"Wanna Bet?" - Sex Stories

"Wanna Bet?"

... a block and then she said, &#034I think I like it better this way. It's like you're my chauffer.&#034 &#034Don't get used to it.&#034 &#034Yeah, yeah.&#034 She was mercifully silent for a while as she twiddled her thumbs and texted her friends, and I listened to the music on the satellite radio. I was almost able to forget she was there. She ruined at illusion while we were stopped at a red light. &#034Ooh,&#034 she said. &#034I want to see that movie.&#034 I glanced around, trying to figure out what she was referring to, when I caught it. There it was, a poster on a bus shelter wall, for one of the upcoming summer blockbusters. &#034Yeah, it might be cool,&#034 I agreed. I read the cast list. &#034Huh, I didn't know Samuel L. Jackson was in that.&#034 I didn't remember him from the commercials. &#034He's in everything these days,&#034 Faith said. I gave a little laugh. &#034Yeah. What do you think the odds are that he's bald or has an eye patch in this one?&#034 &#034I don't think he'll have an eye patch. And he's always bald.&#034 &#034Not always,&#034 I said, struggling to think of a recent example where he didn't. Faith, instead, began listing all the recent movies where he was bald. Some were not so recent. She ended her little list with, &#034Star Wars. The Matrix.&#034 &#034He wasn't in the Matrix,&#034 I corrected. &#034Yes he was,&#034 she said, sounding snotty. &#034He was Morpheus.&#034 &#034No, that was some other guy.&#034 I snapped my fingers, trying to ...

... remember, but Lawrence Fishburne's name, though on the tip of my tongue, wouldn't come out. &#034No, it was Samuel L. Jackson. I just saw it on TV a few weeks ago.&#034 &#034You're wrong.&#034 We went back and forth, arguing &#034Yes he was&#034 and &#034No he wasn't&#034 several more times, before Faith finally said, &#034Wanna bet?&#034 That's where my Dad's part of this came in. We got into arguments like this all the time, for our whole lives, over stupid shit. As annoying as the arguments were to us, they were even harder to listen to, and Dad often snapped at us to shut up... which only made us continue the argument in whispers, slowly regaining out original volume. Finally, one day, years ago, Dad came up with a solution. &#034If you're both so sure,&#034 he said, &#034You should bet on it.&#034 If we weren't convinced enough that we were right that we were willing to bet on it, he explained, we should back down and stop arguing. And once we bet on it, there was no need to argue, you only had to settle the bet. It was a pretty good solution for him. Whenever he couldn't take any more of our arguing, he'd suggest we'd bet on it, and we soon started betting to settle our own fights. Sometimes we bet money, but more often we bet chore duties, services, items. We were scrupulous about keeping the bet, no matter how unfair it seemed to be. Dad made sure of that, too. The one time he caught me welching on a bet, he gave me a spanking I'd remember long after I'd forgotten what stupid ...