Chapter 1: The Wager

There I was, sitting at the bar of my local pub after work one Friday afternoon; having a nice quiet drink. I was just about thinking that I might hang around until the kitchen opened at 6.30 and get myself a nice steak when the door flew open and in they came, the crowd from the office block over the road. It must have been someone's birthday or something. They tended to do this a couple of times a month and as usual they took the bloody place over, disturbing the tranquillity of the bar as they began feeding the bloody jukebox and made lots of noise.

There must have been about twenty or thirty of them all together, guys and girls. Looking them over, I figured most of them should really have been on their way home to their loving spouses. Then some of them started dancing. Christ, things aren't supposed to get lively until around here until about nine o'clock! Shit, the buggers killed the ambience of the bloody place for me.

OK, I'm a miserable old bastard, but that's my right. I've got my reasons for being pissed off with the world and office workers who drink too much, then do things they regret later.

'Oh, well' I thought, 'looks like it's going to be another take-away and a night in front of the bleeding telly again.' I still had my pint to finish so I would have to put up with the bleedin' Hooray Henries for a little while yet.

Just to put the kibosh on things, two guys settled into the stalls at the bar right next to mine. At this time on a Friday I normally have this corner to myself. I didn't want to hear their mundane conversation, but I didn't have much choice as they sat so bloody close to me.

"So you reckon Doug's going to get her then?"

"Dead bloody cert, my friend! Once lover boy decides he's going to have her knickers off, that's it! I've never known him to fail yet; I'll bet he'll be screwing her by the end of the month. You see if I'm not right?"

"But she's only been married a few years. I think he's bitten off more than he can chew this time. She's crazy about her Kevin. Never stops talking about him."

"Well, our Doug will soon get her squealing his name and begging for some more of his Lady pleaser. I've never known him to fail before and remember there's a hundred quid at stake on her. Graham reckons he's going to get there first."

'Hold on a minute.' I thought, 'Just what the fuck are these two arseholes talking about?' There appeared to be some wager going on to see which of two office Casanova's would be the first to get into some dumb married tart's knickers.

"So he says! But I can't see him getting in young Dawn's knickers."

These guys had got right up my nose by now. They were casually discussing their arsehole friends having a bet on which of them was going to seduce someone else's wife. Now I didn't know who the hell these guys were talking about. But these arseholes Doug and Graham or whatever their names were had made themselves an enemy without even knowing it. From what little I had heard, they sounded just like the sort of arsehole who fucked up my life.

I suppose it was curiosity, or maybe it was temper, that made me order another pint; I needed to know more. I don't think it was a conscious thought but I think I just wondered whether there was some way I could, I don't know, kick the arsehole's' horse or something. You know what I mean, fuck-up the two Casanovas' plans. I hadn't been able to get at the bastard that fucked up my marriage, as someone else beat me to it. But maybe I could get these cunts by the short and curly's and if I was lucky, maybe save some other poor bugger's marriage.

"Here's the man himself. Take it from the horse's mouth." One of the wankers said, "What ya having Doug?"

A right flash looking guy, who had apparently just entered the bar, joined the other two wankers and asked for the latest 'In Drink'. I suppose the ladies would find him quite good looking and I would have put him to be about my age, maybe a little younger, 30-35-ish. He refused the barman's offer of a glass and taking the bottle by the neck holding it up by his mouth, the label suitably displayed outwards so that everyone could see what an 'In Guy' he was, drinking the latest designer brew.

Oh, shit, it looked like this guy was everything I hate in the world, all nicely rolled up into one big package. I can't stand fucking Posers!

You know it's funny, but I knew exactly what the Prick was going to do next. He was going to take a sip of his drink then turn around and lean back with his elbows resting on the edge of the bar, so he could have a good look to see who was admiring him. He wouldn't have the nonce to realise that most people in the place were thinking 'What a Bleeding Wanker'. Well, I was for one. Of course some of the naive women could well fancy him. They say some guys think with their pricks, but then again some stupid women don't think at all!

Yep, true to form. The bottle that he had only taken a sip from now dangled near his waist. But the label is still pointing out so it could be read.

Fuck, did I miss out on something at school, or do they run night-classes in Poser-arseholeism nowadays. All these Pratt's do the exactly same things. I'll bet he's got a flash car outside with a nice big noisy exhaust. They seem to think the bigger the exhaust and the more noise their car makes, the bigger everyone will think their prick is. Well, I suppose it makes a change from the old medallion man's medal, or the sock down the trousers.

The three arseholes dropped back into their conversation and I managed to glean that this Doug Prick was a supervisor. He had just completed the appraisals for the next pay round in the office. Apparently this Dawn and her old man were in a bit of a financial bind and the arsehole had given her a nice raise. His next move was to wave a promotion under her nose. But to get that, he was planning she was going to have put out for him.