Fart Face - Ch. 1 (September 2024 Story)

(Please don't judge me if I get something wrong here, as I've only played poker a couple times in the past and had to research general professional play rules.)

Jenny Shufflebottom grinned on the inside. On the outside she remained cool and composed with a straight face – a must for professional poker players. She didn’t need to hide her face behind a pair of sunglasses or underneath a pulled-down baseball cap. A lot of sportscasters on ESPN called her “The RBF” – the Resting Bitch Face. She was quite possibly the only female poker player who had gone viral with her inhuman ability to keep a straight face no matter what.

            People also called her another name too – “The Stinker”.

            Jenny Shufflebottom had a unique talent for farting up a storm during tournament play. This caused quite a controversy – as critics claimed she was intentionally trying to distract the players. Her fans fought back, stating that if a man were to do it people would laugh it off but the fact that she was a woman was the problem. It opened a whole discourse online on how women were never expected to burp or fart. All the while, Jenny defaulted to the same innocent excuse that she suffered from IBS. It was very much true. Did she enjoy distracting her opponents with her farts? Of course. But she couldn’t say that, nor could she break character on screen.

            So, Jenny was grinning on the inside, because she had just let out a long silent ripper at the poker table. It was the last game of the tournament and they were in the Grand Casino at Las Vegas. The lights were often jarring but thankfully this time they didn’t have that many to broadcast the game.

            Any second now, James Weiss, the clean-shaven finely combed white-haired dude immediately to her right, and the old curmudgeon Barry Jones next to James, would start sniffing the air and react to the stink of rotten eggs. Or maybe only one of them? It sometimes depended how the gas drifted.

            The current bet was at $100k - with a pile worth a little over $1 mil.

            James stared at the pile, then back to his cards. He was working through his decision when the smell hit him. He muttered under his breath and gave a side-eye to Jenny. That quick glance was all the sportscasters would need to laugh and chime in to the audience about how “Jenny must have ripped another one”.

            James had nothing – Jenny could tell. The way he appeared discouraged, even for a split second, because the smell disrupted his thinking process. He still continued to bluff and called the bet. Jenny knew to go all-in after the river.

            The other six players had already folded and gone home. The last player to leave was a young kid who clearly started getting his feet wet in tournament play. As Jenny got older, she developed a sardonic pleasure for watching all these annoying male assholes get fucked over when they were so confident. At first it was just a guilty pleasure, now it was full-blown schadenfreude.

            The dealer whipped out the final card - the River.

            The Queen of Hearts didn’t affect her. Jenny still had a straight. Not the rarest but still somewhat uncommon. She knew James was finished. The only thing left was to gauge Barry’s reaction. He hadn’t reacted to Jenny’s fart, if it did reach him. But he was an old codger. Jenny got the impression he was losing his edge. He brought his finger to his upper lip to rub it but then realized he was giving a tell, so he brought his hand down with a split-second hesitation that told Jenny he was unsure of himself. He probably had a three of a kind or a two pair.

            Jenny was able to burp on command. She could do all kinds of burps – anything from long dragged-out moans to explosive belches. Her favorites to do during poker tournaments was the “closed-mouth” burp. A short gurgle would fuck around with the players, making them wonder what that sound was. She could have been a ventriloquist in her previous life, as she could let out a closed-mouth burp by only ever so slightly moving her throat, and not needing to put a hand to her mouth. For good measure, she took a swig of her beer. Maybe that would make Barry cocky in his decision.

            When Jenny let out a small rumble, James gave her a side-eye and Barry scratched the side of his face. He didn’t look at her, but she knew the sound had irked him, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it.

            Barry raised the bet by another $20k. He probably did that knowing Jenny was trying to get at him, as if to say, “All right, missy, you think you got a good hand? What if I do this?”

            James sighed heavily. He called the bet and now it was Jenny’s turn – the last bet of the game and the entire tournament.

            Jenny grinned – again on the inside – and bet all-in.

            The crowd murmured.

            Barry and James now each either had to fold or call her bet. James glanced at Barry, who glanced back at him. James muttered something under his breath again. He really needed to stop doing that.

            As expected, he folded. He shook his head in intense dismay and left without looking back. Also as expected, Barry still called her final bet. He was old and unafraid to see things through to the end.

            Showdown.

            Barry said, “Ladies first,” with his deep Southern drawl.

            Jenny threw down her 8 of clubs and 10 of spades, combining the 7 of clubs, 9 of hearts, and jack of diamonds on the table to make a straight. The crowd murmured. Barry stared at her without making the slightest expression. For a split second she held her breath because she had an inkling of fear that maybe she lost. There’s always that slight doubt. But she found a thrill in it, the risk of it all. Barry stared at her for two seconds longer before grimacing and revealing that he had a three of a kind – a 7 of diamonds and a 7 of hearts with the 7 on the table.

            Jenny let go of her breath. Whew. Close call.

            Barry was an old sport about it though and gave her a genial smile and a handshake. He guffawed and said, “I never met a woman with such a look of hard steel!”

            “Two sevens? What are the odds of that?”

            “I know. I felt like it HAD to be lucky. But. So it goes.”

            The crowd clapped and Jenny drew in her earnings and posed for the camera. She could hear several derisions from men in the distance. She was long-used to it by now and ignored them. When she was on her way to cash in her money, some dude bro shouted, “You don’t even have a good pair of tits!”

            Whatever that fucking means…

            These bozos would say so many monumentally weird and stupid things to her. You could never please them. You could look slim with long blond hair and wear t-shirts and blue jeans and men will call you unprofessional and “bimbo-looking” but then in the same breadth call you stuck-up if you dress nicely all the time. You could have small tits or big tits – didn’t matter, someone was going to say something utterly insane.

            It wasn’t like she was the first professional poker player to face controversy over questionable distractions. Larry Pullman had Tourette’s (or so he claimed, as some pointed out inconsistencies) and had been disqualified from entering several tournaments. Regardless whether it was true or not, that brought up a whole discussion on “inclusivity” into the poker tournament world. She had seen her fair share of men making a scene at the poker table, more violent and disruptive than the infamous Phil Hellmuth. All those guys made scenes and never saw repercussions, just laughs and views online. But the moment a chick with IBS comes on the scene…death threats up the wazoo on Twitter and Instagram.

            She never stuck around long after the end of a tournament. On the other side of the spectrum, you had the lovey dovey weirdos and the stalkers. Men who were smitten with her watching all her videos and following her around the casino or waiting to ambush her to ask her out.

            Ten years of doing this shit, she knew by now how to spot them. Two twenty-something-year-olds were eying her by the cashier, standing by a support column. Jenny held her gaze forward and beelined it to the escalator after she cashed in her winnings.

            Upstairs was the buffet. Casinos always had buffets somewhere. She lowkey was more excited to stuff herself after a good game at the buffet. Before she became a professional poker player, she could only afford the lowest tier membership card at casinos. Now, she had the platinum card everywhere (or “star gold” or whatever stupid color or name they came up with) and enjoyed all the perks. Free nights. Free shows. Half off the buffet! The Grand in particular had everything from seafood to Chinese food to Italian to barbecue.

            She chose a table furthest from everyone. Not like most people would recognize her anyway. Poker celebrities are more obscure than your average sports star.

            From the corner of her eye, as she was filling her plate with macaroni and cheese, she spotted the two boys from downstairs coming up from the escalator. She proceeded to act natural and fill her plate to the brim with a slice of roast beef, asparagus, meatballs, General Tso’s Chicken, and black beans.

            When she returned to her table, the two boys were standing by it. Jenny sat down without acknowledging their presence. She began digging into her food. The two boys murmured before one of them finally spoke up.

            “H-hey, that was a great game!” said the taller of the two.

            “Thanks,” she said with her mouth full.

            The shorter of the two looked more extraverted. With the most earnest tone, he said, “Yeah, you play pretty well for a woman!”

            Jenny sighed. Ugh. Fuck these kids.

            “Do you think that’s a compliment?” she said. “’For a woman’? Really? Are you like five years old?”

            The boy scratched the back of his head. “Uh. Well.”

            “Sorry but I’m eating right now. If you want an autograph contact my agent.”

            The more extraverted boy then narrowed his eyes. “Nah, we just wanted to say hi. You know? It’s cool that you’re here. Usually, you’re all the way on the East Coast. Are you using this other chair or…”

            Jenny had to put her foot down. Literally. She looked them dead in the eyes and said, “Look. I’m glad you got to see me. Really. I am. But I’m tired and hungry and need my moment of privacy.”

            “Well. You’re in a buffet…I don’t think it’s very private so—”

            The fucking nerve of this kid.

Jenny had drunk a few gulps of her Pepsi. Without warning, she belched aloud in their faces. It had been a long time since she burped out loud in public like that. It made her feel like her mischievous college self again. Both boys expressed their disgust with a pair of “ewwws”, and the taller of the two tugged his friend to leave.

            “Aight…” the extraverted loser said. He tried to mutter under his breath but Jenny still heard him say, “…bitch”.

            A lot of weird things happen in casinos, so nobody really drew much attention to the incident. Jenny couldn’t care less if someone was recording her. She never engaged with fans online, much less random comments.

            The General Tso’s Chicken was good but she had better. There was only one time in New Jersey when the buffet at the casino was bad. It was at the former Trump Taj Mahal. Shit was gross and undercooked. She felt nauseous just remembering it.

            She finished her plate in seconds and still had room for more. She tackled the chicken parmesan, the shrimp, the salmon, and noodles. When she was placing noodles on her plate, a soft voice said, “Excuse me, are you…”

            The voice sounded ambiguous, so Jenny assumed it was another guy bothering her. She swerved angrily and was ready to tell him off when she froze at the sight of a woman staring back at her. She was shorter than she was, light brown hair tied in a bun and dressed in business casual attire, something slim and chic that told Jenny she was a New Yorker.

            “Uh…” Jenny said.

            The woman’s face lit up. “Jenny. Jenny Shufflebottom? The poker player?”

            In all her time as a professional poker player, Jenny had never once been approached by a fangirl. In fact, she had hoped at first that going pro would inspire other women and they would approach her and ask for her autograph. She was also much more naïve back then.

            “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

            “Oh my God! That’s amazing. Sorry. I just wanted to say hi. I know you’re in the middle of eating.”

            This woman was strikingly gorgeous. Jenny had an urge to hold her smaller body in her arms and just…

            “Nah, it’s okay,” she smiled, genuinely. “Pleasure to meet a fan.”

            The woman said, “I wanted to just tell you that you’re VERY inspirational. Being able to sit around so many disgruntled men all the time. I don’t think I could ever do that. Whenever I win poker, my own dad gets upset. To say nothing of my uncle!”

            “Oh, so, you play?”

            “Yeah, totally. But…” She put her hands in her pocket and shrugged sheepishly. “Sometimes I’m just…I dunno. Shy about it.”

             I absolutely NEED to play a game with her.

            Jenny asked, “Are you sitting alone?”