Where the Deer and the Antelope Play

Summary: Big-city Player. Small-town wedding. What could go wrong?

Author's Note: Many thanks to blackrandl1958 for the invitation to write this story for her "The Art of Falling" event. I hope it shows that even those most opposed to the concept of falling in love are sometimes subject to its strange whims, but that, when it happens, the word "art" can prove to be a strange misnomer.

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Prologue

March

The song started to fade and the female morning host talked over the last few notes, beginning a playful banter with her morning co-host on what claimed to be the top-rated FM radio station in Creek City. That it was the only FM radio station in the area wasn't mentioned.

Minutes later, however, she took on a more serious tone. "Well, Choctaw, we have some sad news from Myer & Myer, your hometown funeral home—"

"Where a body can really be some body!" chimed in Choctaw. "So what's up, Kendra? Or should I be saying who's down?"

"Down for the count, I'm afraid, Choctaw. Dr. Edward Nolan, our hometown dentist—"

"And a regular advertiser on our show."

"—was found dead in his dental office on Third Street late last night by his wife after he didn't come home after work as expected. Mrs. Nolan had been out with the Ashantie County Women's Club—"

"Of which our own Kendra is a past president!"

"—and she didn't get home until after 8 only to find he wasn't there." Kendra's voice quivered as she continued. "Janet—ah, Mrs. Nolan—went to his office and found him still there, collapsed. She called an ambulance but, sadly, it was too late to save him. He was 72."

"Sad news."

"Very, very sad. Everyone here at KQCC offers our sincere condolences to Mrs. Nolan, the Nolan family, and to the employees and clients of Nolan Family Dentistry—"

"And to everyone in Creek City who's going to need a new dentist!"

"—on Dr. Nolan's passing."

"And now on a brighter note, Creek City and the greater Ashantie County area are looking at sunny and mild today, with a high of 42..."

***

Chapter 1

Mid April

The ringing brought me out of a pleasant slumber.

I'd had a couple of drinks at the local bar and grill so it took a moment to realize it was a phone ringtone rather than an alarm. Flailing around the bedside table, it took even more time before I finally found it.

"H'lo?" I mumbled, my tongue feeling thick and cottony.

"Ian? You're not asleep are you? I thought sure you'd be up partying! Or are we just getting old? That big 4-0 is coming up for you in a few weeks!" The voice laughed. Got some news and a date for you."

Alan?

Yeah, it was Alan.

Alan Sizemore, a country kid, had been my best friend in college before he decided to accept a job in downtown Chicago, just a few miles from campus. Then he spent a few years traipsing off around the world solving one engineering crisis after another. Unfortunately, the bastard switched jobs and moved at about the same time as I opened my practice and he hated social media so we'd lost touch for several years.

Then a couple of summers ago, I saw him in an interview on TV. He and his little town out in Kansas or Nebraska or one of those other flyover states had pulled a fast one and hosted a nudist festival fundraiser that got the attention of people all over the country.

I'd even heard about it before the interview, but didn't put two and two together until I was watching Candice Rossiter on her nationally syndicated evening news and entertainment program out of Hollywood. Alan and I went to college with Candy and I still had something of a case of the hots for her all these years later so I watched her show often, dreaming about the time I went out with a celebrity.

Alan, the president of the group that put on the festival, was getting requests for interviews from all of the big morning shows and evening newscasts, so he called Candy and gave her an exclusive to get the others off his back. She flew out to Podunk, spent some time interviewing Alan, his girlfriend, and some of the other local yokels, and she did a really nice human-interest piece on the festival and the area.

When I saw the interview, I called Candy at her show to get Alan's contact info. We reconnected the next day, and we'd been in touch regularly since, even getting together over Christmas when he and his gorgeous fianceé flew into the city to spend a few days with her cousins in Jersey.

"Hey, Alan," I practically growled, "what time is it?"

"Should be 11:55 your time."

"Eleven fifty-five?" Great, not even into the morning hours and I'd already been dead to the world. I'd been dreading the big birthday coming up in a few weeks, and now it was as if it was hitting me early. "So what's up, buddy? You said something about news and a date? Is it Candy?"

"No, Ian, not that kind of news, and definitely not that kind of date. Nessa and I want you to come out to BC to be in our wedding. We're getting married and I'd like for you to be my best man."

"Sure, man! And congratulations!" I said over a yawn. I was genuinely excited at the prospect of seeing him again. "Glad to do it and I can't think of a better guy for you to ask. We'll have the bachelor party of the century for you! Strippers and blow!" I laughed, knowing that Alan would never go for either, and that I wasn't into drugs either.

Blow jobs, on the other hand? Maybe, hopefully, I thought as I smiled....

"So when is it and where do I fly into? Vancouver?"

"No strippers, no blow, and definitely not British Columbia, goofball! Bettleys Corners, out here in the Great Midwest, you know, where the buffalo roam and the deer and the antelope play. You can fly into Denver or Wichita, or maybe even Kansas City or Lincoln if that would work better for you. I'll send you all the details and let you pick your poison, but just wanted to check with you and get the date on your calendar."

"Right. When are you planning it?"

"Mid October. It'll all be in the email but I just wanted to talk to you about it before it showed up."

"Sounds great, man. Looking forward to it and to seeing you two again. Say, are you inviting Candy?"

Alan chuckled. "Yeah, she's on the invite list, but I wouldn't count on her showing up with her show schedule and all.

"Well, work on her. I, uh, owe her dinner."

I never technically went out with Candy and she wasn't a celebrity back then either, but it generally raises fewer eyebrows terming it "went out with a celebrity" than admitting that just a few weeks before graduation our plans for dinner fell through, we got drunk, and things got out of hand. She blew me, I ate out her sweet pussy, and we fucked at least twice that night in her dorm. Sadly, she didn't want to have much to do with me after that, though she and Alan remained great friends.

When I called Candy for the first time in 17 years to get Alan's info, she was surprised and hesitant to talk to me. She was, it seems, still a bit pissed at me for coming in her without a condom the last time, but she finally gave me Alan's phone number and email address after I apologized profusely, all the while thanking my lucky stars we hadn't gotten caught. I think we were at least friends again after that and I sometimes wondered if Candy might have been the one that got away.

Maybe I could find out if she attended the wedding.

Alan and I laughed and chatted for another minute or two before saying our goodbyes and clicking off. I yawned again, somewhat loudly this time as I tried to suppress it. A shift in the bed caused me to start, looking back over my shoulder to see the blonde in bed next to me stirring.

Shit! I don't remember her name! Well, doesn't matter anyway. I thought. That's the way it is with those who play The Game. The constant, ongoing hunt for sex and the resulting payoffs are the important parts; her name, like all their names, is just another trivial detail.

"Ian, we fell asleep!" she said, all giggly as she raised up to put her chin on my arm. As she did, I got a glimpse of those tits to die for, which was what had attracted me to her in the first place. From what I recalled over our rounds of drinks at Tyndale's down on the corner, she wasn't a sparkling conversationalist, but she had a very pretty face, those incredible tits, an ass that rivaled them, and a pussy, it turned out, that had a grip that could rival an anaconda.

I needed to get her out; I had a lot to do on Sunday morning, so I was about to try to send her on her way when she started kissing up my arm, over my shoulder, and onto my neck.

"Listen, maybe we should—"

"Uh huh," she agreed, mistaking what I was saying before the words escaped me. The kissing, now on my earlobe, felt great, but was nowhere near as good as that soft hand that had somehow snaked around to play with my pole. After two rounds earlier—I think that's right—I was surprised I had so much spark left, but it was there and she had me hard in seconds before rolling me down on my back.

Her lips left my earlobe and I had a chance to speak up, to send her packing so we could both still get a good night's rest, but she had other plans, turning around so she could take me in her mouth again. Then she slipped atop me, throwing her leg over, and settled back, positioning her glorious pussy right above me.

"Well, when you put it like that," I said before sucking her clit in my mouth and practically devouring her, raw and aggressive, unlike my usual finess. She soon was bucking herself against me and making my breathing a little difficult, but I was practically in heaven as she cried out, her delicious juices soaking me. I'd be taking a shower and changing the sheets after she left.

She started to get up, to leave, I thought, but leaving still wasn't part of her plan. She shifted around, grabbed my dick and rolled a condom down it before shoving it inside herself in one smooth motion.

Circling her hips, the anaconda was back!

"Oh God!" I called out as I remembered that she was a yoga instructor while her name still eluded me. Putting her skills to work, she stroked and squeezed me, as if milking me for every last drop. Up and down she went, forward and back, all the while holding me in that grip of the gods. Despite it being our third go, she showed me that I still truly had something in reserve and I felt the rise begin.

"Roll over," I grunted as I carried her to the side. I was on top then and the pile driver of old was back as she pulled her legs up high and I pounded against her.

"Oh, Ian! Keep going!" she screamed. "Don't stop!"

Seconds later, she slipped over the edge, her intense look fading as she gave a long sigh and her smile returned. I was there with her as I let go, pulsing deep within her grip. Yes, this was another score, in fact, a victory, well fought and beautifully won, one that could be celebrated by Players everywhere...if I were to broadcast such details. Instead, it was my victory, and while I might share the basics with a certain Gamer friend, the details would be mine alone, and I'd cherish it like so many others before and, hopefully, so many more in the future.

Collapsing onto the bed beside her, I slipped off the condom and, after a twist, dropped it in the little can by the bed. Catching my breath, I still couldn't remember her name but knew that this had indeed been a huge win in my little Game.

Perhaps someday, I might even break the rules and try her again.

***

She was gone when I awoke on Saturday morning, but I found her note on the hall table near the door.

Ian,

Had the best time ever! Call me!

There were three little hearts below with her name, Kara, and her number.

I looked at it, debating whether I should pick it up and add her to my contact list all the while knowing that I couldn't. It went against everything I stood for, against the rules of the so-called Game, where Players like me are interested in sex purely for pleasure, without all of the lingering attachments that go with so-called relationships.

In truth, there were no written rules to the Game, but if one stumbles into the right forum or chat room on the Internet, the consensus among those who purport to participate in it is that the Player, the individual participant, is out for sex, as much and as often as possible, with as many women as one can, without ever seeing the same woman twice. The idea is that this thereby prevents the common pitfalls of relationships, the cursed mystery of that strange thing called love, and that ultimate disaster, marriage.

As I approached 40, I knew the consensus method worked, for, to date, I'd always avoided both the L-word and the M-word.

While there are no written rules in the Game, there is, if one goes to the right places, a copious supply of support for Players in the form of suggestions of places to go where the women are quite plentiful and, quite often, easy. While some women hate us Players and the Game we play, there are others who express an understanding of and support for the Players of the Game, enjoying what is essentially their own version of it as they, too, keep their vaginal muscles well exercised and carve proverbial notch after notch in their bedposts.

Having always been a Player in college without realizing it or understanding the rules, I discovered one of the forums that cater to those in our local area soon after moving to the city and I eventually got to know a number of the local Players. One, Silas, had even become something of a friend. As usual, he called that afternoon.

"Ian! What's up?"

"Hey, Si! How'd it go last night?"

"Two, man, plus a blow job from a chick in the restroom before 10! Had the first lay—wow! She was a looker, with a fabulous ass—back to her place by 11:30. She sucked me a couple of times, when I needed a break, but for the most part she just lay there and let me pump her. I skipped out while she was in her bathroom cleaning—"

"No way! That's cruel!"

"Phfft! Easier than having the Big Scene, I say. Anyway, I was back at the bar by 1, had another one on the hook by 1:20, and reeled her in by 2. She was a bit on the chunky side but man, she could fuck! We did it twice before I had to go. Skipped out on her just like the first one!"

He laughed and I chuckled less enthusiastically. I wasn't a fan of skipping out, but the 'Big Scene,' as he called it, wasn't all that great either, and I'd taken the coward's route from time to time when it seemed the woman was a little too into me.

"What about you? You get any?"

"Yeah, a real sweetheart, a yoga instructor and the fuck of the year," I replied before telling him how pretty and how skilled she was.

"Whoa! You sound a little too much into her, if you get my drift. Be careful, man. Next thing you know, you'll be calling her and the wedding bells will be playing with your personalized tune."

"Nah. Too many women in this town left to do for that to ever happen."

"Isn't that the truth! Well, take your vitamins and your T-supplement and be ready to go at it again tonight."

"Will do, and you, too. Take care and happy hunting."

"Ditto! Bye."

I thought about it for a while after we hung up. Silas was a real Player, who cared nothing for the women he did other than for the physical pleasure they brought him, with him trying to return the favor when he could without worrying about it when he couldn't. Silas was well known in our circle for his bravado and his success, but I didn't know if we'd be friends if we didn't have the common goal of the Game.

Of course, considering my track record of using women, he'd probably be well within his rights to say the same of me.

***

June

It's not often but occasionally events of the Game interfere with real life.

It was around 2 on a Tuesday afternoon when Bess, one of my hygienists, stuck her head into the room where I was examining the mouth of another patient.

"Dr. Jenkins, Miss Devers, a new patient, is ready in Room 3."

"Thanks, Bess. I'll be there in a couple."

Mr. Melvin and I shook hands, Annie, his hygienist, showed him out, and I stepped up to the computer to bring up the file.

Miss Molly Devers' file said she was 30 years old, a non-smoker, her BP was good, and her BMI (and her body type), based on the height and weight she reported, was just about ideal. Her file from her old dentist across town showed that she'd had some work done over the years, including braces, but her current issue showed up on the new bitewings that Bess had made at the start of the visit. She had a tiny new cavity, meaning that I would be the bearer of bad news.

"Good afternoon, Miss Devers," I said as I entered Room 3. "I'm Dr. Jenkins and welcome to Jenkins Dentistry, we're happy to...."

I trailed off as Miss Devers' eyes went wide and she jumped up from the chair, drew back, and bumped into the cleaning station with a loud "ooomph!"

"Miss Devers, are you okay?"

"Stay the fuck away from me, asshole!" she growled in a voice so low I could barely hear her.

"Sorry?" I queried, having no idea what was happening.

She frowned at me before whispering at a staccato. "Molly? The snowstorm back in January? The Beltline Bar and Grill? Ian, right? We had a great time in bed and you seemed like such a nice guy until you skipped out during the night without leaving a way to contact you. I thought I was pregnant for a while and was freaking out until my period finally started. No way would I ever let you put you fingers in my mouth or your fucking cock in me again, you jackass."

A gasp caused me to look around to see Bess with her mouth open and her eyes nearing saucer size.

Molly Devers ripped off the blue bib from around her neck and threw it at me, quite ineffectually, before grabbing her purse. She squeezed around the rear of the chair, staying as far from me as she could as I drew back to give her all the space she wanted. Turning to Bess as she was going out the door, she said, "Bess, don't ever let this bastard fuck you. He's great in bed but really is a jackass, first class." She looked back at me. "I'll call to let you know where to send my file. And if you think I'm paying your bill, you asshole, you've got another thought coming."

Miss Devers was gone but Bess stood still, her eyes still wide, not sure of what to do. I had to go into damage control mode as I picked up the bib and dropped it in the trash after removing the little neck chain.

"Ahem, sorry you had to see that, Bess. Miss Devers and I went out once, but it didn't work out." It was weak as explanations go, but it was all I had short of confirming Molly's story.

She nodded, a short, clipped nod, before backing away, her hands placed defensively across her chest.

I was afraid she was going to turn and run, so I said, "Bess, take the rest of the day off, with pay. We'll see you in the morning, okay?"

She nodded and then was gone. I tried to apologize again the next day, but Bess waved me off and turned in her resignation at the end of the day on Friday.

Two weeks later, Bess was gone, and I brought on a temp hygienist until I could find a suitable replacement. Just in case Bess had said anything or in case anyone else had overheard my encounter with Molly, I gave everyone a bonus to "celebrate Independence Day" just days after Bess's departure, and thanked everyone for being the best staff ever. It was only $500 per employee, but it was a surprise and they all appreciated it greatly. It hurt a bit on my end, since I was paying them rather than paying myself part of my own salary for the month, but in the end, it helped keep everyone on staff, thereby helping me avoid all the fees associated with a bunch of new hires.