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The Billiard Lesson
(*, Mff/ffM, Serious, cons paddling)
Two young ladies are given sharp lessons in pool sharking. (Approximately 3,010 words. Originally published 1997-10.)
Today Uncle Joe taught Belinda and I how to play pool. We'd asked him because I'd heard Jason Miller and his pals are really into pool. My game improved a whole lot -- but I'm not sure asking Uncle J for help was such a good idea -- my behind's so sore I can hardly sleep.
Uncle J's got what he calls a "surefire" way to learn pool quick. When Belinda and I went to talk to him about it, he got a curious expression on his face and asked us if we were "serious."
"Sure, Uncle Joe," I said. "We want to learn and you're the best pool shark in the county."
"Yeah, but are ya in it boots an' all?"
We both told him we were, and that's when he got down Old Betty from the mantle. Now Belinda and I both had intimate acquaintance with Old Betty -- that slender four-by-twelve had warmed our butts on numerous occasions over the years. Legend had it Uncle Joe's grandpa had made it, but no one really knew if that was true. Us kids didn't really care where it came from -- all we knew was how much that thing stung when applied with a vigorous swing to the seat of your pants.
"Uncle J-Joe?" I began timidly, seeing him holding Old Betty in the classic two-handed grip. "W-whatcha doin' with that?"
Uncle Joe's bushy eyebrows crinkled. "Ya wanna learn to play pool, ya gotta learn my way, child." He swung the paddle through the air once or twice. "My grandpa taught me pool with Old Betty, and now I'm gonna teach you two."
At about that time you can imagine Belinda and I were looking at each other pretty worried. We didn't like the direction this was going. We were nearly fifteen years old -- I hadn't been spanked in nearly a year and Belinda longer than that.
Uncle Joe put Old Betty on a chair and took down a cue stick. As he chalked the tip he explained. "Works like this, girls: miss a shot, and the opponent gets to take Old Betty to your ass. Lose a game, and the winner gets as many pops as you've got balls left on the table. Understand?"
Belinda and I squinted at each other and shrugged. I must confess I felt a little bubbling in my belly -- we were playing for stakes!
"Standard eight ball," growled Uncle Joe, racking up the balls. He handed me a cue. "Go ahead and break, Kelly. We'll play a match of five, then Belinda plays the winner."
There was no doubt who'd that be. I approached the table with trepidation. Uncle Joe gave me a few tips on my stance and stick positioning, and then I broke, hard.
Three balls went in. I couldn't believe it. Two stripes and a solid. I decided to go for stripes, of course. My nearest shot was a tricky one down the side. My angle was a bit off and the striped ball bounced around the pocket but didn't go in.
"Look's like it's time for Old Betty," said Uncle Joe with a big Texas grin. "You know the position."
Did I. I planted my legs wide and rested my hands on my knees. I was sure thankful I was wearing thick jeans instead of a dress. The swat came, loud, nearly knocking me off my feet. For a second I didn't feel anything, and then I leapt up as though a hundred bees were buzzing in my panties.
"Owww!" I hollered, and Uncle Joe guffawed.
"Perhaps next time you'll take a little more time before you shoot!"
And then, as my heart sank lower and lower, he proceeded to shoot every single stripe into a pocket. As he shot he commented, telling me things about his stance and aim and angles and shit like that, but I couldn't concentrate and just kept getting more and more nervous. My heart was thumping as he took aim at the black ball -- there were still six solids on the table! Hadn't he said -- oh, shit, he made it!
"That's game," said Uncle Joe. "Hey, Belinda. Rack 'em up while I deal with Kelly, here." He exchanged his cue for Old Betty and approached. This time there was more fear than excitement in my belly as I glumly bent over.
"Don't look so sad, girl. This ain't no permanent thing -- just a sting to get your mind in gear."
Well, "just a sting" it was -- six doozies in a row. Much as I wanted to be adult-like, I yelped at every one. During that torture I could have sworn God turned the denim of my jeans to silk -- it felt like I had nothing on.
Tears brimming in my eyes, I watched as Uncle J broke, sending the white ball straight into the corner pocket. He didn't bat an eye.
"Grab Old Betty, Kelly, and give me your best shot."
I stood there like a fool for the longest time. Old Betty felt strange in my hands. I'd never beheld her from this angle before. She was heavier than I'd expected. Finally, at Uncle Joe's threat of "demonstrating" to me how to use her, I stepped forward and let him have my best baseball swing. He didn't even grunt.
"Your shot," he said, nodding at the table.
I groaned, my hands shaking with nervousness. I *had* to make it!
I missed. I'd decided to go for solids, and since Uncle J had scratched, I could put the ball wherever I wanted. Impossible to miss. I did. Carelessness, I guess. Uncle Joe reminded me of that as he heated by ass good with Uncle Betty.
Perhaps Uncle Joe was being kind, or maybe overconfident, but he missed his next shot. I gave him another pop that didn't seem to faze him, and then took up my cue stick. My best shot was a stripe along the end. I aimed carefully, almost afraid to breath. It went in. Feeling more confident, I shot for a lone stripe down at the opposite corner. It bounced around the pocket instead of going in. I bent over of another swat.
My ass was burning a bit as I watched Uncle Joe line up a long corner shot. His ball missed and the cue ball went into the pocket. Score another swat for me!
My next shot was easy. This time I made sure I didn't miss. The problem was that the return hid the cue ball behind some solids, not giving me a clean shot. I shot long distance and hard, balls careening everywhere. A solid dropped in.
"Helpin' out your dear old uncle," laughed Uncle Joe. "Thanks!"
I took my swat silently, gritting my teeth. It wasn't so bad that time. I was getting used to it. It stung but was bearable, at least over jeans.
Nice and gentle, Uncle Joe pocketed the rest of his balls one after the other. The black one went into the side pocket without a hitch. It left me with five stripes on the table.
By the fourth swat my resolve left and I cried out, and the fifth had me wiping tears from my eyes. I was growing annoyed. I snatched up my cue stick, determined to make a break that would raise Uncle Joe's eyebrows.
It made a lot of noise, but nothing went in. I took another swat burning with resentment. It wasn't fair!
But Uncle Joe was definitely taking it easy on me, regardless of the cost to his rear -- he missed an easy long shot to the four ball in the corner pocket. I walloped him as hard as I could, but he didn't even blink.
My next shots were ideal for my lack of skill -- easy lineups and I put three away before a difficult long shot made me miss. Uncle Joe started a run, putting one of his _and_ one of mine away, winking at me as he did so. He missed his third shot, though, and the cue was back in my hand.
There were only three solids left to Uncle J's four stripes, so technically I was winning. I knew that didn't mean anything, but the possibility that I could beat him drove me forward. My first shot sent the red ball into the corner, and lined me up perfect for a cross shot to the blue in the far corner. I took my time, aimed, and the ball did it's little dance around the pocket and refused to go in!
Uncle Joe's next shot took my breath away. It was marvelous angled shot on the fifteen to the corner, the cue ball rolling away to knock the eleven in the right corner. The problem was the white ball followed the eleven in -- both balls came out and I got to whack Uncle Joe's rear again!
I couldn't believe my luck. Now I had two balls on the table to Uncle J's four! I had a direct line on the blue ball to the far corner... and I sank it. That left me with a tricky angle on the brown. I'd have to put spin on it to put it into the corner. Uncle J gave me a few hints, explaining how "easy" it was.
I missed, needless to say. Any time the pressure's on, I fail. Balls bounced everywhere, but nothing went in.
Uncle Joe promptly settled any dreams of a win on my part. Bang, bang, bang, three of the four went in. On the fourth, I thought he'd missed. The ball banked around all four sides before deciding on the left corner pocket. With only the black to shoot, I was doomed. But somehow Uncle Joe missed -- even worse, for him, the white ball dropped in the pocket! He'd scratched on the black, giving me a win!
Well, it was a small victory, since with only the black left, I only got to give him one swat. But I was still pleased. He'd only beaten me two games out of three.
I watched him break. He knocked a stripe in, and then laughed as all the rest of the stripes were screened by my solids. Somehow he managed to sneak it past mine to strike a stripe first, but that one careened into mine and pocketed me a solid.
Uncle Joe grunted grumpily as I gave him a swat. I knew it wouldn't be long before I was bent back over -- I had no shot. All of my balls were screen by his stripes. The only hope was a long shot to a solid at the center of the far end -- I'd have to chip the side and send it into the corner. I lined up and shot hard, knocking the ball to the side all right -- and sending it bouncing around the table. It hit the side and dashed down to the left corner pocket!
Now I had a chance. It was a tricky shot to brown ball, but I made it. And succeeded in putting my cue ball in a pocket as well. Both came out and I bent over for another swat from Old Betty.
Well, I made one, missed one, Uncle Joe made some, missed, etc., until the game came down to me scratching, giving Uncle Joe the perfect opportunity to put away his last ball and send the black home. I was left with four balls on the table -- better, but my ass would have preferred one or none.
My break for game five did nothing, but Uncle Joe gave me a gift -- missing and setting me up for an easy solid in the corner. I put away three more and then missed. I was so happy and I didn't even care about the swat -- Old Betty and I were becoming familiar friends.
Uncle Joe promptly dashed my enthusiasm by putting away six in a row. His last shot was screen by the black ball but he banked a shot around it, nearly sending it in.
With only three balls on the table I knew I was close -- I put the easy purple one in the corner, and then somehow missed on the yellow. Uncle Joe made an incredible bank shot to put away his last ball, and it was all up to the black.
He missed. I don't know how or why, but I didn't care. I knew I had a good shot on one of mine -- put it away quickly. The rebound lined up for the yellow, and I stuck it in the side pocket. The white rolled right next to the black, knocking it right in front of the corner pocket. If I put it away, I'd win! A baby couldn't miss this one. I just had to be careful not to scratch... a bit of an angle... I did it! I beat Uncle Joe, fair and square!
Again, it was only a one smack penalty, but I enjoyed it immensely.
Game six started off well. Uncle J broke but didn't sink anything, I put five away, including my cue ball. After three shots, Uncle J did the same thing, I and got to place my cue in perfect position. I sank everything but the black ball, and then it was Uncle J's turn with four stripes left. He got one in and then missed -- a terrible play, obviously a gift. With only the black left, I sank my white ball. Game to Uncle Joe. I almost giggled at the swat.
I broke the next game and we took turns shooting. Uncle Joe scratched once or twice, I think on purpose, but in the end he left me with three on the table.
The match was over and now it was Belinda's turn. I went and stood on the sidelines to watch -- no way was I going to sit down. Belinda looked really nervous but excited as she took up her cue stick for the break.
Wow, Belinda was much better than me! She actually beat Uncle Joe in the first game, though not without a battle -- she got at least half a dozen swats, and he only had one ball left when she one. The second game he won, but _she_ only had one ball left.
Belinda broke for the third game and had a good run, sinking three before missing, but Uncle Joe came back and stole her fire by routinely putting all but the black ball away. With four left, Belinda had a lot of pressure to sink as many as possible to minimize her swats -- she sank the purple but scratched, giving Uncle J a setup to put the eight ball away.
Belinda took her swats well, not making nearly as much noise as me, but then she is two months older.
For game four Belinda did well at first, but Uncle Joe didn't give her a chance once she let him play -- he sank everything, including the eight, leaving her with three on the table. Ouch!
Belinda scratched on her break, and scratched again when given another chance to play. Uncle J didn't give her a chance until he missed on the eight ball, which was screened by one of hers. She shot well, reducing her solids to one -- and then scratched, giving the game to Uncle J, who put away an easy eight ball.
In the last game, Uncle J played for real -- he sank a stripe in the break and proceeded to sink everything except for the black. Belinda started with seven balls on the table -- but when she put the green ball in the side pocket her cue ball also took the dreaded black ball into the corner. Belinda finished her match with a bang -- five of them, in fact.
After the match Uncle Joe declared us "improved" and said we now had to play against each other -- and he'd take Old Betty to us if we didn't provide each other with the proper "incentive."
I was nervous because I saw how much better Belinda was than me, but I struck out bravely with a hard break. My luck was good -- I sank the eight ball in the break, an automatic win! It was determined that more solids remained on the table -- so I got to give my best friend six of the best with Old Betty.
Belinda countered by breaking with a stripe in the corner, and then quickly put in seven other balls, including the eight. I never even got to play! Belinda didn't go easy on my ass either -- I was still sore from Uncle Joe's treatment and her seven brought tears to my eyes.
My break on the next game was terrific -- three balls in. Unfortunately, my cue was screen by solids, and I'd put two stripes into pockets. I decided to go for solids even though it meant more balls -- at least I had a shot with them. But I missed my second shot and never got another -- Belinda let me have five with Old Betty.
The next game was a bit more balanced -- we took turns shooting, but Belinda left me with four in the end. The game after that I don't remember anything except that again, I got four swats from Belinda.
Our final game had me more depressed and more determined than ever, and right as I was becoming convinced I couldn't shoot two in a row to save my life, I fell into a rhythm and put away everything but two. That was the last chance I got, however -- Belinda finished up her three and sank the black easily, get her final opportunity to whack my butt two more times with Old Betty.
Anyway, that was my billiard lesson. I've been down town to the pool hall and played a few games with Jason, and I swear, my ass tingles with every shot. I've thought of introducing _him_ to Old Betty -- that would be a stakes game I could really get into!