Reindeer Games

Just a short followup to my 2023 Reindeer Games story, for those of you who wondered what happened. (https://www.literotica.com/s/reindeer-games-4)

My apologies for the category, but that's where the original was.

[*]

William "Call me Liam" O'Conner stumbled through the crowded dance floor at Zouk's. He'd come to Vegas for a marriage therapist convention, but that was just a cover. He really came to get laid. It'd been way too long, and somehow the girls back home in Miami just weren't impressed by his doctorate (he purposely left the impression he was an MD) or his suave and sophisticated manner. He still smarted from the rebuke of the mean girl at Club Space when he told her that she should be impressed by all that.

"Well," she smirked, "Next time, bring those things with you. It could make the difference."

Her cadre of friends thought that was hilarious, and for the next month, any girl he approached seemed to know that story. "Oh! You're Dr. Suave and Sophisticated! Ain't I honored!" It got so he couldn't show his face in any of the good clubs. It got worse when they found out his doctorate was a PhD and not a MD. Well, fuck the bitches. He'd earned the title of Doctor and screw them if they misunderstood. But when they found out, it always seemed to make him look like a phony.

And he couldn't get laid for love or money. Well, he could get laid for money, but...

So here he was in Vegas, and the bitches here seemed just as impervious to his charms as those in Miami. As he floundered off the dance floor, his eyes fell on what was a very impressive rack. He stopped and stared at it for a moment, before looking up and seeing an amused woman and her glaring companion. It took his confused and inebriated mind a minute, then he said, "Hey, I know you! You're, you're, ah, Reindeer! That's it. You're the reindeers!" A puzzled look filled his face. "How did I ever forget that?"

Unbidden, he dropped into the opposite side of their booth.

Dasher Deere looked just as puzzled as Liam when she asked her husband, Joe, "How could he remember us? I thought that they forgot it all as soon as we've left."

Joe was still glaring at the psychiatrist. "Look at the fool. He's drunk off his ass." Joe took a sip of his brandy. "Drunk humans are like children. Suddenly, they can see the magic. Don't sweat it. He'll forget as soon as he sobers up again."

It took a minute for Liam to focus back on the Deeres as the room spun around him. "Let's see. It was an infidelity issue, wasn't it? Yeah, yeah, yeah! I remember now. Santy Claus screwed your wife and got her prego!"

A warning rumble erupted from Joe's throat. Dasher stopped looking amused and said, "You better back off, Liam, if you want to keep living."

Liam raised his hands, defensively. "No offense! I was just remembering what you told me. An elf! You had an elf! Santa's son. How is the little scamp?"

Joe's face softened. "He's magical. And he's my son. I raised him, nursed him, and I love him. So, watch your mouth." Dasher hugged her husband, kissing him on the cheek. Her eyes looked teary.

"And Rudolph!" Liam persisted. He pointed at Dasher. "You fucked Rudolph! Had another bastard, did we?" he said with a grin. He screamed when Joe grabbed his finger and began bending it back. Dasher was pulling at Joe's arm, begging him not to break the finger. Joe let go of Liam, still breathing hard as he picked up his drink again. Liam nursed his finger and quailed in face of Joe's glare.

No longer amused with the silly human, Dasher said, "No. Our daughter is Joe's. Turns out Rudolph is sterile, which had Comet unable to explain their three kids."

"Rudolph's sterile? How would you know?" he asked nastily, angry at his treatment by Joe. He was just asking a question. Why'd he have to try to hurt him?

Joe swirled the liquor in his glass. "Clever little fucking elves. They began sending the smart ones to colleges in the Early winter and spring, when they're in their human form. They're studying sciences mainly, hoping to learn more about their, and our, DNA, and what makes us magical. They are trying to figure out how we fly, how they're able to build toys so fast, how Santa fits his fat ass down those chimneys... Never mind. Not important. The only thing they've been able to figure out so far is why that asshole's nose glows so bright."

Liam stared, waiting for the punchline, but Joe seemed to be lost in his own memories. Finally, not able to wait any longer, Joe blurted, "Well! Why's the asshole sterile?"

Dasher was smiling again, actually giggling as Joe looked up, suddenly aware of Liam again. "Oh, Rudolph! That greedy little bastard! It's actually kind of funny. We didn't call him names because of his shiny nose. No, we were doing that even before it started glowing. He was just an asshole, then and now. We couldn't stand him. He'd cheat, steal, and lie almost daily. He is that kind of guy.

"When he was a kid, he was always hungry and he's always been a selfish little git. Well, he'd eat anything he could find. The elves figured it out, because they keep records of their supplies, and they were finally able to explain one of their longest mysteries.

"Way back when, Pocket watches were a popular Christmas gift and the elves made the best. Well, they used tritium and radium, mixed in a paint with zinc, back then for luminescence. Of course, today, they use SuperLumiNova and such non-radioactive paint. Back then, they didn't know about the dangers of radioactivity, because generally, elves and us reindeer are impervious to its effects. Except...

"Well, you got to understand what a greedy, selfish bastard Rudolph is. He didn't care about anybody but himself." Joe paused and regarded Liam. "I think he's probably a lot like you." Dasher snorted loudly, then actually guffawed. Joe smiled lovingly at her.

"Anyway," he continued. "It was during the Great War, and wrist watches were in demand for the trenches and the glow from the radium was required on the numbers and hands. But low and behold, all the radium and tritium supplies were missing. Those little guys really had to scramble to find more. And for over a hundred years, where it went was a mystery."

"Well, where did it go?" The mystery was too much for drunk Liam's befuddled brain.

"That bastard had eaten it all. He thought it tasted good!" Joe laughed.

"But it didn't kill him? All that radioactivity?" Liam was horrified, for poor Rudolph.

"No, I told you, we're pretty impervious to damage. But it did affect us and elves one way! It decreased our potency. Elf reproduction rate climbed when they finally switched to Lumi for the glow-in-the-dark needs. And they really weren't exposed that much. But Rudolph! He ate pounds and pounds of the stuff, enough that his nose would never stop glowing. But it fried his sperm! And thank God for that! We don't need any more of him." Joe finished.

The ramifications of it all amazed Liam. These people and their delusions. He remembered how they'd punked him before with their elaborate reindeer hoax. Now, they've obviously been working and expanding their bullshit. He had to admit, it was pretty involved, but he saw where they'd messed up.

"Well, if he ate all that radium, why doesn't his whole body glow? Huh? Why just his nose?" Liam challenged.

"I don't know," Joe said frankly. "The elves can't figure that out. Magic isn't always simple. For some reason, all the radium ended up in his nose, or at least the effect of it. The joke at the North Pole is that Santa will never have to have treatment for colon cancer, because that brown-nosing little bastard has his red nose so far up Santa's ass, that no cancer could survive!" Joe laughed at his own joke. Liam just looked befuddled.

"Santa," he mumbled to himself. "How's Santa?" he suddenly asked.

"You really want to know? You could ask him yourself." Dasher pointed over his shoulder. "That's him, there." Liam turned to look at a 6'3" Nordic God, blond and tanned, with his arm around two adoring woman. He was just heading towards the exit. Liam noticed that there were a number of very disappointed looking women in the area "Santa" was exiting.

"Yeah, right, that incredibly fit guy is jolly old Santa, with his 'bowlful of jelly'? What did he do? Leave his stomach at home?" Even drunk, Liam knew when he was being punked. Well, screw them.

Dasher shook her head patiently at the therapist. "Liam, we told you before that Santa, like all the elves and reindeer, have a human persona that we have between early in the year until around November. Well, a little earlier for the elves. But Santa, well, Santa is special. Between September and December, he almost lives on just cookies and milk, adding several pounds to his girth every day. But it's all necessary for the effort of Christmas Eve, every year. Can you even imagine how draining it is to have to cover the entire globe in an evening? And it gets worse every year. Hell, since the late '70s, we even have to go to Antarctica! Why the heck do they need to have children there?" she wondered.

Her husband answered morosely. "Territorial claims, mainly from Argentina and Chile. Hard to claim permanence without children." Dasher eyed his glass, wondering if he was getting drunk. It was rare for him, but he could get dangerous, especially around asshats like Liam.

"Anyway," she continued, "by Christmas morning, fat, jolly old St. Nick is worn out. He looks like a survivor of a concentration camp. He's literally skin and bones, and unlike other elves, he transitions to his human form that day. He's almost on life support. For the next month or so, he's kept in an ICU like environment, hooked up to IV's and machines to monitor his health. Every year, we worry he's not going to make it. It's always touch and go."

Liam saw another flaw in their bullshit. "They didn't have all that crap a century ago! How come he didn't die back then?"

Joe grunted angrily. "You stupid fucking ass! Do you know how many children there were in 1800? In the whole world? A couple of hundred million. And today? Almost 2 1/2 BILLION! That's over ten times more. And do you know how many Santa's there were back then? ONE, asshole! And do you know how many Santa's there are today?"

When Joe continued to glare at him silently, Liam realized that he was expected to answer the question. Hesitantly, he said, "Ooonnnee?"

"Fuck right! ONE. Still just one. One sleigh, one Santa. We've got more elves than ever before, especially now that their reproductive rate is back up. And there are more reindeer." He shook his head. "I still don't like the bastard," he said, looking apologetically at his wife, "but you've got to hand it to the old bugger, he's literally doing the work of ten elves, ten magical men. And he risks his life, every fucking year, to do it." He picked up his glass, surprised to find it empty.

Dasher picked up the tale. "Santa didn't used to get so depleted, but like Joe said, every year it gets worse. But by March, he's usually fully recovered. That's when he comes to places like this. He says he like to start delivering presents early."

"Presents?" Liam perked up. He liked presents. He was a lot like Rudolph. "He's giving out presents?"

Dasher chuckled. "He's not going to give you any presents. Where do you think he is? Right now. What do you think he's doing?"

"Well, I saw him leave with two babes." Liam's eyes popped wide and so did his grin. "Is Santa boning those girls?"

"Yes, he is. And do you know what their Christmas present will be?" Dasher asked.

"No, what?" Liam wondered.

Joe butted in. "When the fuck do you think my kid was born? What fucking day would you think?"

Dasher looked concerned, while Joe looked at his empty glass and looked around for a waitress. "No, Joe. No more tonight, okay? You don't want to be so wasted that you won't be able to..." she leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

He looked at his glass and shoved it away from him. He looked at his wife, smiling. "You promise?" he inquired.

"Be good. We'll go in a minute." Dasher turned back to Liam. "It is March, now, Liam. Surely you can do the math."

The therapist concentrated, biting gently on his tongue while he counted on his fingers. "December! They're going to have a kid in December! Is that it? That's their present?"

"But when in December? When does Santa's presents come?" Dasher asked.

When Liam looked puzzled, Joe slammed his fist on the table and said, "Christmas! His presents come on Christmas. My Son was born on Christmas. I should have known then..." Dasher rushed to embrace her husband. She hoped that they were past his anger at her magical day with Santa. She relaxed when Joe hugged her back, and said, "It's okay, honey."

"Liam, do you know that December 25 has the lowest birthrate of any day of the year? It's the rarest birth date. And a good number of those births are Santa's presents. Even in his human form, Santa is still somewhat magical. Sexually, he doesn't tire or wear out. Two seconds after he cums, he's ready to go again. He can deliver his "presents" in March as effectively as he does on Christmas. And no matter when he delivers, the package always arrive December 25th. Of course, his fertility seems to be limited to late February through early April, but all his children are born on Christmas day."

Liam knew, even drunk, that these people were full of crap. And he said so. Surprisingly, Joe just laughed at him and Dasher smiled, amused. "Come on, Joe. Screw this guy. I made you a promise, didn't I. Shall we go?"

Joe pulled her into a passionate kiss, as they stood from the booth. He patted her on the ass and said, "Giddy-up, little pony. This cowboy's ready to ride!"

Liam watched them hurry out of the club. He envied Joe, wonder if he, Liam, would ever get laid again. Then his attention was attracted by a loud cheer from the booth behind him. "Santa" had come back, with the two girls, who now looked like they'd been ridden hard, but pleasantly, judging from the smiles on their face.

"Who's next?" Santa asked. "Maybe, three or four, this time? We're running behind schedule." He added a "Ho, ho, ho" laugh. Four girls gathered around him and they moved off.

Liam, still drunk and befuddled, thought, "That was what? Fifteen minutes? For two? And he's ready to go again? Impossible!" He could almost believe the Deeres bullshit at this point in time. That "Santa" will be a legend around here, he thought, forgetting that adults like those women will forget about the magic they witnessed shortly after Santa left.

It didn't really matter, because as he slumped down in the booth, he fell asleep. When he awakened, he'd be too sober to remember the Deeres anymore. Magic? Just for children and drunks.