S.T.A.G. Party

By John La Briola

Billionaire-playboy Jefferson Horne oversees production of customized furniture, chandeliers, and flatware for Sport Trophy Applications Global. But the real money in harvesting antlers? The blood: warm, crimson, libido-boosting luxuriance that Horne bathes in daily. Nature’s Viagra.

Tubside stands Bambi Shanks: topless, high-heeled.

“Sleighride? Champagne?”

“Both. Got a headache. Animal rights activists cryin’ over a manicure. What’s next? Mandatory anaesthetic?”

She cuts lines: Chinawhite. Uncorks Dom Pérignon.

After showering, he studies himself naked in a full-length mirror: pink, steaming.

“On Comet! On Cupid! Voila, my dear!”

“I’m not your dear.”

A straight-razor flashes—followed by an all-piercing scream.

“Rutting season’s over, Casanova.”