This is a story that's been rattling around in my head for a while. It's entirely fictional and all characters in the story are above the age of eighteen. The words cock/dick and cunt/pussy are used interchangeably, depending on how it seems to work best at the moment.
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The monthly poker night is a sacred tradition. The location changes depending on which of us has the best space available on the appointed day, but the player roster always remains the same. There's me -- Shane, 42, married, father of one -- and my crew of three best friends: James, 38, single and happy to stay that way; Alex, 43, separated but supposedly 'working it out' with the mother of his two college-age kids; and Terry, also 42, married father of three kids under the age of fifteen.
Alex and I have been friends since we were in college. We spent the four best years of our lives playing sports, attending parties, and occasionally completing schoolwork. We weren't the rowdiest two on campus, by far, but we got into our fair share of shenanigans. The other guys we met through an inter-office bowling league that turned out to be too boring for long term commitment, but introduced us to some really fun dudes I'm happy to spend one Saturday a month fleecing for cash one hand at a time.
This month's game is being held at the new home I've recently purchased with my wife, because the spacious finished basement has been designated my long-awaited 'man cave' and has the best sound system, a mini-bar, and a slick, professional-style poker table gifted to me by my lovely wife and daughter just this past Christmas. The table is hexagon shaped and made of beautifully lacquered dark oak wood with a lush, green felt top. Pricey as fuck, but well worth it.
We are three hands and a few drinks in when I hear footsteps descending the basement stairs.
"Thought you were rolling bachelor-style tonight," Terry inquired mildly, not bothering to look up from the cards he was shuffling back and forth in his hands.
"So did I," I answered, leaning back in my chair slightly for a better view of the stair landing. A pair of high heels and long legs become visible well before the rest of my daughter appears.
Terry is right, I'm supposed to be on my own tonight. My wife, Deanna, is out of town for the weekend. She usually finds something to occupy her time for whatever weekend my poker night lands on. She likes Alex and Terry, and she tolerates James, but she prefers not to be present when we're all together. Something about not being dragged down into frat-house humor or whatever. My daughter, Lainey, is supposed to be out with girlfriends at a party. I expected her home eventually, but not for hours yet.
Before Deanna left, she made me swear on my brand-new poker table to look after Lainey. It's not like I
don't
care for my kid, it's just that we've always had a little bit of an odd relationship. I'm not overly good at the parental stuff; all the discipline and lectures and rules stuff just never came easily to me. When she was growing up, Lainey and I were more like goofy siblings than parent and child. I loved to roam the woods looking for bugs and snakes with her. I snuck her out of school on multiple occasions just to have someone fun to see a new film with on opening day. I did not -- and still don't -- say 'no' to her very often. My wife has a problem with that. Things have been a little bit better since Lainey began maturing and wanting to do more grown up things on her own and with her friends, though she and my wife still butt heads on a pretty regular basis.
Lainey is nineteen and blissfully enjoying a freedom-filled gap year between high-school graduation and beginning college. Her mother worries that giving Lainey a year to laze around and party will stunt her ambition and derail her future, but I'm not worried. She's wickedly smart and stunningly beautiful, and I burst with pride every time I see her. What her head for numbers and details won't get her in life, her glossy brown curls, full lips, and brilliant green eyes will. Not to mention the legs. Legs for days.
The legs she gets from her mother. The eyes are all me.
"Hey, honey," I greet her with a smile. There's a slight wobble to her step that tells me she's probably had a drink or two, but her gaze is sharp and clear. "Party wind down early?"
"No, it was the worst!" She complains, wandering over and plopping unceremoniously down on my lap. I have to do some quick adjusting to save both my cards and my junk from imminent disaster. "I mean, it started off good, but the guys all wanted to get super wasted and turned it into a contest which ended in tears and vomit."
I try to suppress a laugh, but Alex makes no such attempt. Lainey's glare just makes him chuckle harder. "Sorry, kiddo. That's guys in their twenties for you."
James nods, flashing a grin at her that is -- as usual for James -- borderline inappropriate. "They're only ever thinking about one thing. And it's never the one thing you want them to be thinking about."
"Jesus, James," Terry muttered, rolling his eyes.
"I'm just saying!" James defends, waving a hand vaguely at Lainey. "If the rest of the girls at the party were dressed half as sharp as our little Lainey, those guys had no cause to be getting trashed when they could be getting friendly."
I'm aware that it's at this point that I should be getting pissed at James. I know my wife would be. James always has a bit of a loose tongue around pretty much everyone. No topic is ever too taboo for polite company, as far as he's concerned. Still, I can't really muster up much anger when Lainey seems to light up every time he makes a somewhat lewd comment wrapped in a compliment. I first noticed her responding like that a couple years ago. I'm pretty sure she's got a crush.
Also, he's sort of got a point. With her sitting in my lap, I'm in a unique position to appreciate just how soft -- and tight -- the deep green, sheath mini-dress she's wearing compliments her eyes so perfectly and how it hugs every curve of her body. The thin shoulder straps keep the criminally plunging neckline from being outright indecent, but only just.
She's not wearing a bra I note, and try to immediately forget, although that's difficult to do when directly across from me, there's a liquor cabinet at the mini-bar with a shiny, glass door that perfectly reflects the image of Lainey sitting in my lap with her nipples hard and jutting up beneath the dress fabric. I really didn't think it was that cold in the basement.
Then again, I'm fully dressed.
"Exactly!" Lainey exclaims, grinning broadly at James. "How lame do you have to be to get wasted instead of getting lucky?"
"
So
lame," James intones very seriously, then smirks again.
I groan and shake my head, trying not to jostle Lainey too much in my lap. "I think that's enough talk about getting lucky, thanks."