking lake, even though it almost always costs me a stroke. But today I grew a pair and tried to drive it. I usually put it out about 200 - 220 yards with my 3 wood (my driver sucks). Okay, do I look like Tiger Woods? The other side of the lake is just about 200 yards. It's a damn tempting target.

Can you spell intimidation? My drives usually go about 199 yards on the 18th. Or I try to muscle it over and slice that sucker into the next county.

But today... Today I hit it just so. I felt it go straight, true, and far. You know that feeling you get when you hit the sweet spot dead center? That sucker soared. My fist was in the air as the ball cleared the lake. Then the fucker hit a six inch rock on the fly and ricocheted all the way back to my side of the lake. My partner Randy was rolling on the ground. Then I popped a 7 iron shot right back into the middle of the lake. I hate the 18th.

Where was I? Oh yeah, it was asshole number one (Jack maybe?) asking asshole number two (George maybe?) about some contest. I don't do tournaments. I don't play mixed pairs because my wife doesn't golf. I don't enter club tournaments because my handicap is somewhere around my zip code. I once got high before I played and broke ninety; other than that, nothing.

But I knew that this wasn't a club tournament. It wasn't a tournament at all. Jack something saw me standing off to the side and said, "Hey Andy. You want in?"

I hate being called Andy. My name is Andrew; Drew to some of my friends. Assholes call me Andy.

"What contest", I asked?

"Yeah, what contest", echoed George something?

"It's a wife contest" he smugly replied.

"My wife doesn't play", I said.

"Oh, I bet she does" said Jack something.

"What is that supposed to mean" says I? That sounded like some kind of veiled insult, maybe not so veiled.

"Andy, you've got the hottest wife in the entire club. Several of us guys feel that she would be a perfect addition to the list of contestants."

"Contestants for what", says I?

"Yeah, contestants for what", says George.

There are a number of guys at this club who are just arrogant jerks from my point of view. Jack and George were among about a dozen guys who everyone else tries to avoid around the clubhouse. I don't play with any of them because I have enough trouble keeping my own score without trying to catch them using hand mashies and lying about whether they found their stinking ball in the damned trees. Nobody liked them, but I guess they like each other. There's no accounting for taste.

So now they have some contest going. Well I refuse to compare dick size with any of them. It just ain't right.

"Our crowd is having a little contest to see who can fuck the largest number of each other's wives. Winner takes all. Everyone is throwing a hundred bucks into the pot, so the winner will get, I don't know, a hundred bucks times the number of contestants, I guess. Plus bragging rights. I mean big time bragging rights."

That's the dumbest fucking contest I've ever heard of. These so-called buddies are going to try to hook up with each other's wives? That's a sure combination for good feelings and friendly competition. Duh, wonder who thought it up?

Normally I'd ignore the whole concept and just walk away, because it is disgusting, unreasonable and insulting to women. It's just the kind of thing a group of obnoxious misogynist jerks would find tempting. Yes, they are all as asinine and shallow as I had thought.

I've met most of their wives. Why is it that so many beautiful women marry assholes? I suppose it's because they are arrogant enough to ask beautiful women out. Normal guys don't usually have the guts to approach a really gorgeous female.

Now I do have a very attractive wife. Based upon my prior statements, you might think that I, Andrew Jackson McCall, am in fact an asshole. But you would be wrong, bud. My wife is one of those late bloomers. When I married her she was just a bit above average. But with my money she got her teeth straightened, had Lasik eye surgery to lose the coke-bottle specs, found a hair stylist with talent, bought a ton of high fashion clothes that hug every curve and leave you wanting to see more. Get the picture? 'Just a bit above average' turned into 'world class beauty' almost overnight. And now the country club asshole brigade wants to sniff around and see if she looks as good with her clothes off. (She does.)

"I don't care much for bragging rights. And I'll tell you, my wife would never fall for this. She'd emerge untouched because she's as faithful as my wiener dog. So I guess I wouldn't add much to the mix." ('Let's see how badly they want my wife', I'm thinking.)

Jack something smiled a particularly slimy smile. "What's wrong, Andy? Worried about how you would compare with the Club studs? Afraid that once your little wife has experienced some real men she won't want you anymore?"

He said it like he was joking, but I knew he was deadly serious. He is, above all, an asshole. I made like I was deliberating about it. My face looked angry, then concerned, then resolved. I'm good at giving people the face they expect to see. Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

"Okay, I'm in", I finally said with a look of hope mixed with trepidation. (I shoulda been an actor!) "Lock up your wives."

Jack something's eyes lit up and he gave me a ferret-faced grin. "Well that's good news. We can use another wife in the lineup, especially a sexy one like yours. Glad you aren't worried about your wife fucking other men."

"I know my wife pretty well. She takes our marriage seriously. No one will get past first base with her."

"Maybe you are right" he said. But I could tell by the look in his eyes and the saliva dripping down his chin that he thought I was wrong.

"Are their rules to this contest", I asked?

"Yeah" said George something. "What are the rules?"

I could tell that Jack (Off?) wasn't that interested in George's wife; probably because she was a couple of grades above 'hideous' but still below 'offensive' on the attractiveness scale. No wonder he hadn't been asked to join earlier. In fact I'm theorizing that Jack Off brought the subject up with him just so he could bring me into the conversation.

Bet he thinks I was a lot easier to lure in than he expected. That's okay. Let him think anything he wants.

"The rules are simple. Starting with the country club dance on Saturday night, that's the 14th, everyone has one month to bag as many wives as he can. There has to be some kind of proof. You can't just say you've done it. You've got to provide documentation. After next month's dance we'll get together and determine the winner. One more thing: every wife is fair game at the dance. She has to be there and you can't protect her. You should be going after some other guy's wife at the dance anyway. "

"What kind of documentation" asked George something?

"Oh, I don't know. A pair of panties, maybe – unwashed – with engraved initials. I personally plan to use my cell phone to get a nude picture of every girl I fuck. I've been doing that for years anyway. I had to get a terabyte external hard drive to handle all the additional storage on my computer" he smirked.

God, this guy is an asshole. I wondered how he would look with my foot up his ass. I had to get outta there before he made me physically ill.

I saw a loophole that had to be closed. "Just a minute! Getting a picture of the woman by herself, nude or otherwise proves nothing. You've got to be in the picture with her or it's not documentation." Come on, asshole. Agree.

He looked doubtful for a second, but then said, "Yes, you are probably right. I'll make sure everyone agrees to that."

Yes!! "Okay, we're on. When will I get a list of all the participants? We have to know who to go after. I assume any non-participating women who fall into the net by accident don't count." Hey, I can sound as arrogant as the next guy if I try. I usually don't try, is all.

Jack Off says, "I'll print a list and have it for you when you come to the dance. We don't want to email each other about it. Too easy to give the game away. By the way, no informing your wife about the contest. That means instant disqualification."

I took my leave. How do they come up with such bullshit? What sane normal man would want to be a party to something as sick as this? On the other hand, sane normal me can think of nothing better suited to my needs at this time of my life. Sometimes things just come together. It must be fate. Well, sometimes fate needs a helping hand.

Susie: The Setup

Drew is almost everything most women would want in a husband. God knows he's a good provider. Our house is lovely. We're members at the Country Club. I drive a Lexus with every feature one could imagine. Actually I called around to Lexus dealers to see if they had the particular color I wanted – fuchsia. One dealership had the color but told me that the car was loaded. Drew just shrugged his shoulders. My car practically drives itself. Well, it parks itself, anyway. I have satellite radio, heated steering wheel, and every other feature a group of mad scientists could think of. Honestly, I just wanted my car to be fuchsia.

Drew is a big, handsome man. A lot of women are jealous of me and I suppose they should be. He is strong, good looking, fairly loaded, and dependable. And he loves me. But the man is far from perfect to tell you the truth. Well, if I hadn't insisted, we would still be living in a condo rather than our lovely house. He thinks it is too much for us. I would agree with him if I hadn't brought in Rosie, our Mexican maid. She is a godsend. Of course, Drew complained about the cost of hiring a maid. He complained about the cost of buying the house. The man still drives an eight year old Corolla, for goodness sake! Drew is a tightwad. But he can't say no to me.

Those are the good things about Drew. But balanced against those good things is this. Drew at his heart is horribly boring. All he has to do is say 'hello' and I can barely keep my eyes open.

Saturday afternoons he regales me with stories of his morning golf game, hole by hole. And he usually has a long and excruciating story about the 18th fairway. Yes, that's one of my favorite times of the week. Then when I want to go dancing at the club, he wants to spend Saturday night at home watching a football game; or a baseball game; or a hockey game; or

Antiques Roadshow

. He's a grown man who watches

Antiques Roadshow

! Drew is deadly dull.

And our sex life? Please! Who wants to have a sex life with Drew? When he is in the house, I've been bored into a coma by nine o'clock in the evening.

I'd say I have almost a perfect life, if it weren't for Drew. I want some excitement in my life, and Drew is, above all, Mister Excitement. Not!

Maybe it's time to trade up.

Drew: The Dance

We usually go to only a few country club dances a year. My wife is always eager to go. But I would prefer having my fingernails slowly pulled out with a pair of pliers. It's less painful and is over before you know it. These dances, on the other hand, seem endless.

My wife Susie was thrilled, shocked and stunned that I offered to take her to the dance. She had been hinting for weeks but I was successfully ignoring her. Then suddenly I came home and asked her what she was wearing to the dance. She didn't have to beg or threaten to cut me off. All her devious plans to trick me in to going were for naught. Well, perhaps she would just save them for next week's dance. Still, I actually got lucky that night; wonder of wonders.

I played golf the morning of the dance. I couldn't help but notice the disdainful sneers on the faces of the gang of twelve whenever they saw me. I got the impression that my wife would receive a full-frontal assault starting this very evening. It could be interesting. I don't think they cared much what I did with their wives. Or maybe they thought that I was too nice a guy to be successful with women like their wives, who usually responded only to assholes.

Susie looked particularly lovely that night. She was wearing one of those summery, flowery dresses with very little or perhaps even nothing underneath. I caught a glimpse of those B-cup boobs every time she leaned forward. There certainly was no panty line showing through the very light fabric of her dress. What did she have on under there?

Her hair was perfect, with a few of her stylish blond curls attractively hanging in front of those baby blues, only to be removed regularly with one of those little head flicks that she must have learned in charm school. She looked good and she knew it, damn her.

We arrived at 8PM and by 8:05 Susie was out of my sight. Didn't know where she went and I didn't care. I made for the bar, ordered a bottle of ale (Victory V-12: After drinking do not operate heavy machinery), found an available seat and watched for developments. Asshole Jack found me with my friendly V-12 and slipped me a list of names. There were thirteen women listed. I noted that Susie was at the top of the list. Wonder why?

I could barely see Susie over in the corner with at least six of the gang of twelve hovering around her. Every now and then one of them would look over at me, maybe wondering how I would take this full-frontal assault. I may not have mentioned that although I can't hit a golf ball worth a shit, I am 6' 2" and weigh about 200 pounds (on a good day), and most of it is still muscle.

Maybe they were surprised that I joined the contest. Maybe they were still worried that I would pull out of the contest and soundly kick some ass. I knew about twelve asses that really needed a sound kicking.

But no, I remained calm. I remained seated, sucking on that lovely Belgian-like nectar. Actually I was pretty sanguine, given the circumstances.

What about the other wives, you ask? I didn't care about the other wives. I suspected that all of them were pretty well used. I'm not much for well-used women. Call me a sexist snob.

Finally I figured the asshole club might start wondering why I wasn't pursuing any of their wives, so I finished my ale (25 ounces of sophisticated firewater) and started making the rounds. I asked Jill something, Jack Off's wife, to dance. She accepted happily (perhaps even lustily) and molded herself to me as soon as we got onto the dance floor; which I found strange because this wasn't a slow dance.

Nonetheless, we were dancing. She was rubbing her rather robust tits (artificially augmented, I suspected) against my chest while straddling my leg with hers. She seemed to be humping my leg. Now some might find this to be arousing, but it reminded me of my brother's Yellow Lab, that always wanted to hump my leg every time it saw me. I hated that mutt. I didn't find Jill's humping any more attractive.

Jill Off placed her mouth close to my ear and began to talk.

"I'm so glad you're joining us on the dance floor tonight, Andy. I don't think I've ever seen you dance with anyone other than your wife. You are a good looking man, you know. I'd sure like to get to know you better – a lot better. All you have to do is name the time and place, sweetie, and I'm all yours."

Wow, I couldn't have been more tempted. Not!! Still, how often do you get an offer like that with no expenditure of cash or energy? I guess I should have been a bit grateful for the opportunity. For some reason, I wasn't.

"Thanks, Jill. I'll certainly remember that. Maybe you will be hearing from me soon." Throw that old line out there and see if she bites.

"Oh, that would be nice, Andy. Give me a call anytime. You do have the Club directory, don't you?"

"Yes, I'm sure I have it around somewhere. Maybe I'll give you a call."

"I can hardly wait, you handsome thing." With that she wandered away.

Either she is a major league first class slut, or she already knows about the contest. Probably both come to that. I guess she went looking for a member of the gang of twelve to set up her next assignation. She probably looks at this contest as open season. No sneaking around. No lies. Just fuck a dozen or so guys with no consequences; her idea of Nirvana.

No sooner had Jill Off left me than I was joined by Jean something. Hey, I remember the last names of my friends. But I don't have space in my memory banks for the names of a bunch of assholes and their predatory wives. Maybe Jill Off wouldn't have looked so happy if she knew I didn't even know her last name. Oh yeah, somewhere on my body was a list. I just wasn't interested enough to look her up. I kind of prefer Jill Off anyway.

Jean wanted to dance – both horizontally and vertically, it seemed. I was doing a mambo with her, but the horizontal mambo was out, as far as I was concerned. I didn't tell her that. Instead I said, "Maybe you will be hearing from me soon." That line worked well with Jill Off. Jean seemed satisfied as well.

It's hardly necessary to mention that seven or eight more women eagerly attached themselves to me long enough to make me aware of their interest. I felt like a piece of raw meat that had been dropped into the middle of a shark feeding frenzy. Does anyone have any morals anymore? If I had any faith in human beings before, this evening would certainly have destroyed that faith. Luckily I already had lost my faith in people. No harm, no foul.

I finally made it back to the bar. I sucked down another half a bottle of that V-12 but I still need to calm down and relax. Christ, what a bunch of sluts! Perhaps it comes from being married to assholes.

I had never been approached by these women in the past. Even though it was against the so-called rules, they must all have known about the contest and have eagerly embraced it. A chance to fuck! Don't these women have hobbies?

The dance finally ended and magically my wife reappeared. Her face was flushed and her clothes didn't seem to fit her quite right. I made no comment, just led her to the car. I wasn't totally shitfaced. I had nursed that second V-12. Still, I hoped I wouldn't be asked to take a breathalyzer test. Does a Toyota Corolla qualify as heavy machinery?

Susie: The Dance

Strangely, when we arrived at the dance we went our separate ways. Drew headed directly for the bar. Drew only agrees to come to a few of these dances a year. And usually he hovers over me like a hawk! He may be boring, but he is big and strong and a bit intimidating. I think he scares other men away from me. I almost only ever dance with him. Or his buddy Randy, another exciting guy. (Snicker!) But this night was different. He didn't appear to be paying any attention to me at all. So I went to find some excitement.

I know a lot of the women in the club because we hang out at the club swimming pool during the summer days while our husbands are at work. So I went looking for some girls that I knew. No sooner had I lost sight of Drew than several men approached me from different directions. The first one that got there, he said his name was George, asked me to dance and of course I accepted. I love to dance.