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What Happens In Vegas
Stays in Vegas...
These machines really are boring. I mean, they're all the same, they just have different little pictures on the screen. Well, okay, some have different features and let you do different stuff, but basically they are all the same. Boring. I've been sitting here at pretty much the same machine for two days now. First thing this morning too. And I'm almost the only one in this whole casino section. Even the cocktail girls looked bored. I get jackpots and I get some pays, but I was still down six hundred bucks. Not that the money bothers me all that much. Heck, my husband can lose twice that in one hand of poker. He always ends up winning though.
That's what we come for actually. Poker. Jason (my husband) was here for the poker tournament. He's pretty good too, I guess. Anyway one casino or another invites him, pays his way and gives him a room. I rarely ever go actually. I did this time to escape my mother wanting to, well, mother me while Jason was away. I'd rather be bored watching these wheels (that aren't really wheels) go around and stop in whatever place they will regardless of what you do. Yeah I know. People touch them and punch at them and push buttons, but it doesn't really change a thing. People are certain that it does though. How do I know? I let some really cute guy that programs and installs them buy me a drink one night after he was finished working on the one next to me. He told me. That was a couple of years ago. One more drink and I would have happily gone to check his room with him I think. Oh no, I'm damn sure. Maybe one of the reasons that I hadn't been back since is because of the slot machine guy and the way that I felt. I'm thirty-two, married, and have a nine year old daughter. I really can't be jumping into bed for a one night stand. Or any kinda stand for that matter.
I'm a people watcher too. I check everybody out. I usually it at the end machine and look at people walk by. Unless the machine makes some exciting noise, I just push the One Dollar button and watch. Lots of bored looking people walked by. None of them paid the least attention to me. That in itself is a little disheartening. I still look pretty good I think. Jason thinks my breasts are better since I had the baby than they were before. I'm not a gym rat, but I watch what I eat, swim a little and dance a lot. I'm not so tall; about five foot six, and I have blue eyes and a dark red to gold head of mid back length hair. Okay, okay, I'm a 36C. A small C, but a C cup nevertheless. Maybe bored people in casinos don't look, but they sure do at home. Men and women both and I like that very much.
Maybe I sorta stared when I first saw him coming down the casino aisle toward me. We sure made eye contact anyway. I looked away when his eyes met mine, but I locked on to them again right away. He smiled. I smiled. He kept walking. I let a breath out and suddenly had that warm feeling between my legs. He was not beautiful. Maybe even kinda ordinary. But that smile. Shit, he had a nice smile. Big gray eyes that seemed to crinkle too. No youngster this one, I was thinking that he must have close to twenty years on me. He must have been slightly over six feet, had dark brown hair with a hint of sun gold through it and the beginnings of gray in his side burns. He looked like he thought that riding in a cart to play golf was exercise, but he wasn't fat. There was something about him though. You know, the kind that says, "you bet I'm good in bed." I was lucky, he kept on walking and I didn't have to face my sudden heat. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt with the first two buttons open. Not much hair showing, just right and a tough of gray (sigh).
"Is this machine taken?"
"Ummm ... well ... it looks to me like about five of all of these machines are being used," I said with my palm up showing him the around room and trying not to spit on myself.
"Then you won't mind if I play this one?"
"No, please go ahead." My feet were up on the machine cabinet with my knees up and I started to lower them to give him room.
"Don't move your legs. Be comfortable."
I think he just wanted to look at my tan legs. Guys like to look at my nice legs (well, they are) and I never dissuade that. That's what shorts and short skirts are for if you think about it. Maybe I should have worn the skirt this morning instead of the white shorts. I snuck a 'corner of the eye' peek at the fit of those faded denim jeans of his too. Not so much the legs either. Damn.
So, I wanted to say, "would you like to take me to your room and ravish me?" Instead, I said, "Annabelle. Anna."
"Hi, Annabelle Anna."
He smiled and said nothing.
"You knew that," I nearly whispered.
He looked me straight in the eyes, held out his hand and said, "Hi, Gene Simmons."
A very slight smile crossed his lips when he saw my look.
"Not that Gene Simmons. My tongue is not nearly that sexy."
"Freaky, not sexy. At least to me, Gene. The whole Kiss group is." And I took his hand in mine to shake it. He didn't let go right away. I thought that his tongue was probably very talented as long as the other Gene Simmons or not.
"I'm glad. But, I always get that response from women. Not quite so much anymore."
"Just from us old women huh?"
"You're certainly not old, Anna. Twenty-five or so?"
"Jeez, beautiful at any age."
That made me blush and that's not easy to do. "Is your wife playing slots too?" I asked spotting his ring.
"My wife passed away a little over a year ago. I'm here with a couple of guys from a support group."
"So sorry about your wife. It is nice to have a support group though."
"The support group is nothing but a bunch of whiners. I made a couple of friends from it though," he said with a grin. "Okay, how do you play this darn thing anyway?"
"They're pretty tough. Put your money or a ticket in the slot and start pushing buttons."
"You can really play a penny?"
"Yeah, sure. If you want to play one line and never win. See the buttons? From twenty-five cents to two-fifty. I usually play one dollar."
Gene put his money in the slot and the conversation sort of lagged. We exchanged a few glances and smiles. Finally he said, "I'm not sure what happened to my pals. I was looking for 'em when I saw you."
"Won't they miss you? Maybe they're looking for you."
"Naw, they're looking to get lucky."
"In more than one way I suppose," I said without looking away from the machine.
"You suppose right," he answered. Almost exactly that moment, Gene got a bonus and I got one right after. The noise broke the semi silence. "What the hell is that?"
"Free spins," I said. "We each get fifteen free spins and that is sorta the point of the game." We watched the reels go around and around (or a poor simulation of around and around) and watched them stop to count (or not) any winnings.
"Jeez, all of that racket for forty bucks?"
"I won one hundred and ten," I snipped. I looked at his ring finger again and said, "I can't imagine you getting lucky with that ring on unless a hooker is okay."
"I not sure how one finds a hooker and I cannot for the life of me get this damn ring off."
"I can help with the ring. Probably not the hooker though." Fuck me and you won't need a hooker is what I was thinking. Don't get me wrong, I just think this stuff. I'm not actually some slut. I guess that sometimes I wish I was a slut to be honest.
"Okay, let's see what you can do then," he said as he held his hand out.
I fumbled in my bag and came out with a little bottle of gold fluid and unscrewed the cap. I put some on my fingers and spread it around his finger and knuckle.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Probably. If you were thinking lube for anal sex it is. How do you know what it is anyway?" I sorta looked up at him sheepishly and he didn't seem to respond. I wish he had of.
"My wife needed it when she started to get pretty sick. She was a good sport and wanted me happy to the end. She's the one that started the hooker thing. I never did though."
"I take some with me to use on my lips. The air conditioning dries them so badly."
"Those lips sure look soft and kissable alright."
Shit, I blushed again. I worked steady on that ring and was making progress. I looked up once in awhile to see if I was hurting him. It didn't seem so, his eyes darted from the loose front of my pale yellow top to the openings in the legs of my white shorts.
Now, let me tell you about girls, most girls anyway. They learn from a very early age to follow the line of a man's or boy's eyes. They know when a guy (or girl) is looking down their top, up their skirt, or in the loose legs of their shorts. I knew. Even before I played on the bars at the park, I always knew. I knew that Gene was checking my panties and hoping to see a little more tit as I bent over his to work the ring off of his hand. I wasn't in any big hurry.
"I think you're getting it! It's coming!"
"Don't scream when you do," I said. He laughed, I blushed again and the ring came off. "Trouble is that you have a nice white line now."
"I don't care about the white line. Somehow it feels better to be rid of the ring."
I wiped the oil off of his finger and we went back to pushing the boring buttons. I could have sworn that there was a bigger bulge in those jeans than there was moments ago. He was stealing looks at me in about the same place I studied him.
.... There is more of this story ...