DOGGY STYLE! LITTER-ALLY!

I was going to yell something at him, but then it happened. The whole fucking tree just up and fell over, just like that, and as fast as can be. One minute, upright, the next, wham! Timber!

The room's front window exploded, sending glass shard flying everywhere, both outdoors and out. Glass Christmas balls could be heard exploding, one on top of another, like strange mortar incoming. Or glass grenades. A large fish tank fell over, smashing on the carpeted floor, and sending water flying. I saw some of the water wetting the still settling tree.

Pandemonium set in. People gasped. People yelled. People ran and scattered, some getting smacked by the falling tree branches.

I knew Gene was now under the tree, and I feared for his life. Then two things happened, the first seeming rather odd to me. The tree's lights came on! And the new light now revealed a bombed-out room that had looked as if it had been bombarded with pine bombs. Needles were everywhere. I also noticed two large, ripped-like holes in the wall where the tree's guy wires had been anchored and now yanked out.

And then the second event occurred. Someone yelled, "Get me the fuck out from under here!" Gene was alive! But when the tree lights started flickering on and off, then totally died, I yelled to Joan, who was now down below, with a short, 4' stepladder standing next to her, to turn off the tree lights. I had no idea if she heard me or not, but I looked at the ladder. At four feet tall, it wouldn't have helped at all.

The room, now back to looking like hell's eerie darkness, needed lighting, but Joan was too drunk to simply turn on the overheads. And I was too excited to remember to tell her.

All I could think about was the water. And electricity. And tragedy. And a dry tree catching fire. And a dead Gene. And who knows whom else? I wasn't too happy being as high up as I was.

I could see what looked like men, lots of them, all trying frantically to figure out how to get the big-balled human ornament out from under the massive fir. Women were cooing to Gene from the sidelines, comforting him, "They’re coming, hold on, fella." And, "You'll be out before you know it." You get the idea. Their motherly instincts were in full throttle.

In an effort to see, some of the men had lit their cigarette lighters. I immediately bellowed to them, at the top of my lungs, "Put them out! The tree could ignite!" Mercifully, they heard me, and complied. Then I bellowed again, "Joan, put on the overhead lights!" No response. Then the tree lights came back on again. Joan hadn't heard me before.

I bellowed again, "Kill those fucking tree lights, the water from the fish tank is all over the place." I felt like the captain of a ship who was bellowing down from the bridge to his drunken crew, who had found their way into the rum locker, and were on the verge of riotous mutiny.

Then, mercifully, the overhead lights came on. Compliments of Joan, I imagined. Or some drunk, who had stumbled onto the wall switch.

Afterward, and curious to know why someone, anyone, even a drunk, couldn't find the light switch for the living room, I found the reason. The living room lights, and the dining rooms, as well as other parts of the house, were all controlled from a panel box on the dining room wall. It was a new addition to the house, and the many look-alike switches hadn't been labeled yet as to what lights they controlled. I thought of the near tragedy again.

As the men--I guessed around a dozen--started to lift up the heavy tree, a kind of miracle happened. On the opposite side of the tree, opposite the men, Gene popped up! He had obviously found a way to crawl out from under Pinehill.

He looked like the wild man of Borneo! A savage. A naked savage. One who, judging by the profusion of cuts and scrapes covering him, just loved to fight with razor-clawed cats. But wasn't too adept at it.

And, lordy, lordy, as he stepped around the tree, getting closer to civilization, so to speak, everyone could see that the cat-clawed savage Neanderthal man still had his large, red Christmas bow on his scratched up dick! If a tad worse for wear. Both the bow and the dick.

Looking dopey, like a deer in headlights, he blinked a few times, and said, "Get me drink, I need one." No one doubted that simple statement for even a second. And, in seconds, people had their hands out, offering him glasses with everything in them from gin to Scotch to Mai Tai's to who knows what?

He chug-a-lugged the first two, whatever they were, and started sipping on the third. Holding the old-fashioned glass, his pinky sticking way out, he said, quite matter-of-factly, and quite dryly, "What a fuckin' trip!"

Which I thought was the understatement of the century . . .

Fini!

* * * * * * Liquor in the front, poker in the rear!

There was this friend of mine, more an associate, really, that I'll refer to here as Pete. Pete worked for a different company from mine, and we got together for lunch here and there, usually once a month.

On one particular luncheon, Pete seemed exceptionally excited, even for the usually ebullient Pete. No sooner had we ordered drinks than he said, "Oh, man, have I got something to tell you!" But the fucker wouldn't tell me a thing, he said, until after we had our drinks in hand. Finally . . .

"Remember so-and-so?" I did. I had met the guy from meeting him a few times at Pete's company events; picnics and such, that Pete had invited me to. A big guy, so-and-so was, who wore a blond crew cut, and appeared to be the competitive type.

Struck me as a nice guy, but I really hardly new him. I did, however, envy him his muscular, outdoorsy type physique, which he appeared to be well aware of, judging from the way he strutted on life's stage as if he was it's main star.

"Remember his wife, Lisa?" Ditto. A knockout dish if ever there was one. Tall and willowy. Lisa had an exotic face with large doe-like eyes that looked, in my opinion anyway, as if she needed constant kissing to keep her luscious lips happy. The mini-skirts she always wore told the world that God had it right when it came to creating long, shapely legs.

Lisa and so-and-so had, I thought I remembered correctly at the time, two kids, a boy and a girl. Toddlers. At one of the picnics, I was at a table with mostly men, discussing man shit, when some guy aimed a thumb, a signal to . . . look over there! ! We all looked. There was Lisa, bent over, with her mini-skirted ass pointed right at our table, wiping snot from her little boy's puss.

Now, friend, I can't speak for the rest of the guys at our table . . . Oh, fuck, who am I kidding? There wasn't a guy there, even the long-time married ones, who didn't want to clear the table of paper plates, throw Lisa on it, and fuck her until sundown--at least. And not care a fig how much sweat and drool fell upon her. And to hell with the long-time wife--she can watch, but she better not, sure as shit, interrupt.

While we guys ogled Lisa's backside, with all of us, I'm sure, imagining what was under that small white panty triangle, the two women at our table called us pigs, perverts, morons, assholes, among other sweet nothings. I think. I know they were throwing out barbs at us, but who the fuck heard them? Not me, for sure. Anyway . . .

Pete went on. "Well, man, so-and-so has these weekly poker games, see? And a few days ago he asked me to fill in for a guy who had been relocated. I'd be the seventh guy. Well, I said sure and last night we had the game.

"Seemed like a normal poker game, with one exception. Lisa acted as hostess, you know, bringing us beers, sandwiches, whatever we asked for. This struck me as a little odd because most wives clear out and leave the men to their game. Oh, another exception. Lisa had on a see-thru outfit that left nothing at all to the imagination. Man, she looked almost nude, if you get my drift!" I did.

Pete stopped yakking, grinned at me, took a sip, and I knew the story didn't end there. He looked too excited.

"Well, Art, you know me and my usually suspicious mind. I thought for a moment that so-and-so was using her to distract us, make us play sloppy so he could clean up. Boy, was I ever wrong!" Pete let it hang that way and took another sip. I was now getting excited. Finally . . .

"Anyway, the game broke up at twelve, which was also my winnings, twelve bucks, and I thought it was over. Goodnight, it's been fun time. Ho ho, the night was just beginning!" Fucker stopped again for a sip. Finally . . . !

"As I was putting on my jacket, so-and-so says, 'Stick around, Lisa wants some fun.' I asked him what's going on, and he tells me a story. I'll make it short. Lisa was a virgin when they wed. After two years, she starts obsessing about other men, in bed, you know?" I knew. "And, rather than let it break up their married bliss, so-and-so comes up with the bright idea of letting her eat her cake and have it, too." Damn, another sip break!

His eyes glowing, Pete said, "So-and-so told me the rules for the evening's Lisa party. Lisa was now, he said, in the bedroom, blindfolded with her hands tied to the headboard. We could all fuck her, with condoms compliments of the house. Get sucked if we wanted. But no talking. And no kissing her." Pete grinned at me. "Shit, man, those were rules I could live with!" Another fucking sip. "And we had fifteen minutes for it. When a knock on the bedroom door came, we were to put on our pants and come out, no matter if we hadn't finished or not." Sip!

"Pete, get to the fucking juicy part, will you already?" My erection needed more details. I now took a sip, a long sip.

"Sure. Well, because I was the new man, so-and-so gave me the honor of going first. He handed me a fresh condom and told me to go and have fun, second door on the left. Oh, I passed a small bedroom that had kid's stuff in it, and wondered where the kids were. But not, ha ha, for long! I found Lisa just as so-and-so said I would, bare-assed on the bed, but where I had pictured her handcuffed to the bed board; I saw she was restrained by these soft, velvety, blue ropes. And the knots looked very loosely tied, as if it wouldn't take much for her to free herself. The blindfold was one of those that people use to keep the light out so they can sleep.

"I almost slipped and said "Hi, Lisa!' but I caught myself in time." Pete chuckled here. "Well, man, I was out of my pants in record time! I went over and straddled her face, put my dick against her lips, and she took it in right away. Man, there I was, actually being given head by the gorgeous Lisa; the married with two kids Lisa. So-and-so's luscious wife. Man!"

I pictured her wide mouth, with those perfect teeth, sucking on me. Pete continued his tale.

"I let her suck me a bit, but with those fifteen minutes in my head, I soon took to fucking her. Yeah, I was tempted to just cum in her mouth, but I wasn't sure, ha ha, if that wouldn't be a violation of house rules! Ha ha! So I put the frigging condom on and got between her sweet thighs. Whoo!

"Well, anyway, it was sure weird fucking a blindfolded woman, but I, ha ha, took the plunge anyway. Ha ha!" He was enjoying telling the story. I was enjoying hearing it.

"Well, Art, I'll tell you, she sure loves to fuck! Moaning and yelling like she was being murdered. And her pussy, as tight as tick's asshole, just about ate my dick up. Chewed on it as if it was candy. An educated pussy, if you know what I mean." I did, to be sure. "She would throw her legs around my back, squeeze me, and then throw them way out to the sides . . . and then do it again, over and over while I fucked her. Man, she was hot!"

So was I! We both took a sip break, and shooed the annoying waitress away, pacifying her a tad by ordering a fresh round of drinks. Food? Who wanted to eat? I knew I didn't.

"Well, man, I soon realized why the knots were so loosely done up. All of a sudden, I felt her hands on my ass, pulling me into her. Then she started yelling, 'I love the way you're fucking me, oh yeah, fuck me good!' I guess the house rules didn't apply to the hostess. Well, I fucked her as good as I could manage, pumping her pussy as hard as I could.

"When I was done and was putting on my pants, she surprised me by whispering, 'Thanks, Pete, I really enjoyed that, and I can't wait for our next time.' Then I realized she probably guessed because I was the new kid on the block. I went over and kissed her tits and told her thanks, me too on the next time stuff." Pete's story was almost over.

"As I came out of the bedroom I bumped into the next guy to take the Lisa trip. Fucker already had his pants off! I guess he didn't want to waste any of his fifteen minutes. So-and-so asked me if I had liked it, ha ha, and would I like to play in their next game? Shit, I was only disappointed that the game was just once a month!" He grinned at me. "Because, Art, you know how much I love to play poker!" We both laughed.

"Geez, Pete, me too. Any chance I could get in on that game?" I hoped I wasn't drooling when I said it.

"I'll ask so-and-so, but don't get your hopes up."

Well, I never did play in their poker game, the game waitressed by the lovely Lisa in a see-thru get up. The game with the fun-filled, blindfolded aftermath. To my utter chagrin. But it sure made me look differently at Lisa at future company events. And, you know, when I saw her at the next picnic, she looked so innocent, so mommy-of-the-year, so sweet, in spite of her mini-skirted look, so unlike the images Pete had painted of her, I truly wondered if old Pete wasn't just blowing smoke up my ass.

Then again . . .

The End.
"From my mind, to your mind!"