Taking The Bet

Shaun finished drying himself and tossed the towel onto the bathroom floor, the air still hung with steam from the shower. He grabbed a facecloth and used it to demist the mirror over the sink, not too successfully, and leaned in close to double check that he hadn't missed any areas of dark stubble during his pre-shower shave, and once more inspected his teeth, growling at the mirror playfully as he did so.

Standing back he considered himself. He didn't have a bad body for his age. In his mid-forties, Shaun neither worked out nor watched his diet particularly, but he was naturally lean and at over six feet tall carried what little extra weight he had to as a result comfortably.

After a couple of squirts of deodorant and a splash of cologne, he left the bathroom and returned to his bedroom, where his clothes of choice for the evening were already laid out. He quickly dressed in black trousers and shirt, a chequered jacket a mixture of greys, and highly polished black shoes.

Shaun was no great fashionista, not by a long way, but he thought he looked all right. Ready ahead of schedule, he went to the kitchen and snapped on the kettle for one last coffee before leaving. As he spooned the instant granules and sugar into the mug and sloshed some milk in, he thought again nervously about the forthcoming evening.

Frank and Pam had been friends of his for a couple of years. He'd met Frank in the pub that was to become his new local after moving into the area after a work transfer following his divorce. Frank had soon introduced him to his wife Pam and he'd made a small circle of friends through them, including Dave and Brenda who ran the pub, all couples, and though they always welcomed him he always felt a bit of a spare part.

After a year or so Pam had, it seemed, made it her mission to get Shaun 'settled' with a suitable female but Shaun had steadfastly refused to be drawn into the dating game, and she'd eventually eased off. When she'd invited him around for dinner that night she had mentioned, however, that someone called Cynthia was also going to be there, and unsubtly advised him that she was single and gorgeous and in her mid-thirties. He just hadn't had the heart to refuse.

As the kettle clicked and he poured the hot water into the mug he thought about it again. Most folk his age were happily married or settled into some relationship, and those that weren't were usually avoiding it for some reason, like him. When it came to himself he didn't consider he was anything special, no great catch. He reasoned that younger women were looking for life partners or sugar Daddies, and women around his age were looking for younger, fitter and most likely better-endowed men. His age was against him, he was far from loaded and though a little above average in the endowment department, not by much. Added to that that women, he believed, seemed to go for the bad boys more often than the nice guys, he figured he was on a hiding to nothing. Shaun was just a regular, run of the mill, nice guy.

The one thing he did have that he knew he could use to his advantage, if he chose, was his classic Ferrari, but then not having the money to back up its promise he didn't try and pull that one off. In fact, though he had a shining black Ferrari in the drive with his name on the registration, he hadn't even bought it. He'd won it off Dave the Publican in a bet!

Sipping his coffee, he smiled at the recollection. Dave loved to gamble, loved a bet, and he'd bet on anything. Shaun wasn't usually a gambling man. About ten months previously he'd been watching the Superbowl in the bar, excited because The Saints were in it for the first time ever and rooting for them as he'd been supporting them since American Football had become popular in the UK. Dave had told him that The Colts would give them a hiding and offered to bet his Ferrari on it. Shaun had declined, stating that he had nothing of value to put up for such a bet, but Dave had suggested that he stake his services as an unpaid employee to the pub for a year, evenings and weekends. Shaun, not entirely sober, had accepted the bet, and had collected his Ferrari the following afternoon.

Dave had tried to get it back since, by offering bets and once outright offering to buy it, because Brenda had loved the old car, but he'd hung onto it, his only little piece of luxury in a pretty mundane life. It had come to represent the one piece of really good luck he'd ever had.

He finished his coffee and rinsed out the mug, leaving it upturned on the draining board. Collecting his keys and a bottle of Australian Shiraz on the way, he left the apartment for the short walk to Frank and Pam's, already anticipating Frank's response to his wine choice. Well, if it wasn't French it wasn't wine according to Frank!

- - - - -

"Wow, you've made an effort tonight!" Frank told his wife as she teetered down the stairs in a high pair of heels and a short dress. The dress was a dark, rich blue cut low front and back, leaving no way of wearing a bra that didn't show, so she hadn't bothered with one, and stopping well short of her knees. Her long, sleek legs were encased in nylons of a contrasting shade of blue and the heels were a match to the dress, sandals that consisted of a couple of thin straps and a buckle. She had the body for it. Her long, straw blond hair hung free about her shoulders in cascades of tight little curls, her ice blue eyes excited.

"No different to normal," she said back casually, "You just don't just notice often these days!"

Frank appreciated his wife's outfit, lingering on her ample cleavage and almost spectacular breasts, full and firm and all natural. "Now don't be like that," he answered softly, knowing that their guests would be arriving shortly and not wanting the 'we've been married nearly twenty years let's spice it up a bit' conversation just then.

"Well, it's true," she said, but not in a hostile way.

"There's next weekend Pam, fancy hotel in the Cotswolds for our anniversary trip," he countered.

"It's always 'next weekend' these days," she answered, "Though I am looking forward to it." She kissed her husband lightly on the lips, was mildly surprised when he slipped his arms around her to prolong it, but the telephone and the doorbell both started at the same time and they split up, Frank heading for the door and Pam into the lounge to get the phone.

"Shaun! How are you doing?" Frank said as he opened the door, "That bottle better...."

"It's not!" Shaun replied, grinning, "Australian, and if you don't like it I'll drink it myself. I'm good mate, how are you?"

"Getting by," Frank replied with a smile, always up for some banter with his friend, closing the door behind him and gesturing at the hooks on the wall for Shaun to leave his jacket.

Shaun followed him into the lounge where Pam was replacing the phone in its cradle. "Pam, you look lovely as usual!" Shaun told her with a grin, and hugged her, lightly kissing her cheek.

"Thank you," Pam beamed, looking at Frank pointedly, "But I have bad news. That was Cynthia, she's ill and can't come."

"That's a shame," Frank offered, "You'll stay and eat with us anyway Shaun, right?"

"Oh yes, you must," Pam insisted, "We'll still have a giggle, and you'll stop us bickering!" she laughed.

"I'm sure you don't bicker," Shaun chastised her cheekily, "But only if it's no trouble Pam!"

"None at all, it's mostly cooked anyway," she said, "Make yourself at home. I'll check the dinner, Frank will you get some drinks sorted?"

"Sure, I have my uses," he grinned!

"I guess so," she grinned back, "Just not as many as you used to!"

"Oi!" he laughed, watching her walk from the room towards the kitchen, then turning to Shaun, "French or Australian?"

"Do you really have to ask?" Shaun responded, his own eyes lingering on Pam as she walked away from them, not in a lecherous way, just admiringly. Seeing Frank notice his gaze, he said, "You've a fine looking woman there Frank!"

Frank smiled, said "She sure is!" and unscrewed the cap of Shaun's Australian Shiraz and poured him a generous glass, handed it to him saying, "Shame about Cyn, she's a real looker and Pam's been bigging you up big time with her!"

Shaun laughed, "Well, maybe it's for the best then, I hate to disappoint, not that I'd want her to be ill of course!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'd never disappoint Shaun," Pam added flirtatiously as she rejoined the room and the conversation.

"Look out mate, in Cyn's absence she's obviously going to make a play for you herself!" Frank laughed, pouring his own Beaujolais into a glass and raising it to his nose, his eyes sparkling in his wife's direction.

"That's okay, I have you to look after me Mate!" Shaun responded, and took a sip of his wine, savouring it for an instant with his eyes closed, and missing the questioning raised eyebrows and slight grin directed by Pam at her husband.

"Yes, I'll look after you buddy, you flirt away!" Frank chuckled, again raising his glass to his nose, and winking at Pam.

"Something wrong with that?" Shaun asked his host.

"Yeah, I think this one's corked, what do you think?" Shaun took Frank's glass and sniffed gently, then pushed the glass away from him.

"Nope, it's not corked," he answered, "It's acetone. That's the trouble with French wine, too often get a bad one!"

"Well that's because it's alive Shaun, that stuff you have is dead, they kill it!" he countered, reaching for a fresh bottle.

"And that's why you rarely get a bad New World wine, quality control my friend, quality control!" Shaun laughed, "France nil Australia one!"

"Don't you like anything French?" Frank asked.

"Well, the letter has its uses on occasion, the kiss is nice of course, and whether they invented it or not, you can't knock the old 'soixante-neuf' can you?" Shaun teased.

"Oh, I remember that!" Pam grinned, taking a glass from her husband and sipping, eyes glinting mischievously, and adding with a wink at Shaun "I think!"

Shaun and Frank settled onto the sofa as Pam once more went to the kitchen, "We're not going to get into the full French debate again tonight are we?" Shaun asked, "I've already shot down their British created Crème Brulee and Hungarian recipe Croissants!" Shaun chuckled easily, relaxing, almost relieved at the absence of his 'date' and enjoying the banter and Pam's flirting, which was no more than usual for her.

"We'll see," Frank answered.

- - - - -

Dinner was sublime. Pam had provided a light starter of red mullet on a bed of rocket drizzled with sweet chilli sauce, and followed that up with roast lamb and mint sauce with all the trimmings.

The conversation over the courses remained light and friendly, comfortable banter between the men and suggestive banter between Shaun and Pam, egged on good-humouredly by Frank. There was lots of laughter, and an easy companionship between the three, despite Frank's attempts to prove the prowess of the French, but that was an old game between them.

"Place de la Concorde," he'd thrown into the conversation.

"Yeah some nice architecture there, some of it's even French," Shaun teased, "But what's at the centre of it? What's the big attraction there?"

"The obelisk of course," Frank answered.

"Yeah, you mean the Egyptian obelisk given to the French in the early eighteen-hundreds!" Shaun grinned, "Not exactly French!"

"Ahhh!" Frank responded, "Fell into that one!"

"What about the brassiere? That sounds French," Pam continued.

"That why you didn't wear one?" Shaun added teasingly, stealing an obvious eyeful of her cleavage.

Laughing, Pam added with an exaggerated French accent, "No, I didn't wear one because I don't need one Darlink!"

"Wrong again anyway, bras have been around since the Minoans, seventh century BC!" Shaun advised, "But right in a sense. You really don't need one!" He winked. Pam almost preened at the compliment.

Plates were cleared away and coffee skipped as they continued with their wine and conversation, Pam refusing offers of assistance in the kitchen.

"Citroen then?" Frank said smugly.

"The car man?" Shaun added as Pam returned with a cheese platter and a selection of crackers, "Well, he was born in France, Andre-Gustave Citroen, Paris in fact, but his father was Dutch and his mother Polish! So not really. Louis Renault was proper French though!"

"I had a Renault once it was rubbish!" Frank said unthinkingly, realising his mistake all too late.

Shaun grinned widely, "I rest my case!"

"Bastard!" Frank added good-naturedly.

Once the cheese and crackers were cleared away, they returned to the lounge to be more comfortable, Pam flitting between rooms tidying up and putting things away.

"What about suspenders?" she asked.

"I think the modern stockings that hold themselves up are sexier, but I really don't mind them," Shaun grinned.

"Oh like these?" Pam giggled as she passed, hitching her dress just a little to show the lacy tops of her dark blue stockings.

"Yep!" Shaun shook his head, knowing that he might beat Frank at the game of French but that he'd never out-flirt Pam.

"Well, are they?" Pam asked, letting go of her dress once more.

"Very nice for sure Pam, but it's what in them that makes them sexy y'know! And yes, they are!" Shaun replied.

"Thank you," Pam smiled, "But I meant are they French?"

"I thought you did," he answered, smiling, "The suspender belt was invented by Gustave Eiffel I believe, amongst other things!"

"Yes!" Frank said enthusiastically, "French!"

"You think so? That's open to debate!" Shaun taunted, bating the trap a little more.

"Of course, Gustave Eiffel, designed the interior structure of The Statue of Liberty in New York, and that other place, what was it? Oh yeah, The Eiffel Tower!" Frank grinned.

"That's him, still open to debate though!" Shaun repeated, leaning over and reaching out a hand as Pam bent to top up his glass, almost knocking him out with an unimpeded view down her top, grinning at him as she did so.

"What do you mean? You can't get more French than The Eiffel Tower! It was designed and built by a Frenchman in France!" Frank added adamantly, falling into Shaun's little trap beautifully.

"Well it's built in France, I'll give you that!" Shaun told him, "But Gustave Eiffel was born Gustave Boenickhausen, the son of an immigrant family from the German Rhinelands! He changed his name to Eiffel in 1880, only nine years before the tower was finished! So French? As I say, debatable!"

Pam was almost crying with laughter at this point, "Oh give it up you two, does it really matter?" she chided them playfully.

"Not in the grand scheme of things," Shaun answered, "Not one bit!"

"You're wrong about one thing!" Frank added, "I know for a fact that The Eiffel Tower was finished in 1887, not 1889!" He stuck out his tongue at Shaun in a mimic of schoolboy one-upmanship. Shaun and he laughed together, no malice between them.

"I think you'll find that you're wrong there Frank, they started building in 1887, it was completed and opened in 1889!" Shaun told him.

"Disagree, you have your dates wrong!" Frank said adamantly.

"Well now, we have what they call an 'impasse' then I guess," Pam said, "I'll go load the dishwasher, play nice boys I won't be long!"

"I'm afraid I don't!" Shaun wouldn't budge, "But it's easy enough to look up, just Google it, it's no big deal is it?"

"Nope, but I'm so certain I'd bet on it!" Frank responded.

"Ahhh, I'm not a gambling man Frank, never have been!"

"Didn't stop you winning a Ferrari!" Frank laughed, "And I wouldn't mind borrowing that for next weekend, Pam would love to arrive in one of those!"

"Nobody drives my Ferrari Frank, I'm sorry!"

"Not even for a bet? I bet you I'm right, it's 1887, and if I win I get the Ferrari for one weekend. What do you say?" Frank persisted.

"What do you stake Frank, in the event that you're wrong?" Shaun asked.

"Still in one piece in here?" Pam chirped in from the hallway.

"Yes sure, we're just debating!" Frank answered her, and she disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Against a weekend loan of your Ferrari, I stake a couple of hours with my wife, right now, right here tonight if I'm wrong, and right in front of me! Anything goes." Frank responded. There was no doubting his seriousness either, not by the look in his eyes.

"Are you nuts?" Shaun responded.

"Nope, that's how sure I am!"

"It's a tempting bet Frank," Shaun continued, "But I own my car, you can't bet what you don't own and you don't own Pam!"

"Are you chicken Shaun? I never had you down as a chicken!" Frank goaded, gently smiling.

"No, not at all Frank, but you can't make that bet unless she agrees to it!"

"She will, she's been all over you all night!"

"That's just flirting Frank, it doesn't mean anything."

"If she agreed would you make the bet? Are you sure of your own information, or is the thought of losing too much?"

"Think about what you're saying Frank. Even if she agrees, you lose and I'm fucking your wife right in front of you tonight! Could you handle that? Could she? Really?"

"Things aren't getting heated in here are they?" Pam asked as she rejoined them.

"We are disagreeing on when The Eiffel Tower was completed. Shaun thinks 1889 and I know it was 1887. I want to make him a wager, but he won't commit to it!" Frank told her.

"What's the wager?" she asked, "Can't be that bad, you only have to Google the thing to find out your answer."

"He wants my Ferrari for your trip next weekend, a one weekend loan!" Shaun told her.

"Woah! That's high stakes, I know how you feel about that old car," she replied, "And what's his side of the bet if he's wrong?" she asked.

Shaun and Frank locked eyes, Pam looked from one to the other.

"You want the bet Shaun?" Frank asked him.

"I'll take the bet once you confirm that you can honour your stake!" Shaun told him steadily.

Frank nodded, and turned to face Pam. "I bet him that if he's right, he can have sex with you right here and now and right in front of me, a one night stand and anything goes!" he told her. Her eyes widened, and she was fighting a losing battle to keep her jaws together. "He won't agree to the bet until you've agreed to it!"

There was a shocked silence between the three.

"You're serious Frank aren't you?" she asked.

"Yep, seems to me you're in a win-win spot here. I lose and you get some fun with Shaun tonight, I win and you get to go away next weekend in style!" he answered.

"But..." she began.

Frank interrupted her. "Hey, I love you to bits Pam, always have always will. You wanted to spice things up? Do something just for the hell of it, right? You've been flirting all night with him, worse case scenario is that you'd actually get a result for all that effort!"

She looked over at Shaun. "I won't back down on this Pam," Shaun told her, "You are the bookie and the stake here. He can't shake on the bet without your approval so it's your call. Whatever you decide, nothing changes my opinions of either of you in any way, for what that's worth!"

She smiled at him, lowered her eyes, "I haven't seen you so competitive before Shaun," she said softly, suddenly aware of her tightening nipples and dampening crotch. "Wait, did you two plan this?" she asked.

"I was expecting to meet someone called Cynthia tonight Pam, at your invitation," Shaun answered, "The table was set for four and you cooked for four."

"Oh, of course!" she said softly.

Shaun sipped his wine, Pam and Frank stared hard into each other's eyes, looking for clues, answers. Frank saw lust in his wife's eyes, Pam saw the same in his and it surprised her. Silence reigned.

Shaun leaned forward, stretched out his hand to Frank, "I'll accept the bet as offered, if you are able to shake on it!"