Las Vegas Fantasies
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/Fa, Fiction,
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1 - This is an un-simple college-boy-meets-"older"-woman story. There is capital N "No" capital C "Chance" that his fantasies will come true. Or maybe there is. If you want a quick stroke story, you won't be happy with this. On the other hand... it's about him and her and what happens between them.
It was a Friday afternoon - about 3. As if I could forget the first time I saw Crystal. I was just sitting there in the UNLV library, re-re-studying my advanced calculus notes, when she sat down at the same table.
She propped open a copy of the current Harvard MBA Journal and began taking notes. She wore loose jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt. Her hair was cornsilk blonde and she wore it in a soft, loose roll at her neck. Probably she could feel my eyes boring into her, because she looked up. When she looked up, there was a "oh no, not another one" look in her eyes. They were a startling dark gray-blue.
She cocked her head to the side: "Hi." It was a short, dismissive remark, and then she bent back to the MBA Journal.
My mouth was dry. I'd hardly even spoken to a girl before. Well I HAD spoken to them, but this was not a girl, exactly. First of all, she looked like a wet-dream come true. OK, I couldn't even see her body with the sloppy sweatshirt, but her face was perfect, and I imagined the rest would be, too. So I thought of her as a Woman. Capital "W".
And she'd actually spoken to me. Probably she just wanted me to stop staring at her. Her eyes had gone back to the Journal before I could raise enough spit in my mouth to re-activate my vocal chords.
"Uh ... MBA Journal, huh?" What a fucking brilliant thing to say!
She didn't raise her head, but she did cut her eyes at me, and a smile crossed her face. Shiny, pale pink lipstick, I noticed immediately. "Uh huh." she said, and went back to taking notes.
It's a good thing I'm a genius, because the vast capability of my mind was working overtime. I was a 17 yr old geek: math, statistics, computer science -- I'd be finished with my undergraduate degree in 2 more semesters. She was an MBA student. Probably in her mid-20s at least. So she was maybe 8 years older than I was.
See? I told you I was a math genius. Over in another part of my brain, the inter-personal control center to be exact, I fashioned another remark. "I'm studying calculus."
OH GOD! Did I say that?!
She looked up, crossed her hands on the table in front of her and smiled again. This time her little pink tongue was just barely visible when she talked. I developed such an immediate, violent hardon that I thought it might move the table.
"I'll tell you what," she said in an overly polite voice. "If you let me finish reading this article, I'll let you finish your calculus... 'K?"
"Uh ... Right." Shot down, and I never even got my engine started. But I WAS still hard.
I looked back at the calculus notes. B-O-R-I-N-G. I watched her move her pencil. WHAMMO! I could see that she was copying down an equation. Even upside-down, I could see the Sigma. Now Greek letters in equations were my thing. I got bold (not to mention stupid) again. "Maybe I could help with some of that."
With an audible sigh, she looked up, put her pencil behind her ear, and stacked her notebook, the journal and her other books with one arm, grabbed the bag at her feet and then stood. "I don't have time for this." She muttered. My blonde (surely by now she was "MINE"!) picked up her stuff and walked away. She stumbled on the carpet and went sprawling ... books and notes everywhere.
I stumbled quickly to my feet, and hurried to help her pick up all her materials. "No look ... REALLY..." I stammered, "Statistics is my thing, and I saw what you were writing and maybe I CAN help. I don't have to be a jerk trying to pick up a gorgeous woman like you. If you want I can just help a little with the math parts. Then I can stop being a jerk, and you can still be gorgeous."
I bent over to help with the picking-up and smelled her faint floral perfume. God but I was in lust! I wound up standing with her notebook in front of the tent in my pants, afraid to give it back and have her notice.
She looked at me again, appraisingly. I was not THAT much of a geek, I knew -- well sorta knew. I worked out at the gym, wasn't coordinated enough to be good at any sports but I pushed stupid metal weights around, and I swam. Somewhere back in my brief time in High School, an older girl had told me if I ever wanted to get laid, I'd have to spend some time away from a PC, and weights and swimming were something I could do on my own. I definitely DID want to get laid -- eventually -- so I took her advice.
And I wasn't a short, zit-faced, guy with tape on his glasses. OK. I wore glasses, but my mother said I looked handsome in them. Plus I looked older than I was -- at least when I wasn't drooling on myself. The only reason I was a geek is that I had this thing about understanding mathematics. And also because I couldn't talk to -- let alone figure out how to get permission to touch -- a girl. Now I was inches from a capital "W" Woman who was beautiful and wearing soft perfume.
"All right," said the Woman of my sudden, lustful intentions, "if you can get me to understand this Six Sigma Quality Control stuff in the next... " she checked her watch " ... hour and a half, I'll buy you a coffee and you can try your best pick up lines on me. They won't work, but you need the practice. Obviously." She smiled. Bright white teeth; and her smile made her eyes crinkle up.
She turned back to the table where we'd been sitting. "I'm Crys." Then she reached over and recovered her notebook. Her hand accidentally touched mine, and when she took the notebook, my excitement was too obvious to miss. She did not miss it. Her eyes drifted up to my quickly reddening face. "And you're hard."
OH MY GOD AGAIN! She was talking about my woody! My virgin cock.
She smiled again, reached out and touched me, the back of her hand brushing my bulge. She looked around quickly and slid quietly to her knees. With a toss of her head, her teeth grabbed the tab of my zipper and in a moment my hard maleness was slapping her lips. She engulfed me quickly. I reached down, grasping her golden hair. My hips began to pump and...
I blinked and saw her staring at me. Guess this was not going to happen like my instant fantasy. Too bad life is not one of those erotic stories on the internet, where she'd be under the table sucking me off in about a minute.
The expression on her face told me that THAT wasn't going to happen. "Are you going to be able to concentrate on math?" Crys asked.
"Oh yes. Absolutely. No problemo. I can do math with one hand." I was babbling.
"Just make sure your OTHER hand is not playing pocket pool," she said softly. "Um ... Do you have a name?"
"Yup. Sure do. Yes siree. I'm ... uh..." --blank-- my mind was blank. My ears felt hot, and I'm sure I was redder than the head of my ... well ... really red anyhow.
Crys laughed. A soft, tinkling laugh. She snapped her fingers in front of my eyes. "CONCENTRATE! Your mother used to call you SOMETHING. Think of your mother."
My erection disappeared. "Yeah. My name is Jimmy. Jim actually."
"Good." She sat down. "James," There was a definite emphasis on the name. "Can you explain this statistical QC stuff, please."
"Yes. Right away." She called me James! Nobody calls me James. Why did she do that? My eighth grade teacher had called me James. She was a redhead. I once calculated the volume of her breasts. "Statistics. Right." I sat next to her and leaned across her notebook to the Journal article. I scanned it quickly. Basic stuff. Elementary statistical analysis applied to a business situation.
I began to explain it to her. I found it was easy to talk about something I knew about, and it was several seconds before I thought about her as 'Woman'. I didn't even get hard. Well ... not REAL hard anyway.
She asked intelligent questions ... Intelligent for someone who didn't know what she was talking about, at least. I worked out the timing later: it was about 40 minutes before her cell phone chirped at her. I was writing in her notebook and she put her hand on mine to stop me while she answered the phone.
She listened for a bit, asked some questions in Spanish. Obviously didn't like the answers. I understood nothing except that she was touching my hand. It felt red-hot. I got hard again. I wondered if I went to the men's room and jacked-off, would she still be here when I got back.
I moved my hand and stroked the back of hers softly. She tucked the phone under her ear and tilted her head toward me. There was that smile again. Her free hand took mine and held it to her breast. Her nipple firmed immediately, her voice moaned softly...
"Fuck and Double Fuck," she cursed quietly. I blinked again and fought to bring reality back into focus. I looked again at my hand on the notebook, where it had been all along. When she bent to put her phone back into the bag beside her chair, a 2" wide strip of golden-tan skin came into view between her sweatshirt and jeans. My palms got sweaty.
"What... ?" My throat was dry and my voice nearly cracked. "What's wrong Crys?"
"THAT was my sitter. I have to go to work tonite, and she claims she's sick. AGAIN. That leaves me about 2 hours to find a replacement or start looking for another job. She's been doing this about every other week ... I don't need this shit."
She was packing her books quickly into her bag. I was no longer an element in her life.
She stood, preparing to leave. "Sorry ... maybe we can practice your lines next time. I was starting to understand it, too." This time she smiled AT me. I felt like I was staring into the noonday sun. Her face really lit up and she zoomed past "beautiful" to "goddess" in my mind.
"Wait! Uh ... I could sit for a few hours. I mean, I'm not doing anything, and ... uh... " ANYTHING to not lose track of her now.
"No, I don't think so. I don't even know you. And I've got a little girl." She continued to pack up her things.
QUICK! DO SOMETHING -- A message from my desperate libido. "Wait. I'm harmless. I'm a geek. I do math." How is this going to help, nimrod? Another helpful message from my libido. I fumbled with my wallet, handing her a couple of ID cards. "See? James Starzck. That's my home address in Chicago. Call my mother. LOOK! Advanced Calculus ... Do perverts study advanced calculus? No they do not."
She turned and looked at me again. Appraisingly again. I felt like a bug under a microscope. Then at the ID cards. "This one says you're 21 and in the Air Force"
Oh Shit! "Well I can explain that, see. You have to be 21 to get into the casinos. I umm ... kinda make some spare money by playing blackjack. I understand the percentages, see? And if you can control your emotions..."
She waved her had at me while she was pushing buttons on the cell. "Damn. No answer." She looked up. "My neighbor's out I guess. You mind if I do a quick check on you? I know somebody."
I reached over for the fake military ID. "The rest are real. This one's just for the casino," I tried to explain even as she was listening to her cell phone ring.
She pulled the ID back from me. "Sealy? Can you do me a quick check?" She read off the numbers from my Illinois license and then the fake military ID. I was finished. She was some sort of fucking cop and I'd never even be able to play blackjack anymore. Regular people don't know somebody who can do 'a quick check.' Worse than finished. I was fucked straight in the ass, and there was no lube.
"All right. You check out so far. This one is fake and this one isn't ... just like you said." She handed my stuff back with that smile again. "I work tables at one of the clubs downtown, and I've got a friend who can check things quick. Anyway I'm desperate. So ... if you're serious, I'll take a chance. I won't be back until late ... maybe 3 or 4 am. I've got a 6 year old. She'll be asleep mostly. Are you a pervert? And how old ARE you?"
"Um ... NO, I'm not a pervert. I'm 17. I guess ... I'm not more of a pervert than any 17 year old wants to be." At least that got one of the megawatt smiles from her. "You can trust me with your daughter. She IS your daughter, right? I mean you don't look old enough to have a daughter."
She shook her head and smiled again. "Now see? THAT is a decent line ... I am old enough, believe me." She paused again. "OK. It's a deal. I'll do dinner for all of us, and pay you, umm, $10 an hour. Is that ok? And if you mess with my little girl in ANY way, I have friends who will mash your balls into mush and then feed them to you."
It didn't sound like a promising start to our relationship. RELATIONSHIP? Who the hell was I kidding?
"Fine. But I'll need a ride back to the dorm. I don't have a car. I don't mess with girls - not little ones, not big ones. Not any kind. Honest."
She motioned me to follow her and I scurried to pick up my books. "You'll have to sleep on the couch. I can't leave Tess alone at 4am. But I'll get you back in the morning." She laughed. "AND I'll promise that your reputation will go up at the dorm, too."
What did that mean?
Well, I won't bore you with the details of the next couple of hours. She dropped me off at the dorm, where I changed into my cleanest jeans. [HEY! I was 17. I didn't have clean clothes, just degrees of used/dirty. Probably because I never went out with anybody who cared.] Then I decided to take a shower and get re-dressed. By the time she was back to pick me up, I had my calc notes and a clean t-shirt [OK! I borrowed it].
I was standing at the entrance when she pulled up in a beat up Chevette hatchback. I began to walk toward the car, but she hopped out and came around to the passenger side. I stared and nearly began to drool agian. She was wearing skin-tight denims and a man's shirt tied under her breasts, revealing a firm, well-tanned abdomen. She waited by the car, gave me a quick hug. I stood nearly rigid while her breasts pressed against my chest. She was a bit taller than I was, so that made her about 5'10" or so. She put the keys in my hand and got in the passenger side.
Like I said before, good thing I'm a genius. All by myself I figured out that she wanted me to drive. So I walked around the car, trying to use all that brain power to keep my erection from being TOO obvious. I was never sure how, but I got into the car without tangling my enormous erection in the steering wheel.
When I got in, I put the key in the ignition and turned toward her with a confused expression.
"I TOLD you I'd help your reputation with your friends." She smiled. "I assume SOME of them just saw you get a hug and then get in the car with a good looking blonde in tight jeans." There was an amused grin on her face.
"Well, uh ... sure, I suppose. But you didn't have to ... uh ... you know. I'm not doing anything tonite anyway."
"Think of it as advance payment for helping me out. And you ARE doing something tonite." She turned in the seat, and for the first time I noticed the little girl in the car seat buckled down in the back seat. "Tess, this is James. He's going to stay home with you tonite while I go to work."
Tess turned her eyes on me. "Do you know how to make popcorn, James? You're the first guy that's going to stay with me. Do you know how to take care of a girl? You look awfully young." She was a younger version of her mother: soft honey-blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, same smile.
"Hello, Tess." I was more at ease talking with her than with her mother. "Yes I can make popcorn. I am an expert babysitter, both boys and girls, and I am old enough to be in college. Is that old enough?"
Crystal laughed. "Tess has high standards, don'tcha sweetie?" Then she straightened up and put on her seat belt. "I sorta assumed you could drive?" This, accompanied by a little flick of her hand led me to believe she wanted me to drive. Can't slip ANYTHING past me, no sir!
And I mostly DID know how. Thank God it was an automatic. I managed to follow Crystal's directions to her apartment in North Las Vegas. It was about 10 miles from the campus, in a decent looking neighborhood.
There was a lull in the conversation while I waited for traffic to clear at an intersection.
"Where do you..."
"to Mrs. Ortiz?"
Tess and I managed to synchronize and overlap our questions during the drive.
Crys answered both: "I work downtown. Honey, Mrs. Ortiz isn't going to be coming any more. She's got another job, I think."
My fevered brain heard what it wanted to hear: she called me honey. At least she might have.
"So who's gonna stay with me tomorrow, Mommy?"
"I am." I jumped in with both feet. "That is ... if you like my popcorn recipie."
"There's no recipie for popcorn." Tess was very serious. "You just put it in the mica-wave."
"You don't have to do that, James. I can find someone. Take the next left." Crystal was looking straight ahead.
"No you can't. Not if you have to work." I doubted that I'd ever have a chance at romance with this Woman, but at least I'd have some practice talking to females. And she WAS gorgeous. "Besides, you haven't finished learning about Six Sigma and you promised to give me some pointers on my pickup lines."
"What's a pickup line, James?"
Her mother jumped in to control things: "It's what people say to each other when they meet for the first time."
"Oh," said the backseat voice, "like when I meet new kids in school?"
"Sort of," said the parent trying to redirect things. "It's more polite to call it an introduction, so that's what WE call it, don't we James. 'K Tess?"
"Yes, Crys. Got it." I mumbled. I'd have to get used to talking with a 6-year old around.
There were a few seconds of silence. Then the tiny voice from the back seat came again: "Mommy? What's a rep-tation? You said you were gonna help James's rep-tation."
Crys paused, then executed a nearly flawless parental arabesque. "How about pizza for dinner? James do you like pizza? Tess loves pepperoni."
"With mushrooms, anchovies, pineapple - and some sticks and rocks?" I grinned.
"EEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW! That's gross." Tess came back.
I turned a bit and winked at Crys. "Well, I'll try it plain with just pepperoni, I guess."
And so on...
We got to their apartment soon enough. It was a small two bedroom unit with a combined living room-kitchen: couch, TV. A small table passed for the 'eat in' part of the kitchen nook.
Tess ran to the TV of course. She popped in a Sesame Street video and was soon lost in a trance of singing numbers and letters.
Crystal put her hand on my arm. My heart leapt. I felt like my glasses were about to fog up at any minute. "I really appreciate the help James. I was really stuck, and you're a lifesaver." She favored me with the megawatt smile. "I just don't want you to have any ideas about things that won't happen. I don't get involved with men. You know ... Tess and all."
Now to some, that might have sounded like a pre-emptive negative answer to a question I didn't even have the nerve to ask. Not to me. The "W"oman had called me a MAN. That had to be a good sign, right?
"Oh sure, Crys. No worries about me on that account." I lied. It was obvious to both us that I was lieing. The evidence to the contrary was bulging from my pants.
"Sorry, James. But I mean it. It's really not going to happen. No Chance."
"Right. Sure. I understand." BUT she was obviously considering me as a possible!! And she still smelled real good.
She left me with money for the pizza and the memory of a touch on my forearm. After due consideration, I decided that I would continue to wash that arm normally. To try and preserve it in its "just touched by Crys" state would be futile and excessively juvenile.
Tess had gone to sleep, and I had resisted the fleeting temptation to paw thru Crystal's underwear drawer. I did check the door to her bedroom: double bed, room neat as only a woman could keep it. I stared at the bed for a long minute: my mind's eye saw her on satin sheets, body glistening under a sheen of sweat in the hot Las Vegas summer night. I stepped forward and smelled the pillow. There was that soft floral smell again.
I hobbled back to the couch with a fierce hardon. I tried deep breathing and 15 minutes later, it almost went away. I checked on Tess - asleep with an innocent expression that only the young can achieve. I wished I had known Crystal when she was younger. Now I was too young for her. I was kidding myself if I thought I had a chance with a Woman like that.
Across the hall was the bathroom door. I went in, locked it and sat on the toilet. It took only about 5 strokes before I was ready to shoot into a wad of tissues. I went back to the living room thru the master bedroom, making sure there was no trace of my pillow-sniffing.
I flopped into the couch with a sigh and clicked on the TV. I ate almost all of the pizza and browsed the TV. They subscribed to all the kids cable channels, but nothing else. I watched a couple of old movies and found myself comparing all the blondes to Crys. Eventually I fell asleep on the couch with my calc notes scattered around.
Late in the nite Crys came home, exhausted. She knelt alongside me, slipping off my shoes. Her fingers brushed the hair on my forehead and she swung my legs onto the couch. Her small, soft hands unbuttoned my jeans and she pushed them down. Of course I was immediately hard, and I woke to the sight of the back of her blonde head bobbing up and down on my rigid shaft. She deep-throated me and I exploded into her throat. Her mouth stayed on me licking and sucking gently until I was soft again, and she tucked my drained cock back into my pants and smiled up at me. Her lips, glistening pink under a gloss of my cum, brushed mine with a soft whisper. "Shhhh" she said. "Be still. It's only a dream."
"One! That's ONE chocolate chip cookie."
"Two! That's TWO delicious chocolate chip cookies."
I sorta heard it, but mostly I felt something. I opened an eye, and saw a 6-year old's face about a foot from mine, staring intently. "Are you awake?" she whispered.
"Three! That's THREE wonderfully delicious chocolate chip cookies." It was The Count, of course, Sesame Street's Transylvanian Numbers Vampire.
"Yes," I said. "I'm awake. What time is it?"
"It's WAY after seven o'clock. Sesame Street starts at 7. Then there's Mr. Rogers, twice in a row. Then Sesame Street again on the Spanish Station. After that I can wake up Mommy."
With an internal groan, I opened my other eye. After I found my glasses, I focused on the clock on the VCR: 7:15. I guess that qualifies as WAY after 7. "Now I'm awake with both eyes. I can't miss Mr. Rogers, can I? He's my favorite." I tried to take inventory. I was on the couch, under a blanket. My calc notes were on the small table by the door, my glasses had been folded up on the coffee table, my shoes were SOMEwhere, I'm sure. It must have been a dream. My shorts were crusty with dried cum. My shoes were off, true, so maybe part of it was real, but ... Definitely a dream.
"Can I have Mr. Bear, please? I always watch Sesame Street with him." She tugged lightly at my pillow. Turns out there was a very large, plush teddy bear under my head. I lifted up and Mr. Bear plopped out into Tess's arms. She sat down with the bear in her lap in front of the couch.
"Tess, I have to get up and go to the bathroom." My morning wood was being strangled by the jeans I slept in.
She turned her head and cut her eyes toward me ... just like her mother had. "Why? Do you need to take a bath?"
"No, I have to pee, actually."
"Oh ... then you don't need the BATHroom, you need the toilet." She got up and pointed at the closed door at the other end of the hall. I already knew where it was. "It's down there, but be REAL quiet. Mommy is still asleep."
I padded in sock feet to the indicated door and opened it. Pretty much standard bathroom: toilet, sink, tub/shower. The only things different at all were the articles arranged on the counter around the sink. An electric toothbrush with two heads: one was dark red, the other had teddy bears on it. Some Q-tips. A glass jar full of cotton balls - what do women do with cotton balls? I wondered. A pocket-size spray bottle of perfume. Yes, it was THAT perfume. A damp towel on the rack near the shower. My hand lingered there. Towel wet from Crys's shower.
That, and the other door, which was open. It showed a bedroom and a bed, the latter being occupied by a lump under a comforter from which a starburst of blonde hair was fanned on a pillow. That was the pillow I'd sniffed. My cock started to throb again.
As quietly as I could, I pulled the bedroom door shut and unzipped my pants. Now this is a problem with which most men have had to deal. The damn thing is pointing almost at the ceiling, won't go down. The toilet bowl is down. I did my usual Superman-flying-pose, leaning one handed against the wall, and tried to bend Mr. Rigid down. Actually, it was SO much easier to just pee in the shower. I eyed it, considered the circumstances, and vetoed the idea. I attempted the mental relaxation techniques needed to pee while hard. FINALLY the flow started, and I managed to empty my bladder.
The alarm clock in the next room went off, and I heard sounds of blonde-goddess-awakening; according to the schedule Tess had laid out, this was a couple of hours early. Crys couldn't have more than a few hours of sleep. I cleared my throat so she might have a chance of knowing I was in here. There was a near-scream from the bedroom next door. "MOMMY!!" followed by a small crash, followed by lots of 6-year-old giggling.
"OK, OK, honey. I have to go potty."
"But James is in there."
"Oh he's up already?"
"Yes, he said he wanted to watch Mr. Rogers with me. Can we keep him? He let me stay up late last night."
"Oh did he?" said the parental voice. "Well, we'll see. C'mon let's go make breakfast."
I hadn't meant to eavesdrop. But I was having a problem getting my zipper up. You see, I was still hard. I got hard again when I thought of a sleepy blonde getting jumped on in her bed.
By the time I brushed my teeth (HA! You thought I didn't remember last night to bring a toothbrush.) and washed up, he had retreated to half-staff, and I wedged him into my underwear and zipped up.
I followed my nose to the smell of coffee in the kitchen area. I froze when I caught sight of her. And erupted to fully hard again. She had her back to me, working on something at the stove. She wore an oversized man's shirt, pale blue, Oxford cloth, that came about 2/3 of the way down her thighs. She had long hair ... almost down to her waist. And legs. She had legs, too! They were curvy and tanned and beautiful. No shoes, so I could see her pink little feet.
I ran over to her, slid my hands up under the shirt, cupping her breasts. She moaned in delight, and I nuzzled her neck. "Morning, beautiful." I mumbled into the soft, sweet-smelling hair.
"Good morning, stud," she whispered as her hand slipped behind her to grasp my hardness. I picked her up, turned and threw her on the table. She opened her legs. "God I need you so much James."
I pushed into her hot wetness. She reached for me. Pulled me down and whispered in my ear.
"C is for Cookie! That's good enough for me. Cookie, cookie, cookie starts with C." I blinked - twice. Tess turned away from the Cookie Monster, ran over and grabbed my hand.
"Come ON, James." She was pulling with body strained. "It's pam-cakes on Saturday!"
Crystal turned around and pointed to the table. "PANcakes, honey. With an 'N'." It was one of those automatic parental corrections. "How do you want your coffee?" There was a lump in my throat again. As she turned, some of her hair drifted in a soft swoosh across her breasts and caught against the shirt buttons. The shirt was buttoned down the front, of course, but as she moved, there were flashes of her upper thighs and they were tan and looked soft and...
"Bla... " my voice DID crack this time. "ahHUM ... Black. Thanks." My hardon and I semi-hobbled to the table.
She smiled and turned back to the pancakes. "Sorry, James. Next time I'll wear ... uh ... something less tempting. I forgot. Usually it's Mrs. Ortiz. I'll get a frumpy robe or something."
NEXT TIME? She had a next time in mind? Yah-fucking-HOO! "Forget Mrs. Ortiz," I said, trying to fake casualness. "I can come back -- I mean, if you want me to. At least on weekends and shi-- and stuff. It will cut into my vast social life, but I can adjust." RIGHT! What social life? I only played blackjack on weekday afternoons anyway -- the weekends were too full of tourists.
"Mommy? Why did James almost say shit and then not say it? " Tess turned serious eyes on me. "Everybody knows when somebody says shit like that it just means stuff."
"TESS!" said the parental voice. "You aren't supposed to say that word. You know better."
"Sorry Crys," I mumbled.
"Sorry Mommy," said the offender, not really sorry.
"ANYWAY, " said my blonde, "It would be great if you could come back tonite, James. I only work on Fridays and Saturdays. So if that's good for you, it'll be a regular date. And you can make some extra money, too."
A DATE!? YES. Thank you, God. I'd do it for free - didn't need the money. I got a full ride from the U, and my consistent winning at blackjack kept me flush enough. "Sure. But if you're going to wear frumpy stuff, I quit! Besides, for you to look frumpy, you'd have to cut off your hair, wrap yourself in burlap and start chain smoking. Even then it probably wouldn't work, unless you wore army boots."
She put a plate of pancakes on the table. "James! Was that a compliment? I think it WAS. Thank you very much, sir." I turned bright red in the face of her dazzling smile.
I managed to get thru breakfast and not embarrass myself excessively during the drive back to the dorm. Tess was in the back seat, and I turned sideways in the passenger seat -- ostensibly so I could talk to her. The real reason was so that I could look at Crys's profile. She and Tess were wearing identical UNLV t-shirts and white shorts. Tess was cute. I about swallowed my tongue again when I first saw Crys in the white shorts. Talk about a walking wet-dream.
After she left, I went back to my room, and took a shower. I beat off twice, and finally managed to walk wobbly-kneed to my desk. CRAP! My calc notes were at her apartment. I didn't really need them anyway. I pulled out a three-month-old copy of Penthouse and found a tall, slender blonde in the centerfold. She wasn't as hot as Crys was, but I closed my eyes and pounded my pud one more time.
Three times in fifteen minutes. I needed a nap, and took one. Before I fell off that cliff into sleep, the only thought in my mind was the words she had said at breakfast: "regular date."