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 love to suck in 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 180 - 200 yards with my 3 wood. Okay, do I look like Tiger Woods? The other side of the lake is just about 180 yards. It's a damn tempting target.
Can you spell intimidation? My drives usually go about 179 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 knock off 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 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 hook up with 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
.... There is more of this story ...