Alcohol Stupid

My first submission so a bit of background. This is fiction and, as such, my work may not always be completely researched or factual. No, I'm not 6"5" and an ex Navy Seal trained to kill with only my bare hands. I'm not packing nine inches. Can't bring a woman to more than one orgasm with only my tongue - it gets too sore to be any fun. Still, I've never had any complaints from my lovers although I have some scepticism about any rave reviews. Olden times, the adage had been "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach" but with the vast array of quality frozen or take-out foods that likely has little modern day basis. I have the sneaky suspicion the new age equivalent would be to tell your man he's the best you ever had and, when needed, fake the orgasms. Oh, and let him know his cock is just perfect. Could I use an editor? Probably but I like the way my story reads even if grammar and punctuation may be faulty. Hell, we're not trying here for a Pulitzer. All that declared, I hope you enjoy.

I suspect most of us, at one point or another, have had a poster touting the virtues of alcohol. My college dorm's was "Alcohol: What makes dumb ideas look possible" with a picture to "prove" the point. Even more of us would have our own story of something we had said or done while drunk. Many of these would be good for a few laughs when described later. Some, the opposite. Disasters did occur.

Alison and I had been together as a couple for seven years, married the last five and, with our careers and finances in good shape, headed towards making babies. Our best friends, Bruce and Sheila, were in town for the evening and we had gone to check out the city's hot new club. Looking over the crowd, we couldn't help but feel a bit out of step. Although not old compared to the average age, it was clear this was a major hook-up venue where we were a definite pair of couples. Not a stodgy old bunch, mind you, as the drinks were flowing and we were up on the dance floor as much as anyone else.

As I recall, later in the evening Bob had started the conversation which went something like this:

"Remember the days, Jeff, you and I would come to a place like this and have our pick of the ladies?"

"Do I? I wonder if I still have what it takes to charm the panties off some of these hotties" and, catching the look I was getting from the ladies, "Not that I'd ever try!"

Alison had practically asphyxiated on her drink before chiming in, "In your dreams big guy. My memory is you were never the Casanova and if I hadn't made the first move we would never have hooked up. Your pick-up talents wouldn't have a chance in a place like this!"

Bruce: "Jesus, Jeff. These girls don't understand why fathers take their sons fishing to learn life skills but leave the daughters at home."

That comment brought out three "Huh's?" as even I had no idea where this was going.

Bruce forged ahead undeterred, "For a guy, the first step to learn in fishing is to know where to go for the best catches. Sort of like this place. Then, you need to have the best tackle and bait for what you're after. You need to accept you might need to cast a few times before you get a nibble and need even more patience to set the hook and reel her in without the line being lost. To top it all off, once you finally have her landed you may see you have a prize catch or it might turn out to be one you just throw back in the pond. That doesn't even count the times you go home with nothing.

For girls, they get to fish with dynamite. Show up, light the fuse, throw it in, BOOM! All sorts of fish float up and they just point a dainty finger at the catch of the day!"

Alison was very much less than in agreement. "I can't believe I'm actually sitting with two such chauvinists. Ninety percent of the guys who come to a place like this are looking for one thing only and that's to get laid. Only a small number of the females come with that in mind and they've usually picked up a guy by this time of night and headed out somewhere. Last things they want is to wear him out dancing or have him drink too much and unable to perform. By now you're left with girls here simply to party or a larger number hoping to meet the man of their dreams. For that bunch, the number of Prince Charmings is limited and it takes real effort to catch those prizes. Every bit as much "fishing" as one of you guys hooking up with one of the girls still here.

Before I met you I had some pretty good moves myself and could land just about anyone you see here tonight. You and Bruce were never in my league."

Now, there are things you need to understand when it comes to Alison and me. We felt as in love after seven years as we were early in our relationship. One reason, we are both highly competitive individuals both mentally and physically and together we brought out our bests. And, usually, whether who runs their personal best half marathon or just who wins a game of cribbage, there was usually some wager depending on the outcome. And, now, Alison had not simply mocked whether I could fish but my basic masculinity. Pride and alcohol began to take over.

"So Alison, darling, you're telling me, with your female charms, tonight you could hook up with any guy in the place. Meanwhile, poor inadequate me would end up going home rejected by all and with nothing but my hand and some Vaseline to relieve my frustrations?"

"Jeff, darling, short of you slipping someone a date rape drug or getting her so drunk she couldn't give reasonable consent, there's no contest."

"And you could do all that, Alison sweetie, without saying 'Take me home and fuck me'?"

"That's about it, big guy. I'm willing to bet you I can pick up one of the hottest guys in this club using just my female charms before you can score with anyone but an obvious slut. Since you're so sure of yourself, let's make it the loser does everything the winner chooses for a month - cooks, cleans, laundry, personally pays all the bills, winner names it. Anything short of physically dangerous or illegal. You and Bruce can pic three guys you think I can't land while you just need Sheila to agree you didn't chose a slut. First one to get a timed picture texted or emailed doing the dirty wins and after 2AM it's all off."

Now, I should point out through most of this Bruce and Sheila were not just shocked but did remind us of the risk we were taking but, as the argument escalated, they became caught in the battle of the sexes. Before long, three of us were scanning the men to find a trio for Alison's conquest and debating the relative merits to ensure the maximal difficulty. At the same time, I was looking for the perfect target. My old predatory instincts were alive and I was looking for a single, lonesome "girl-next door" look. Not the hot girl next door males fantasize about but the rather plain version of reality who had dressed up tonight hoping for a partner but finding all the girls at her table were being hit on instead. By the time we had the three, I had my "perfect woman".

Alison seemed delighted with our choices, much to my surprise.

"The first guy is the best looking dude in the place and I'll go after him first. It's really just to get him out of the way as he's at a table with three guys none of whom are showing much interest in the available females. I bet you picked him thinking he's gay but he's so gorgeous I just need to test it out quickly. He is so much better than the rest - if he's hetero, I would do him right on this table.

Choice number two would be the one where there's two couples a lot like us. You probably thought I would go for the stud who obviously is here to get laid tonight as he can't keep his hands off all the young things that keep coming on to him. He's probably the school's quarterback and gets screwed every night but I'll bet banging some older married chick is something he would love and it would give him bragging rights for weeks to come. I'll go with him if things don't move along quickly with my second guy. Too easy though.

You all think, number two, he's here as a couple but that's not how I read it. The way they're interacting says this isn't a date. He's not at all toughy-feely with either girl like you'd expect if they had anything going. He keeps checking out the crowd and, when he gets up with either of his table mates, they dance without any heat. That guy is up for grabs and may even have been brought here by friends looking to hook him up to get over a failed romance. If I'm right, he's easy pickings and likely to be a lot more considerate and passionate than my 'last chance' guy.

Not too late for you to back out as you don't have a chance. If you quit now I'll even agree to cut your servitude to just two weeks to save you embarrassment."

"Fuck that!" I thought, pushed back my chair and headed off to ask the "girl next door" to dance.

Turned out her name was Denise, she indeed was a little lost and lonely and, although not there expecting or even really looking to get laid, she seemed to know sex was the one thing she might need to offer to catch someone. Her appreciation for any attention was endearing and, while I never lost sight of the prize, I found myself rather enjoying talking with her and more time went by than I had intended. Still, she needed a couple more drinks for bravery before working up the nerve to invite me back to her apartment.

Luckily, she lived just five minutes away and, being a bachelorette apartment, no roommate to worry about. Once her door closed I took her gently in my arms and we had our first kiss. It was soft and you could sense the shyness and even inexperience. There was no rejection, though, and so my hands slid down to her butt pulling her in tightly and putting a lot more heat into the second kiss. I know she could feel my erection pressing against her and she didn't try to pull back but she seemed to be more as accepting of her fate than an active - let alone, enthusiastic - participant. Maybe it was that, maybe I had begun to think of her as more as a person than a conquest and maybe (probably) it was my dropping blood alcohol level but that kiss told me just how stupid and wrong I was behaving. Stepping back I could see how vulnerable she was even though she would give herself to me if only for the night.

"Denise, I'm sorry. This is wrong and you don't deserve it. I'm just coming off a big argument with my girlfriend" I lied but not without some truth to it, "but you're much too nice for me to take advantage of just to feel some revenge. Please forgive me but I've gotta go."

Just saying that, the entire reality of the night's bet had sunk in and I'm sure my face reflected the shock of the jilted boyfriend. I staggered quickly out the door and down the stairwell to the building's small lobby. Sitting in a corner on a cold and dirty floor, I began to frantically text Alison, " You were right. I couldn't do it. You win and I'll live up to the bet. Just stop what you're doing and meet me at home. I love you."

At least that's what I started out to say but half way through my email signal went off.

The title: "The Big Winner"

Clicking on the link came a picture and note. It was a close-up of a woman's hand holding a guy's cock. Impossible to tell who either were attached to and so you had no idea how big the hand was but the fingers reached less than two thirds around the phallus and it was at least three and a half hand breadths long. There were no rings on the fingers but Alison and I had given our rings to Bruce and Sheila at the start of our contest. The only identifying feature was on the wrist. A diamond bracelet. The bracelet I had given Alison on our fifth wedding anniversary. The message said simply, "Or should I say, The Big Wiener?".

It was lucky I was already on the ground. For a moment the world went black. Next thing I knew I was coming around to the sound of my phone's email announcing another message. Same title. New picture. Obviously taken by a guy being ridden reverse cowgirl position. This allowed whoever she was to reach back and lewdly spread her cheeks to give the most detail of her penetration. Cunt obscenely stretched. Appearing that only the head was inserted. Even so, more penis still outside than I had in total. I was in shock. Unable to move. Barely able to breathe. All I could think of was there was no way to know this was really Alison. Maybe she had convinced some couple to fuck while she took pictures. Maybe she had the woman wear her bracelet to fool me. Oh, please! Please! Maybe, maybe, maybe. Fifteen minutes I sat there as my whole world seemed to crumble apart with the one final picture. All doubt gone. Another taken by her lover. The woman kneeling on the floor. Chin and breasts covered in what was clearly a copious load of cum. Smiling for the camera, my Alison.

Somehow, I was able to get to my feet. Stumbled out to the street. Every few steps I would pause to vomit, wretch or just catch my balance. No idea how long I walked. I just knew I couldn't go home. If I even had a home anymore. Eventually I found myself in the lot of one of those relatively safe, comfortable but still affordable hotel chains - seemed as good a stop as any. The guy on the desk was willing to put me in as Thomas Brady once I showed him a photo ID - I must have looked pretty rough to resemble Ulysses S. Grant. Three more 50's got me a two night stay. It seemed I would need at least that long to come to grips with what had happened. The hurt only deepened realizing Alison hadn't called me since the pictures - she was either spending the night with her boy toy or wasn't concerned I hadn't come home. Not wanting to talk with her, I turned off the phone and then, just to make sure she couldn't track me, I removed the SIM card.

The room itself was far from special but the bed had new sheets and the bathroom was clean. Anything else really didn't matter to me in my misery. Sunup came without any sleep but a whole lot of tears. Going down to the lobby I found the motel had a small "business centre" which gave me computer access. Still thinking to remain undercover, I used this to log onto my office computer and, in turn, onto my personal accounts. No new email pictures (I don't know if I could have taken anything more) but one text from Alison.

"I won fair and square so time for you to get home and pay up. Staying with your slut all night was never part of the deal and you're only making your punishment worse. I would tell you to Man Up but you came up lacking in that department."

Who was this woman? I know we had always been competitive but had thought we were still a team with common goals and complete respect for each other. How was it I could have recognized how wrong our bet was while she was not simply oblivious but flat out rubbing my nose in it. There was no way at that point I could deal with her so I signed off and went back to my room hoping to think things through. I thought about getting shit faced drunk but knew this got me into this trouble. Best give things a lot of sober thought. I ordered in a pizza for supper but, with time passing and no obvious solutions, I headed back to the computer room and my messages.

Two new ones:

Bruce's came first. "Dude. I hope things with you and Alison are OK today. We lost track of you but Alison made sure we knew she was leaving with the second guy hoping to 'aid in his recovery'. She says she was right and he was trying to bounce back from a failed romance. Said it was his 'time to get back on the horse and ride again but who knows who'll be riding whom.' Sheila and I are worried so call us when you get a chance."

Alison said, "Hey asshole. Now you've pissed me off big time. Enjoy the sex

until she kicks you out as you won't get any from me for the next month. I might just need to see Brent a few times just to tide me over."

I knew it wasn't the pizza that was turning my stomach. Where was this vitriol from? Not even the slightest concern my failure to return might mean I had come to some harm from a jealous boyfriend or something. And then the threat the onetime romp could become anything more. Was she expecting one of my tasks would be to eat his cream pie?

Another sad stroll back to my room. Another sleepless night. Another grey morning. No solutions on the horizon but I had immediate tasks to deal with on which I could focus. A little distraction from my woes.

First step was to call my boss and let him know I would't be in. Harry and I had met in college, became friends and he had recruited me for my job. He had also gone through a nasty divorce and was sympathetic. Next, a bit more cash crossed the front desk to secure my room for a couple more days. Then down the hall to log on again.

Another from Alison sent right at bedtime:

"Brent called me tonight. Wanted to know if we could see each other again. He's calling again in a couple days so you had better get home or I will be horny enough I just might take him up. Can't help wondering if it was just my imagination or was he as good as I remember. BTW I'm leaving the house a mess so I have lots for you to do when you finally show up."

My first thought was she really wasn't backing down on this. My next was there wasn't just a lack of empathy or apology. Instead, the nastiness was ramping up. But what hit the hardest, she had given her stud her phone number! Before she even knew where things were going! There was a lot going on I didn't understand but you couldn't help thinking old Big Dick Brent was seen as a future delight. It crossed my mind splitting bank accounts and booking a lawyer's appointment might be timely but then felt guilty I could abandon our marriage so quickly. Instead, I replied:

"I'm safe but need some time alone to think. We'll need to talk soon." No "I love you" though. Overnight, not only had I begun to doubt this might still be true but whether I even understood the woman to whom I was married.

Not wanting to leave the office in a lurch, I now called up my secretary to at least handle simple problems. Little did I know.

"Damn boss! What trouble are you in? I just got off the phone with your wife and she's on the warpath cursing you out and even threatening to get me fired if I'm covering up for you. She and I have never had troubles before but she seems crazy now."

After explaining Alison and I had had a fight and I was spending some time away sorting things out I suggested she call Alison and let her know we had spoken but I hadn't said where I was. Only that I had asked the boss for a few days off and wouldn't be in. Hopefully, that would keep Alison off her back.

Knowing Alison wouldn't let all this keep herself from work, I taxied home to pick up some clothes. Looking over the place, every room looked like a bunch of teenagers had been left alone for the weekend and partied hard. Pretty clear what was in store to pay off our bet. Something in me wanted to maintain a semblance of independence and so I only took some old clothes and a pair of old running shoes that Alison would never notice were gone. I left my car and computer - nothing to indicate I had been home - and took a series of buses back to the motel. Best part of my day was getting changed into a track outfit and going for a two hour run. A shower, burger and fries for supper and the time had arrived for an important call.

Looking back, I can't imagine how I could have eventually gotten through all this without Bruce and Sheila. I had been best friends with him since high school but wasn't sure which side she might have been on in this argument. I was about to find out.

"Hey Bruce. It's me."

"Jesus, Jeff. Where are you? You alright?"

"About as well as you could expect. I've holed up at a cheap hotel while I think this through. Before we go any further, I don't want you in trouble if Sheila is mad at me and siding with Alison."