Poker Game #1

Creed stumbled through the daffodils lining the curb. He didn’t understand why people put stuff like that in their yards. It had never made sense to him. The more stuff you put in your yard, the more stuff other people could steal. At one point, his car had been brimming with plastic flamingos he’d found over the course of one night while driving around looking for a smoke shop. He’d been able to sell the 59 slightly used flamingos ‘at wholesale prices’ to a garden store down in Dunmore. He’d originally noticed the store when he was low on the cannabis and he’d seen their jerry-rigged sign ‘Prices Slashed / Half Price Pots’. He loved the goofy store even if they didn’t carry anything of the ganja variety. The owners, Shirl and Hakim, were great people. They definitely believed in the ‘no questions asked, pay with cash’ policy which Creed just loved, bless their greedy little hearts. In Canada, you couldn’t get away with stuff like that which was one reason he’d never fully defected.

He noticed that the doormat on the stoop said ‘Welcome’. He’d noticed this before. A lot of places seemed to have these doormats. He couldn’t figure it out. Did the people understand that they were saying welcome to any yahoo who walked up off the street? It was an open invitation: “Welcome to all my stuff, please take.”  Creed sighed and rolled up the mat. He was about to head back to his car when the front door opened. Without a moment’s pause, he threw the mat underhanded away from the porch light into the darkness. He could hear the mat’s unceremonious plop as a strange woman said, “Creed?”

Her voice sounded surprised, which made Creed wary. Shouldn’t she know he was here for the poker game? He was pleased that at least she got his name right, so few people did. What was it with people that they couldn't get a simple name right? Actually, in these type of situations, a lady wearing a nightgown like that would say, “Who the hell are you?” or “What the hell do you want?” He had this theory that lacy nightgowns made women believe more in Hell. Now if you got the fat, nice, old ladies, like the one in his office, what’s her name? Those ladies believed in heaven and wore flannel nightgowns that covered every square inch. They said things like “Good heavens! What are you doing out there in the cold?” and “Heaven’s to Betsy, you poor man!”

This girl though, she was a looker and she had nice tits. The cold was making her shiver and her nipples were getting hard. He could see that she really needed someone to warm her up. He used the suave voice that one of his ex-lovers (Charlene?) had called his Casanova voice, “Why, hello there.” He tried desperately to place her face, but his eyes kept drifting back to the skin tight negligee and those peek-a-boo tits.

She must have sensed where he was looking because she crossed her arms (as if that would stop him for a second). He smiled because the nips might be gone, but now he had a nice, clear view of the cleavage. He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear most of what she said, “…Valentine’s Day. I’d really appreciate it if you just left. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

He smiled at her cleavage as he processed the words. Good. ‘I’ll see you at work tomorrow’ suggested she worked at Dunder Mifflin, or possibly Gas ’n Grub, or maybe, Chili Heaven. She started to move back into the apartment and so he took advantage of the moment to get a fleeting shot of her exposed thigh. He was about to push in to the apartment to see if there was anything she needed help with (undressing, being put to bed, being rocked asleep…) when a large, looming figure filled the doorway.

Now this guy he recognized. Creed backed up a step and put up a hand in greeting, “Hey, Roy, am I right? Hey, man. Did you stop by for the poker game?”

The only thing Roy had on was some BVD’s and his gym socks. Creed was pretty sure the guy wouldn’t be walking out that door no matter what the girl told him. The guy was looking at him with a stupid expression on his face like he couldn’t process what was going on. No wonder, Creed thought, with a boner that big there was no blood going to the brain.

“Hey, man,” Roy said slowly, “Do I know you?”

“Yeah, remember? Remember when that kid brought in that good shit couple years ago. We got wasted on the loading dock?” Creed smiled in his most ‘amigo’ fashion. This guy was a goofball but with abs like that he could get any pussy he wanted. Good to have a friend like this, in case he had any spare pussy to pass around. Creed remembered the day when he had girls like the one who had answered the door. Girls would be begging to give him blowjobs. Good days. Good days.

“Man, yeah!” Roy laughed and opened the door wider. Creed could see the hot girl sitting on the couch glaring at the door. Creed was watching her snatch. With her arms crossed like that, the negligee was pushed up enough to expose her panties. He could just make out her mound under the panty’s material. Even from here he could see the cloth was wet. Creed was about to comment when he realized that Roy was still talking about that day back in the warehouse, “Damn near wrecked that forklift!”

Creed laughed, “Hey, not caught, no foul! Didn’t know you’d have some…” He pointed obliquely towards the girl sitting on the couch. “Forgot it was Valentine’s Day.” He leered in her general direction, “Enjoy the holiday, you know. Make her beg for it. That’s how they like it.”

Roy gave him the thumb’s up, “Hell, yeah. Nice seeing you. Stop by anytime.”

As Creed stooped to pick up the welcome mat from the grass, he could hear the girl’s high-pitched whining, “Roy, how could you tell him to stop by any time! Get your hands off me! No, I am not in the mood! God, Roy! Creed just about undressed me on the doorstep and you’re inviting him over for dinner!”

Creed shook his head as he picked a dozen daffodils. These young guys just had no idea how to treat a woman. He listened sadly as Roy fucked up the situation even more, “Oh, give me a break, Pam! The guy’s like 90 years old! He’s probably blind as a bat. He probably thought you were wearing a fucking housedress or something! Jesus! You’re always imagining things! Now if it had been that damn temp guy and his roving eyes….”

The sounds of the argument died when Creed slammed his car door shut. As he drove off, he wished he could give that Roy some advice. The guy seemed like a good enough shmuck and he really needed to know some things. First of all, every guy, no matter how old, or blind, was always checking your girl out. That’s what guys do. And, two, when a girl gets all pissy like that the best thing to do is rip her panties off and do her in the ass. That always shuts them up nice and proper. Especially if you lube first.

Poker Game #2

Creed looked at the address that he’d swiped from the emergency contact list. He hated these goddamn apartment complexes. All the buildings looked the same and in the dark you couldn’t read the stupid building numbers. He was looking for a fucking building ‘G’, but god knows where the hell that was! He was just going to have to walk through the whole complex knocking on doors. He groaned as he got out of the car and reached back inside to grab the uprooted daffodil bouquet.

“Hey, asswipe,” A strange man grabbed Creed and roughly shook him against his car door.

Creed put up his hands defensively, making it look like he was offering the man flowers. “Wha? What?” Creed felt disoriented. He was pretty sure he hadn’t parked in a handicapped spot… this time.

The guy was heavy set, sweating profusely. It was kind of ironic, Creed thought, because the guy was wearing sweats. Creed had always thought that sweats were funny clothes. He noticed these fat people at Wall Mart wore them a lot. The funny thing though was that in-shape people, like at the ‘Y’, didn’t. Those people wore clothes that made you notice how in shape they were. This interesting train of thought was broken when the fat man shook him again and yelled, “You almost killed me, you mother fucker!”

Lights went on in the apartment complex around them and Creed could see windows opening and heads starting to peep out. He knew that meant there was only so much time before the cops showed. Creed tried to appease the guy; maybe he was on PCP after all, “Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Am I fucking sure?” The guy’s face was red and a vein was throbbing in the side of his forehead. Creed watched it, spellbound. There was a mole with a long hair near the vein and the pulsating vein made the mole-hair vibrate. “You were driving without your lights on, you piece of shit! When you turned in here, you almost sideswiped me!” The guy’s spittle was prodigious. Not for the first time, Creed wished he owned glasses so that people’s spit wouldn’t always hit him in the eye. He considered yet again getting defensive eyeglasses with big frames. Maybe he’d steal a pair of Dwayne’s.

A girl’s voice pierced the night, “Creed! Oh my god! Ryan! It’s Creed! Go save him! Creed, are you okay?”  Creed looked up to see a well-built girl screaming down from a third floor apartment window. He was upset at the angle because although he could tell she was covering herself with a white sheet… the angle was just not right for the lighting. He was trying to figure out how to get this fat guy to push him five feet back so he’d have a better view. With that lighting, and the sheet looked thin from here, he was pretty sure he’d have a nice view of her ta-ta’s. Maybe he should point out the girl’s tits to the fat guy.

“Hey, look,” Creed pointed up towards the girl in the window. “I think she’s naked.”

The fat guy whipped around to look up. His hold on Creed relaxed when he saw the sheet-wrapped girl. That gave Creed the opportunity to take a few steps back. Both he and the fat guy watched the girl jiggle as she screamed random things down at them, “Oh, my god! Don’t hurt him! He’s just an old guy! Please! My boyfriend’s coming down there, I’m warning you!”

Creed smiled appreciatively as her breasts jiggled under the sheet. With the lighting he couldn’t make out her face, but that was okay. Her tits were like those nice, round cantaloupes the professional dancers at Score’s have. Maybe she was a pole dancer? That would explain why she knew his name. Creed didn’t like the fake ones, but with these young girls you never knew. She could just really be in good shape. The best way to find out was to cup them and squeeze.

He held up his mangled bunch of daffodils towards the girl, “Happy Valentine’s Day! I brought you some flowers!”

Creed had hoped that would get an offer to come upstairs, but it had the reverse effect. With a voice dripping in disdain, she screamed “Oh gross!” She slid closed the window, but in doing so, she dropped one side of her sheet and for almost 15 seconds he had a nice unobstructed view of her nut-brown breasts. Firm, pert, and begging for a good sucking.

Creed sighed as he got into his car. He remembered now who she was. She was the Mexican chick who worked at his office. She’d already slapped him, what, seven, maybe eight times. These putas played coy but if you just found the combination for their safe… but it didn’t matter.  He knew she wasn’t the one who’d invited him to play poker. As he drove off, he failed to see Ryan, wearing a towel and flip flops, asking the fat guy what the hell was going on. The fat guy pointed helpfully up at Ryan’s own apartment, “Some chick is doing a strip show up there.”

Three blocks later, Creed remembered to turn his lights on.

Poker Game #3

Creed hated driving these country roads at night. Sure you might strike it lucky and pick up some dumb girl who’d been left stranded when she wouldn’t put out to her loser high school sweetheart. Creed had found out that a lot of girls who wouldn’t put out ‘on principle’, just need to walk in the dark for a couple of miles. Ten to one she’d put out ‘on principle’ to anyone with a cock willing to drive her home.

In the country, though, you were more likely to run across some poor animal than some dumb virgin. Creed never knew what to do once he hit a dog, or a cat, or any of the other creatures that seemed to head straight for his car. He wondered why they were always so furry. Did the headlights just before they got hit make their hair stand on end? He usually just backed over them again to make sure they were dead. For humanitarian reasons, he saw no reason to let them linger in misery.

He was almost to the farmhouse when he realized that he’d been here before. He hadn’t taken this road though. He’d gone up that back road by the crick. There was a nice graveyard there and the tombstones were just the right size for a threesome. Some of the markers had tilted in the rich, loamy soil and they were perfect for pushing a girl against. He thought fondly of the many times he’d jerked off on some girl’s tits after rocking her ass for half an hour. By the time he turned her round, she’d have the words “2981-7181, eturhcS” imprinted across her chest. Sometimes he’d write ‘2981-7181, eturhcS’ on a piece of paper at work just so he could remember the smell of his cum and the sound of her moans of pleasure.

Creed hadn’t been in the old cemetery for a few years though. Not since he’d almost been hauled off by the cops. If that cop hadn’t been such a good sport, laughing so hard, he’d still be in jail for sure. That cop, what a good guy… Creed couldn’t have agreed with him more. What sort of freaks had their weddings in a coffin? Now an All-American guy like Creed fucking a farmer’s daughter on a tombstone, why the cop could see that was normal! But a wedding in a coffin, that was just, well… Creed didn’t know what it was, but those people were nuts. ‘A threat to society’ is what Creed had told the cop as he and the girl were being driven away in the cop car. The cop had 100% agreed.

Creed was actually invited to that cop’s wedding and there was no mention made of the fact that he met his bride lying at the bottom of a grave underneath a bare-assed Creed Bratton. Great guy, Creed thought, a real pal.

As he was sitting there in the dark, Creed realized he was kind of scared to get out. Maybe those freaks who got married in their graves lived here. A few seconds passed and Creed was doubly glad he hadn’t got out of the car. From around the barn came an ass-naked girl, tits nothing to talk about but a bouncy little butt. Her cunt hair was as blond as the top of her head. No dye job there. Creed liked how well trimmed it looked, he wondered if she used manicure scissors. She was giggling and shouting, “Stop! Stop! I’ll tell!”

Creed drank in the vision of her. She was small and petite which he didn’t like so much. He liked a little meat to hang onto. He did like that her hair was wild and untamed, flying about in the wind. He looked to see who she was calling to and saw two men clad all in black.  One was sneaking up on her from the fields while the other was covering her from the house side of the barn.

Creed didn’t know if she was aware of the second guy and was about to scream out a helpful, “Look out behind you!”  By the time he thought of this, though, it was too late. Both guns shot off and suddenly the naked young woman was awash in pink and light blue paint. It seeped down her body as she giggled hysterically. “No fair! No fair!” She was screaming but Creed could see from the redness around her thighs and buttocks that this was definitely the middle course of a wild night of sex games. He leaned back in his seat to enjoy the rest of the show.

Over an hour later, Creed finally started up his car once he was sure the lovers were safely inside the house. There were a couple of times during the entertainment when he’d wanted to call out that the tombstones in the cemetery were real good for a threesome, but they seemed to be doing quite a good job of it in the muck and mud. There was one thing Creed enjoyed and that was mud wrestling. That blonde girl was a real fighter. It had taken two of them, but they had brought her down. Creed enjoyed watching a girl grow submissive, especially a tomcat like her.

As he pulled out onto the county road, he circled the farm’s address on his list. He was definitely coming out here again. Next time he’d bring those binoculars he’d grabbed from Dwayne’s car.

Poker Game #4

It was almost midnight and Creed had just about given up on the poker game. He looked at the list again and was surprised to see that he’d missed an address. The problem was it had been written near Michael’s name and so he’d supposed it was Michael’s place. Creed had been to enough of Michael’s ‘men-only events’ to know that they truly were men-only. One of these days, he should set Michael down and tell the boy that no man wants to go to a men-only event that didn’t involve lots of beer and naked women. “Michael,” he’d say, “Listen to me. I know these things. If it has to be porn, fine. Hell, even talking about naked women is fine, but, Christ all mighty? Magic tricks? Just shoot yourself, boy.”

Creed drove by Michael’s apartment complex on the way to the address and recalled vividly the ‘bachelor’s party’ Michael had thrown for Stanford when he got re-married. Now there was one hot mama. Stanford had great taste in women. Creed liked a woman, be she black, brown, or white, as long as she had breasts you could drown in and legs that kicked the sky when she came. Stanford’s women always looked like they knew which way to kick.

This ‘bachelor party’ of Michael’s though… What a bomb that had been. Thank god, Creed thought, that he, the HR guy, that accountant what’s his face, and the guy down in warehouse, not Roy, the other one? Doesn’t matter. Anyway they went into Michael’s bathroom and got it hotboxing.  That warehouse guy sure had a good dealer. He was the same dude who brought the stuff a couple years back that Roy was talkin’ about. Creed was going to have to have him hook them up. He’d never put two and two together before that that was the same guy. Small world.

Creed was surprised to see that the address was at that set of new condos that all the press was about. He’d watched the story with interest about the guy who’d slammed the prostitute up against a wall during a bout of sex that got out of control. Creed had followed the story as they replayed it night after night because he was pretty sure the prostitute was his third common-law wife, Judy something-or-other. He still wasn’t sure why the press was making such a big deal about it. He knew for a fact that Judy was game for just about anything. Hell, she’d done it with a horse once, just on a bet. Creed had lost 50 bucks on that deal.

As he pulled in between the carports he scanned the darkened windows looking for prostitutes. Valentine’s Day was the perfect time to run in to an ex-lover. If they weren’t dating anyone, there was an 85% chance that before the night was through you’d be straddling familiar territory and possibly getting a free breakfast. Judy, or was it Jessica, had always made good waffles.

For a moment, Creed considered ditching the poker party and calling some of his old flames. He couldn’t remember any of their phone numbers so he just said ‘fuck it’ and got out of the car.

He knocked on the door and there was no reply. He wasn’t sure if it was the right spot. There was a swing hanging from the tree in front so he went and hunkered down on it to consider the situation.. He wasn’t sure this was the right address and was hoping for a vision, or possibly a prostitute, to show him the way. The swing was tied strangely and could only swing back and forth maybe 9 inches. Creed wondered what dipshit had hung it and that’s when he had his brainstorm of the night.

He went to his car and dug around in the spare tire well that held no spare tire but a lot of (unfortunately empty) plastic baggies and some random tools. He found a hammer and some pruning shears. Good enough, he thought and went back to the tree. It took some doing but he was able to climb the tree so that he could begin removing the ropes that held the swing up.

Ask anyone and they would tell you that one of Creed’s Desert Island video picks would be Pick-Up. That sex scene… well, there were a lot of good, quality sex scenes in Pick-Up but the one where she’s on the swing? That was good stuff. Creed figured he could rig the swing above his bed somehow. One of these days he was going to go down to the Florida Everglades and ride some girls in the swamps, but in the meantime… a swing in the bedroom would be dandy.

It was while Creed was up in the branches sawing away at the ropes that he happened to look in the condo’s window and see a man tied to the bed. Creed had to stop sawing the ropes because his eyes just about popped out in surprise. The man was gagged, and it was too dark to make out, but Creed could almost swear it was his boss, Michael.

Now Creed knew that just didn’t make sense. Sure, if Michael were in a poker game and he lost, maybe he’d get tied up. Okay, Creed had been to a couple of games like that. A couple of circle jerks that had gotten out of control. Those things happen. But… Who in god’s green earth would invite Michael to a poker game? Suddenly, Creed realized what must have happened. They’d had a poker party and Michael showed up unannounced. Sure. He’d done that before…lots of times. So they tie him up and head out to someone else’s place.

The question was: where was the other place they went to? Creed pondered this as he loosened the last rope on the swing. It fell with a bang and Creed saw the tied-up man’s head jerk to look out the window. Creed waved and started making his way down to the ground.

Fortunately, he had not seen the woman under the covers giving the gagged guy a nice round of fellatio. Otherwise, Creed would probably have stayed for a while and enjoyed that show. As Creed would tell anyone who asked, one of his top three favorite porn gags was a good fellatio scene. Making a guy come in your mouth was an art and the true artisté could swallow it in one go. He would have liked to stick around and see if this lady was an artisté or an amateur. As it was, Creed walked away with an almost-new swing, a garden gnome, and three days worth of the neighbor guy’s mail.

Poker Game #5

It was well after midnight and Creed had finally given up. He drove home and wandered aimlessly up to his trailer door. He was pissed to see that he'd left the lights on again. His electricity bill would be through the roof this month.

He wasn’t surprised to see he'd forgotten to lock the door again. This happened all the time. Luckily, he had nothing anyone would want to steal... except maybe that new refrigerator he'd won. That thing was a god-send. Now he didn’t have to store his booze in a cooler in the shower stall.

As Creed opened the door, he was startled to see the fat accountant from work pawing through his extensive porn mag selection. The fat bastard turned around at the sound of the door and drawled, “Dude! Where have you been?”

Creed was about to rip him a new one when he saw through the smoky haze that a poker game was in the works.  The HR guy was losing big time, probably because of the hits he was taking on Creed's phallic bong. The redhead was topless and waving her titties around like they were the U.S. Flag on Armistice Day. She still had her shoes and pants on which Creed knew would be coming off real soon. Creed smacked his lips. And, hello! There was that fat hottie from the loading dock, down to her g-string and giggling from far too much fine imported bourbon.

“Welcome to the Valentine Loser’s Party!” Meredith screamed as she grabbed her bra off the table and swung it merrily around her head.

Creed smiled. It was good to be home.