“As a point of fact, you three could never be good gamblers,” I said in a somewhat flippant manner.

“Dave, you are so full of bullshit, it’s coming out your ears,” responded Amy as she glared at me.

I didn’t come to their apartment looking for a fight. In fact, I wasn’t planning to see them at all, but I had bumped into Janet at the front door; she was struggling to hold two bags of groceries while trying to find her keys. I’ve always liked Janet since she moved into the apartment last fall. She had an easy smile, a very nice body measuring about five foot eight inches tall, beautiful breasts from what I could see, and deep brown eyes that I seemed to get lost in every time she looked at me.

We were attending the nearby university and this was one of many off-campus student apartments. I was on the third floor in a ten foot by ten foot room, Murphy bed, small table and counter for my hot plate, and a minuscule bathroom with shower. It wasn’t much; it was cheap.

A week after I moved in the three women arrived. I met Janet first, gazed into those brown eyes and immediately volunteered to help them. Mary Beth introduced herself to me with a giggle. She was five foot six inches or so; thin with nice but small breasts, an exceptional ass, blue eyes and red hair.

Finally Janet introduced me to Amy. She was the same height as Mary Beth, but much bigger breasts, blue eyes and blond hair. We looked at each other and it was instant dislike. She was a bitchy rich kid to me, and sensing my feelings, she never missed an opportunity to challenge anything I said.

I ignored Amy for the rest of that day as the four of us emptied three packed cars. Their second floor apartment put mine to shame--two bedrooms, a large bathroom with tub and shower, and a small family room and kitchen combination. One wall had a wide expanse of windows looking out over the park across the street. A gas-fired, artificial corner fireplace made the family area comfortable.

Amy and Mary Beth had decided to share the very large bedroom that had two queen-size beds, end tables, closets and a nice sitting area. Janet had a much smaller bedroom to herself.

They had also put a twin bed in the family room and covered it with a multitude of colorful pillows to make it appear to be a couch. If one of their girlfriends stayed over, the couch became a bed.

My thoughts were interrupted as Amy continued, “You are always full of shit when you try to put us down like that.”

“Amy,” I replied, “I’m sorry you took that the wrong way. You know I play poker at least five times a week, and the money I win is how I’m putting myself through school. So I think you have to give me a little credit when I say you could never be good gamblers.”

Amy sputtered, “You jerk; do you...”

Janet interrupted, trying to calm things down and asked me, “But why couldn’t any of us be good gamblers? Two of us are math majors and Mary Beth is an econ major, so we aren’t dumb.”

“Janet, being smart is only a very small part of being a good gambler. For example, I read that all professional golfers are within 90 percent of each other in physical ability. However, it is the mental part of the game that determines the champion in golf. Many professionals could put an eight foot putt in the hole ten out of ten times, but if that putt is worth $400,000 and the crowd is staring at them, all but the true champions often miss.

“Gamblers are the same way; they must be willing to put everything on the line—their money, their reputation, their soul—in a high stakes game. If they can’t go to the limit, and many gamblers cannot, they will never be a good gambler. They quit or make critical errors at the worst time; they flinch.”

“Any of us could put it all on the line,” challenged Amy.

“Put what on the line Amy?” I fired back. “None of you play competitive sports so you haven’t experienced the thrill and agony of winning and losing. You’re all well off with your three cars and nice clothes, so putting money on the line is probably not even stressful.

“The real test of the gambler is whether he or she can risk the biggest pain or the highest stress in order to win ... there is no pain or stress that I can think of that would be a challenge—to see if you would play or walk away.”

The room was quiet as they thought about what I had said.

Janet finally said with a grin, “Well I guess you are accusing us of all talk, but no action. Is that it?”

Mary Beth finally spoke up and giggled at me, “So even you—the master gambler—can’t come up with a test which would prove that we could be good gamblers?”

Actually, I had thought of a way of pushing these three to the limit, but I knew my idea would never fly. Yet Amy had gotten to me once again and I wanted to goad her some more, so I thought to myself, “Why not give it a try ... at least it’s bound to get a reaction.”

I looked at Amy and asked, “If I thought of a stressful game and you refused to play, would you accept that as proof you could never be a good gambler?”

“Obviously, it depends on the game, asshole,” she spit out.

“Well what if the rules are that you can quit at any time if it gets too stressful? Then would you agree to play to see if you have the gambler’s spirit?”

“Well that would be better, but what if one of us quits?” Amy asked.

I replied, “A gambler quits when he’s broke. If one quits in the middle of a game, then I guess you aren’t a gambler.”

Mary Beth said, “Well you accused us of all talk and no action. So tell us about your game.”

Thinking quickly I said, “The point is that the game has to put you under a great deal of stress, and losing has to be painful. And you have to have the option of quitting at any time. So here it is. I will be the dealer in a blackjack game; you three will be the players. You will play until there is only person who has chips left.”

I saw Janet perk up as she anticipated where I was going. I thought I saw a quick, impish grin on her face.

Mary Beth said, “But you already said that playing for money wouldn’t put that much stress on us. So how can this game be a good test?”

I answered, “Mary Beth, what if the chips you used could only be purchased by clothes—your clothes. Do you think that would be stressful?”

Mary Beth blushed and Amy shouted, “No way, jerk. You’re not going to watch us play strip blackjack.”

“Amy,” I replied, “You just proved my point. I suggested a highly stressful game. Further, you could quit at any time, and yet, you won’t even start the game. Does that sound to you like a gambler?”

Janet laughed and said, “I think he’s got you Amy. We wimp out before we even start. We aren’t gamblers.”

Janet looked at me and asked, “Just out of curiosity, the two losers would end up naked, what’s the prize for the winner?”

My mind went blank for a second and then I thought, ‘I’m going to push this to the brink. It isn’t going anywhere, but at least I’ll get another blush out of Mary Beth, and probably piss off Amy even more.’

I winked at Janet and answered, “Why the winner will sit down and watch the two losers have a slow five-minute sensual dance together.”

Mary Beth was blushing, Amy was absolutely fuming and Janet was quietly laughing. I must admit I was quite pleased with myself. These weren’t bad people but every now and then it’s nice for the poor to jab it to the not-so-poor.

I was absolutely shocked when Janet said, “I think your gambling test makes sense. I’m in if Mary Beth and Amy play.”

Amy asked, “Would you play Dave and if not, why do we need you?”

“Amy, I’m a gambler already. It would be silly to prove something to myself that I already know. You need me here because without me it is just a silly little game. You three have probably seen each other naked any number of times living together. My being here changes that—it puts the ultimate stress in the game.”

Mary Beth surprised me when she turned to Amy and said, “I’ll play. At least I’ll start and if I can’t take it, I’ll quit.”

Janet asked, “Amy?”

“What?”

“You started this conversation. Dave suggested a way for us to prove that we have the mental toughness to be good gamblers. As long as we start the game and don’t quit, we will prove Dave wrong ... even the losers, if they play to the end, will prove Dave wrong. Why not?”

Amy stalled and asked me, “How do we play the game?”

I answered, “Each article of clothing is worth three chips. You must bet at least one chip on each hand. If you win, the house pays you the amount of your bet. If you lose, the house takes your bet. Each time you run out of chips, you must buy three more chips with another piece of clothes. When you run out of clothes and have no chips left, you are a loser. The two losers dance.

“Your shoes are an article of clothing, so are your socks. Then you have two other articles above your waist and two below. So you are going to get a total of eighteen chips.

“I’ve played a lot of blackjack. If you ask me what to do, I’ll tell you the statistical right thing to do. You don’t have to follow my advice and you can’t blame me if the strategy doesn’t make you win.”

The room turned silent. Finally, Mary Beth said, “Amy, I’m the one who is always blushing. Why don’t you at least start the game?”

Amy looked at me and said, “I’m not a quitter.”

Janet excitedly clapped and said, “Let the game begin. I’ll get the chips and a deck of cards. Amy you open a bottle of wine and pull the kitchen table over so that we can sit at it.”

There was a flurry of activity. It was dark outside now, and it had started snowing. Mary Beth lit the fireplace and turned the gas on low as the flames barely extended above the fake logs.

We sat at the round table which happened to have a glass top so you could see through it. I had the box of chips in front of me and said, “It’s time to buy your chips.”

They all took off their shoes and I gave them three chips each. Amy bet one chip as did Mary Beth. Janet bet two chips.

I dealt the first hand. Amy had a nineteen and stopped. Mary Beth had two fives and asked for a card. She got a seven for a seventeen and stopped. Janet had two tens—a twenty count and stopped. I, as the dealer, had one card up and one card down. The up card was an eight. I turned over the down card and it was a ten. I had an eighteen. Since the dealer must hit sixteen or lower and stop on seventeen or higher, I had no choice but to stop. Amy won a chip. Mary Beth lost a chip, and Janet won two chips.

The game continued quietly as the women concentrated on playing their hands correctly. Janet was playing a simple system. She was betting two chips until she lost. She then bet one chip until she won and then increased her bet back to two chips. Mary Beth was betting only one chip at a time. Amy was betting one to three chips with no noticeable logic—she was a hunch better.

On one hand I had a six showing and Amy had a ten and a two for twelve. She looked at me and asked, “What does the book say I should do?”

I replied, “Never hit with a twelve or higher if the dealer is showing a five or a six.”

She said, “Hit me,” and I dealt her a nine for a twenty-one and a win.

She looked at me with a tight smile on her face and said, “Screw your book.”

The game continued. Mary Beth was the first to have to buy more chips. She took off her socks. Then Amy had to buy. Janet was still winning and now had seven chips.

Amy went on a losing streak and finally lost her last chip that she had bought with her socks. For the first time a serious piece of clothing was needed to buy chips. She looked at Janet for a moment and finally pulled her sweater over her head. I stared. Her breasts were large and were held in place by a full white bra. I could see the impression of her nipples pushing against the material. She looked at me and sneered, “Don’t hurt your eyes now.”

Mary Beth was next to buy. On schedule she blushed again but quickly lifted her sweater over her head. Her skin was very white with some small freckles on her chest. Her breasts were smaller than Amy’s, but her bra was smaller also, as it only lightly supported her. Even without a bra I doubted her breasts would sag. The light material of her bra clearly showed her nipples that were starting to become hard.