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Poker Night
Author’s notes: Everyone is over 18. I hope you enjoy it.
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The four sat around the poker table, two men and two women. They were middle-aged, ranging in age from forty-four to forty-eight. They had all gone to and known each other at the same university. Their weekly poker game had started all the way back then. All four were very successful in their chosen fields, a testament to their competence and dedication. All four were married, just not to anyone in the room. Their spouses did not share their love of fine cigars, good whiskey, and poker. But let’s slow down and introduce them, the ladies first, of course.
Sue is a very successful lawyer and partner in a very prestigious Law firm and the youngest. Her husband, Dean, is a college professor of mathematics, but financially speaking, there is no comparison to Sue. He isn’t even the department head. Dean is mild-mannered and somewhat submissive in that Sue essentially runs the show. Her hours keep her late with meetings and preparations for litigation while he has the time to do the more routine running of life. With the two children, a boy and a girl, off to college, he has begun spending more time at the college, even taking on more classes. They rarely see much of each other except on weekends. Dean doesn’t smoke or drink anything stronger than Chardonnay. Sue once coaxed him into a poker game, and she commented later that, frankly, a child of five would have picked up the game faster than he did. He never seemed to be interested, and she never asked him again.
Sue is short, only five feet two inches in her stocking feet, which explains her love of stiletto heels. Some think this is because, as a lawyer, taller men dominate the courtroom. Sue is actually a Terrier. You know, the little terrier dogs like the little Scotties and West Highlands that go in the quarry’s holes to fight them. They think they are fifty pounds of dog wrapped in a ten-pound bag. Well, she thinks she is two hundred and ten pounds of lawyer wrapped in a hundred-pound bag. Her figure is holding up well due to her disciplined eating and exercise regimen. Sue’s breasts are average size but, on her small frame, look quite large. During the week, she tries to minimize them, but at the poker game, her freedom to be herself, she enjoys displaying her cleavage.
Her cigar of choice is the Arturo Fuente Hemingway’s Short Story, a mellow to medium-strength, 4X49 Perfecto size, 30-40-minute smoke. It is draped in a mild coffee bean-hued Cameroon wrapper that gives the cigar a divine peanut butter aroma and sweet and spicy contrast. The well-aged Dominican binder and filler tobaccos deliver balanced and refined hits of cedar, caramel, leather, and toast. Her whiskey of choice is the Knox Joseph Straight Bourbon Whiskey from a woman-owned distillery.
Amy is a very successful art dealer who is in the middle age range at forty-six. Her husband Ralph is a mid-level executive in a small distribution company who, as Sue’s Dean, cannot remotely compete financially with Amy. The opposite is the case with Amy, in that she has more freedom time-wise. The household running is left to her while Ralph plays the patriarch, at least until their daughter leaves for college. Ralph’s passion is for golf and beer always distaining her love of poker. Amy didn’t mind. A night away from him is a good thing.
Amy is of average height at five feet six inches. Being in the formal Art world, she has a very elegant, almost regal carriage and dresses the part. Her long neck and large breasts set off an elegant, curvaceous body that often turns men’s eyes. It isn’t due to her exercise regimen or eating habits but due to genetics and her naturally high metabolism. Amy generally dresses in elegant haute couture during the week and, at the poker game, loves to dress down a bit in more common tops and miniskirts.
Amy’s preferred cigar is the Macanudo Hyde Park, a mellow-strength 5.5X49 size with a 45-60-minute smoke time. It has a light tan Connecticut wrapper but has Rogusto’s smooth, creamy, almost buttery-tasting profile. The mix of Mexican long fillers and Dominican Piloto Cubano burns brilliance of bread, coffee, sweet spice, and vanilla, a top-notch stogie. Her choice of whiskey is Glenmorangie Scotch, 12-year-old. It has a mild, peaty, smoky flavor and aroma.
Ben is a vice president of sales for a Fortune 500 company and the oldest of the group at forty-eight. His wife, Catherine, is a very shy and submissive woman who works in accounting at a not-for-profit. Rarely interested in anything other than the non-profit and its cause, she distains whiskey, cigars, poker, and his capitalistic drive, preferring social justice meetings and occasional demonstrations. Her influence, because of his frequent absence from home for business trips, has turned their daughter, who is in no way shy or submissive, into a modern screaming pink hat feminist, but at least she is now in college, and he doesn’t have to hear it from her. Poker night is his weekly refuge from his wife’s social justice Sahabet and political obsessions.
One doesn’t go far in sales if one is fat, ugly, or short. Ben is six feet two inches and weighs just two hundred pounds. He spends two hours at the gym every day except Sunday when most are pushing the snooze button. An athlete in college, track, and wrestling, he is in magnificent shape and is talented enough to be a six-stroke scratch golfer. He is always dressed immaculately, well-manicured, and spit-shined at work. At poker night, he likes to dress down to simply a golf shirt and slacks.
His cigar of choice is the Oliva Serie V Melanio Maduro at 5X52 size, which affords a full sixty-minute smoke. It has a Mexican wrapper with a Nicaraguan binder and filler, which provides its trademark combination of dark chocolate, roasted almonds, and smooth pepper, complemented by a rich note of caramel flavors. It is the only cigar to win Cigar of the Year twice. His whiskey of choice is Jameson Irish Whiskey, a fine rye whiskey, indeed.
Our final player is Joe, a Vice President of a major commercial and residential building contractor firm. His wife, Emily, is a teacher at the local elementary school who, again, cannot match the earning power of Joe. Emily is decidedly submissive, arranges the care of the children, efficiently runs the home, and defers obediently to her husband’s leadership. A somewhat religious upbringing causes her to reject anything to do with smoking, drinking, or gambling. Poker night is Joe’s escape from her self-righteous scoldings.
Having started in the building trades, putting him through college, Joe is well muscled, and although not the athlete or having a gym molded physique like Ben, he has the physique of a blue-collar working man in a blue suit. He is also tall six feet one inch at two hundred and twenty pounds. Joe is the kind of person that no matter where he is, you get the authentic Joe. He must dress in a suit at work but is usually found with his jacket hanging up, his sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened. At poker night, he dresses casually in chinos and a button shirt.
His cigar of choice is the Aganorsa Leaf Aniversario Connecticut at 6X54, which provides a sixty-minute smoke. It has a Nicaraguan wrapper binder and filler. It is a Connecticut shade-covered cigar with sweet cedar, toasted cashews, smooth pepper, and cinnamon notes. His whiskey of choice is Makers Mark Bourbon, a solid but refreshing drink.
“So, who is the banker tonight?” Sue said, plopping her overstuffed purse on the table.
“I believe it is my turn,” Ben replied. “That will be a fifty-dollar buy-in with the ability to buy in once more during the night.”
“Well, duh, that has only been the rule for the last five years, Ben. I haven’t been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Fuck your second buy-in and just give me a hundred bucks in chips,” Sue said, handing him two fifties. “Damn, it is nice to be able to say things like fuck. A lot of times in court, that is what I want to say but can’t,” Sue said, chuckling.
“I understand, Sue, what you mean,” Amy agreed amiably. “At the gallery, there are so many…assholes,” she blurted out, giggling, “That I just want to scream.”
“I work in construction, and except in a business meeting, I talk like that anytime I want to,” Joe said, laughing.
“Some of us just have all the…fucking luck,” Ben said, inducing a round of laughing from them all. “So, to speed everything up, why don’t I just pass out the hundred bucks in chips to everyone?”
“All those in favor,” Sue said as everyone tossed their buy-in on the table.
They each piled their chips or sorted their chips as they usually did. Sue’s are always in neat sorted piles, Ben’s in neat piles, not necessarily completely sorted. Amy’s are always an artistic mélange of colors, and Joe’s are in a random unsorted pile.
“First things first,” Joe said, rising to go to the bar.
We are talking about four well-heeled people. Originally, they simply rotated homes to play in, with each hosting once a month. For years, they had lived with their spouses’ complaints, and finally, when they got to the point where they could, they rented places to play, like a hotel room for the night. Five years ago, they found a permanent apartment at a remarkably good price. They decked it out to their satisfaction, decorating it and even putting in the proper furniture, like sofas and even a king-sized bed. It had been decided that should the need arise, any of them could use it, say if a guest needed housing, it was too late to get home, whatever. They stocked the bar with their preferred libations and had a large built-in humidor installed to accommodate their preference for smoke. It was their little club. Each of them obtained their drink and cigar, returning to the table.
“We are playing Five Card Stud. Ante up, my friends,” Ben said, lifting his drink in toast.
They played for a little over an hour, or the length of a cigar, the last finally being extinguished, leaving them Sahabet Giriş in a cloud of mingled yet delightful, for cigar lovers anyway, cigar smoke.
Sue threw down her cards, saying, “Fuck.”
Ben held out his hands palm up, shaking his head in confusion.
“What the hell are you doing, Sue? You have lost six straight hands and most of your stake. I’ve never seen you play this bad. What’s up?” Ben asked.
Sighing a very frustrated sigh, Sue snapped, “I’m bored.”
“Get a hobby,” Joe chuckled.
“Yeah, with my litigation schedule, I’ve got time for a hobby,” she retorted. “Playing poker with you losers is about all I get.”
“Calm down, dear,” Amy soothed. “There is something obviously wrong. What is it?”
“There is no challenge anymore. The thrill of Poker is in the betting. One hundred dollars? Fuck I spend more than that at Starbucks in a week. There is no risk anymore.”
“Well, we could raise the stakes,” Amy proposed.
“No,” Joe said emphatically. We have talked about this. Taking the risk you seem to desire would require us to put up thousands. I am not willing to do that.”
“I know,” Susie whined, “And I agree. It’s just that there is no…fuck I don’t know. Deal!”
Sue lost again leaving her only just enough to ante up.
“Ho, ho, ho. Susie’s gonna go,” Joe chided, using a nickname Sue despised.
“Fuck you, Joe,” she retorted.
“Sticks and stones,” he replied, laughing.
“Fuck you anyway, Joey,” Sue replied, joining him in his laughing.
Sue anted up, and the cards were dealt. After several checks and the obtaining of replacement cards, Amy called Sue.
“Oh, too bad Susie doesn’t have anything more to bet,” Joe again teased.
Looking at her cards, Sue said, “Fuck you, Joey. I will call and raise with…my blouse,” looking Amy in the eyes.
“Now, wait a fucking minute,” Ben interrupted. “Are we going to let our game degenerate into an adolescent strip poker?”
Surprisingly the always elegant and well-spoken Amy replied, “Shut the fuck up, Ben.”
“Uww,” Joe said like a teenager.
“I’ll take that bet, and you won’t even have to remove it until you lose,” Amy said, staring back at Sue. “Raise by how much?”
Not having thought her impetuous move through thoroughly, Sue looked around at all the players.
Amy finally spoke up, asking, “How much did the blouse cost?”
“Thirty dollars,” Sue blurted out.
“Oh, shopping at Walmart again?” Amy replied, laughing condescendingly. “Okay, I will make it equivalent to fifteen dollars. After all, I will have to wash it before I use it as a rag to soak up spills at the gallery,” Amy said, still laughing, and threw twenty-five dollars in chips onto the pile. “And raise you ten.”
“Fold,” both of the men said in unison.
“It is up to you, Dear, call, raise, or fold,” Amy said, licking her lips.
“Fuck,” Sue squealed.
“Fold, and I get the blouse. Call or raise means you have to put up something in addition. What will it be, Sue?” Amy asked coldly.
“Fuck, I know,” Sue said. “I will put up my skirt.”
After a moment, to make sure Sue had said all she would say, Amy replied, “You calling or raising?”
Sue was now actually trembling, knowing she had herself in a hell of a fix. If Sue made the skirt a raise, Amy would get the chance to call or raise it again. Either way, if Sue did not have a winning hand, she would lose both the blouse and skirt. Sue was also unnerved by the usually gentle Amy’s sudden hard play. Sue was expecting Amy to let her off the hook.
“What did you pay for the skirt, Sue?” Amy asked after several moments.
Sue looked at Amy, her eyes narrowed to slits. She was studying Amy, looking for tells but there weren’t any.
“Seventy-five dollars,” Sue replied, trying to sound confident.
“Half is thirty-seven fifty, so I will peg it at forty,” Amy replied, actually sounding confident.
Sue was sweating. If she called, she would be using forty dollars to call a ten-dollar bet, and if she raised it, Amy had a chance to raise it again. If she lost as it stood, she would lose the blouse and the skirt. If Amy raised again, Sue stood to lose even more. At that point, Amy pursed and licked her lips. There it was, one of Amy’s tells. She always pursed and licked her lips when she was bluffing.
Supremely confident, Sue said, “Raise.”
Their eyes never leaving each other, Amy tossed the difference of thirty dollars onto the pot, growling, “Call.”
Sue laid her cards down, saying confidently, “Two pairs, Aces and Jacks.”
Amy smiled as she laid her cards down, “Full house, tens over fours.”
Sue was poleaxed.
“You might not know my tells as well as you think you do, Sue,” Amy said, laughing.
“Fuck,” Sue squealed, knowing she had been duped by Amy.
All of them sat there staring at Sue.
“Well?” Amy said.
Sue looked at Amy, hoping for a reprieve, but none was coming. Lowering her eyes, she began to unbutton her blouse’s top button.
“No, Sahabet Güncel Giriş no, no, you can’t just sit there and hide it all. Stand up and let us all see, Sue,” Amy coldly demanded.
“What?” Sue replied.
“Yes, Miss Bored. Get up and take the blouse and skirt off,” Amy said, chuckling.
Looking at the other players, no one came to her defense, so Sue stood and pulled her blouse out of her skirt, unbuttoned it, shrugged it off her shoulders, and handed it to Amy. She wore a sheer lacy bra, her nipples causing two tents in the fabric.
“And the skirt,” Amy said.
Blushing bright red, Sue unsnapped and unzipped the skirt, removing it exposing her sheer lacy thong, and handed it to Amy. Amy then draped them over the back of her chair.
“One full turn,” Amy demanded.
Sue, blushing bright pink, didn’t argue, did a full turn, and sat down.
“I believe it is my deal,” Ben stuttered.
“So, what is Sue going to ante?” Amy smirked.
Sue sat stunned, not thinking about that until Amy mentioned it.
“I let you off the hook with the blouse and skirt by not having you put them in the pot before we showed cards. The ante is a little different that has to go in at the beginning,” Amy snickered.
“How about a shoe,” Ben interjected nervously.
“My shoes are three-hundred-dollar Piferi’s from Nordstrom,” Sue squealed.
“I see,” Amy began. “Then the bra or panties make more sense from a financial angle.”
“What?” Sue exclaimed.
“This is the game you wanted to play, Sue. Don’t blame me for the predicament. As I see it, you must ante up your bra, panties, or one shoe.”
“Can’t I get like a credit? The bra costs a hundred dollars, and the panties fifty, for fucks sake,” Sue whined.
“Well, perhaps…,” Ben began.
“No,” Amy said with finality. “Play the game as it is supposed to be played. Pull up your big girl panties and ante up, or go home in your underwear.”
“Bitch,” Sue said, slamming her shoe on the table.
Sue’s hand didn’t look promising. Everyone checked, though, so she was safe for now. Her draw cards were even worse, and she sat in her underwear with only one shoe with bupkis. Ben looked like he was playing it safe and checked. So did Amy, but Joe looked really confident, smiled, and raised ten dollars.
“Fuck,” Sue squealed, throwing her cards in.
Joe won the pot with a pair of sixes.
Sue bowed her head and put her other shoe in the pot.
Her next hand looked more promising. Four were spades, and she had a pair of Kings. She could try for a flush, but that meant she had to dump the off-suit King. Trying to draw to a flush with one card on the draw is suicide, so she kept the pair of Kings and asked for three cards. Sue almost dropped her cards when she drew three Aces. Her heart started pounding, and she started sweating, a small bead of sweat forming and running down her forehead. Ben and Joe checked, but Amy raised twenty dollars.
“I’ll call and raise you my bra,” Sue said confidently.
“Let’s see, at one hundred dollars, we will cut that to fifty. Your raise is thirty dollars,” Amy said calmly.
“Fold,” both men said again.
Amy, again looking Sue in the eyes, said, “I will call your thirty and raise you twenty more.”
“You bitch, you are just trying to buy the pot so you can humiliate me,” she accused.
“Call if you want to see my cards,” was her steely reply.
“Bitch, I call,” she spat out.
“With what?” Amy said, laughing.
“My thong, Bitch,” Sue groaned.
“Well, at fifty for the panties, I should only allow twenty-five, but I’ll be nice and let you slide,” Amy chuckled.
“Thanks,” Sue said sarcastically. “Lay your cards down, Amy,” Sue continued angrily.
Smiling, Amy snapped them down one at a time: a four of hearts, a two of spades, a two of diamonds, a two of hearts, and a two of clubs.
Sue blanched and then screamed, “Fuck,” throwing her cards on the table. “The best fucking hand I have had all night, and it went nowhere.”
The two men sat there in shock. Amy sat with her hand across her mouth to keep from laughing, and Sue seethed in anger at her own stupidity.
Silently Sue stood next to her chair and reached behind and undid her bra, being careful to slide her left arm over her tits in a show of modesty and closed her legs tight, working her thong off futility, trying to maintain her modesty. With her arm across her tits and her other hand covering her pussy she stood there, her eyes pleading for mercy from Amy.
“Put your hands behind your head, spread your legs, and do the turn, Sue,” Amy demanded.
“Cunt,” Sue said as she interlaced her fingers behind her neck, spread her legs shoulder-width apart, and did a turn putting her still lovely tits, large areolas, now very erect nipples, and well-waxed pussy on display.
Amy nodded, and Sue leaped into her chair, covering her tits with her arm again.
“And now we have the continuing question of what does she ante?” Joe said, laughing.
Again, Sue had not thought this all out carefully. Her stare pleaded, but it seemed the other players whom she had spent more than two decades playing poker with were not going to let her off the hook that she had crawled out the length of the fishing pole and down the line to get to.
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Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32