Chapter 18: Vegas (16 months ago)

“Is he breathing?” were the first words I heard.

A pair of brown eyes, topped by a lock of brown hair, peered over the front seat at the still figure in the back seat. Me. Next to her, at the wheel, was a head of brilliant red hair, who could only be one person in the world.

“I dunno,” said the red-headed driver. “Pinch his nose.”

“His nose?” the brown-haired girl actually wrinkled her own nose at the thought, but when the driver of the plush town car merely nodded, she shrugged and squeezed my nose. It took about five seconds for me to react with a violent snort as airflow was interrupted. The girl quickly drew her hand back.

“Yep. Still with us,” she said.

“Good,” said the red-headed driver. “Nicky, I’d feel a whole lot better if you sat down and put on your seat belt.”

“Sure,” Nicky Moore beamed, delighted that someone cared. “Anything you say, Miz W.”

“You’d better start calling me Sara,” she said. “I don’t plan on anyone asking me if you’re my daughter on this trip.”

I erupted in another snorting, snarking attempt to breathe before relaxing. But I had to pull my jacket closed as the town car’s supercharged AC was chilling me to the bone. I couldn’t help but shiver.

“Maybe we should cut the air,” Nicky whispered.

“Bullshit. Open your window,” Sara said, looking over her shoulder for the first time. “My God. Larry Childers, you look like shit.”

“Thank you,” I replied, eyes still closed.

“Were you playing possum?” Sara said, slowing down.

I was hungover, shirtless, stinking like a homeless man. I could only grin and rubbed my three-day growth of beard.

“Yeah. Well, I needed to find out who was kidnapping me,” I said. “I was hoping it was somebody cute.”

“Do we meet your standards?” Nicky said, again turned in her seat to look at their passenger.

“Geez. That you, Nicky Moore?” I said, opening one eye. “You’re one of my daughter’s dance partners.”

“Was a partner,” she said sourly. Her mood killed, she turned and sat, folding her arms.

“Oh, that’s right,” I muttered. “Miss Castle ran you off along with that other girl.”

“Christ, Larry,” Sara said sharply. “Are you even a little bit sensitive to her feelings?”

“What do you mean? Oh, yeah. I’m Nicky, sorry,” I said sincerely, despite my fractured phrasing.

The girl laughed despite her dark mood.

“Then I guess it’s all OK then,” she said. “Accepted. Whatever it was you just said.”

“What am I missing? About this, I mean,” I said, finally wide awake but still prone on the seat. I knew if I sat up too quickly, I would hurl all over Sara’s town car. That would be one way to guarantee that I would get to walk home.

“What you’re missing is that they were lovers, you jerk,” Sara said, also breaking a small smile. “Miss Castle simply caught them in the act.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” I said. “If I heard it right, Sara, and I’m not somebody who would go around repeating it, is that she caught Cassie Jenkins sitting on Miss Alice’s piano and you were, uh...”

“I was playing ‘Chopsticks’ with my tongue,” Nicky said quietly.

“Well, that’s what I heard,” I rose up in back. “But I didn’t know if that was a euphemism for something. Hey, where are we going, anyway? The sun seems to indicate we’re going south.”

“Southwest, more or less,” Sara said. “Whatever direction Vegas is in from Bakersfield.”

“Yeah, Vegas, baby!” Nicky said, snapping her fingers and she swayed to a beat only she heard.

“And we agreed to this?” I said, pulling my coat tighter; did they know I wasn’t wearing a shirt?

“We all have things to forget,” Sara said. “The idea this week was to forget about them, Larry, not talk about them.”

“Gotcha,” I said, falling silent. I wondered what Sara’s issue was. Nicky’s was clear, and they both knew I’d been on a three-month bender since catching Alyssa with her exotic lover. There were entire days I couldn’t recall; it was more than likely that on one of them, I agreed to this road trip.

“Just us, then?” I asked.

“You need somebody else? Nicky, does he need somebody else?” Sara asked, a twinkle in her eye.

“Not unless he needs some relief from all the sex we’re planning on having,” the teen said with a giggle.

“Shit, Nicky, that’s not appropriate,” I said in not-all-that-phony shock.

“I hope not,” Nicky said. “If we do this trip right, nothing we do will be appropriate.”

“You know what we’re saying,” Sara said, pulling her sunglasses back on. That was the end of the conversation, I assumed. But there was one piece of unfinished business.

“Did we bring any clothes along?” I asked. “I need a shirt.”

“No, you don’t,” Sara said. They exchanged glances in the rear-view mirror. “But here’s a bottle of water.”

I guzzled it down and I know I smiled for what seemed like the first time in four months. I opened the window to allow in some dry, desert heat – and threw up the sparse contents of my stomach. Sara never even slowed down.

We finally stopped at a Nevada truck stop, which allowed me to shave, apply some deodorant and buy a “King of LV” shirt that actually looked halfway stylish under my jacket. It also gave me a good chance to appreciate my fellow travelers. Sara, I’d known for years, but she was wearing a dazzling sundress with no appreciable underwear, while Nicky had on a pair of shorts only a dancer could pull off along with a tank top that was a size too small.

When she realized I was staring, she obviously blushed – which had the delightful effect of having her prominent nipples harden beneath her skimpy top.

“Underwear optional this trip?” I asked as they pulled away.

“There’s a shop on the strip...” Sara began.

“If I need something, I brought along plenty of bikinis,” Nicky said, handing me another welcome bottle of water – this one to wash down the pre-packaged ham sandwich I bought at the truck stop.

“But?” I said, swigging it down and settling into this ridiculous male fantasy.

“But ... I don’t expect to need anything,” Nicky replied. “How about you, Sara?”

“Oh, I dunno. I kinda like Larry’s new t-shirt,” she smirked. She glanced at her car’s clock and looked alarmed.

“Oh, Larry! I’m sorry! I was supposed to have you call your daughter an hour ago,” she said. “Here’s your cell phone.”

She handed me the iPhone over the seat and I quickly hit the first speed-dial button. It barely rang twice.

“Daddy! Are you okay?” came the familiar voice.

“Sure, sweetie,” I said, brightened by her voice. “Don’t pay the ransom, I escaped.”

“You’d better still be with them,” Stacy said. “We planned this thing for days.”

“You’re in on this?”

“Dad. You were quickly drinking yourself to death,” she said sadly.

“So to cure me, you sent me to Vegas?” I said, amused. “Haven’t you seen that Nicolas Cage movie?”

“What? Vampire’s Kiss? Where he ate the bug? Or Moonstruck?” Stacy was up on her chick movies.

“No, no. Never mind. Glad you haven’t seen it,” I sighed. “See you in a few days, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Love you, Daddy.”

“Love you too,” I said. I turned off the phone and handed it back to Sara – who promptly tossed it out the window onto the sandswept asphalt.

“Why did you do that?” I asked, agitated.

“We now have zero phones between us. Right, Nicky?” Sara said with a pointed glance.

“Uh, right,” Nicky said guiltily. She reached into the glove box and pulled out her colorful cell phone and likewise tossed it out the window. “Sorry.”

“We talk to nobody. No one gets to know where we are or what we’re doing. It’s none of their goddam business,” said Sara, gripping the wheel a little more tightly.

“How many hours have you been driving?” I asked softly.

“Five, maybe six, hours,” she said. “It’s amazing what a little ProVigil and caffiene can do for you.”

“Pull over,” I said, more firmly.

“No,”

“Sara, pull over. Now. Before you crash, literally and figuratively,” I said. “This is not a request. I’m sober. PULL OVER.”

She sighed, but nodded. There was plenty of room on the roadside, so she was able to stop almost immediately. I drove the rest of the way to Vegas as Sara slept noisily in the back seat. And to make sure there was no mistaking what this weekend was about, Nicky blew me as we drove through the desert and swallowed me clean.

Sara, who could have planned the Normandy Invasion, had this trip down to the last detail. She had us booked at the Luxor (the big-ass pyramid in the middle of the Strip), and it was a fine little (not-so-little) spa suite with a jacuzzi in the corner, a fridge, great views, room service and just about the best sleeping bed I’ve ever not slept in.

Both women had a pair of small bags with them. I, at least, had my debit card and a best-seller on the shelves. I immediately excused myself to visit the menswear store as they began undressing and unpacking, in that order. I only hung around long enough to confirm -- nope, no underwear.

In addition to a pair of suits worthy of dinner at the Luxor, I invested in some, ahem, underwear and a few gifts for the ladies upstairs (not clothing).

When I got back to the room, there was a DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. Which I promptly ignored.

“Hello? Am I disturbing someone?” I said, sticking only my head in the door. Nothing.

“Ladies?” I called as I stepped into the room, packages in both arms. “Anybody home?”

“In here,” came a voice from the small second bathroom. Turns out it was the jacuzzi room, and there, among the bubbles, were my two dates, resplendent in their nudity. Sara had Nicky wrapped in her arms, slowly tweaking her nipples as the younger woman sipped champagne from a crystal glass.

Both had their hair up. And both looked at me like I was dinner.

I dropped the bags. My nice, new suit followed. I slowly lowered myself into the scalding water, but I quickly got acclimated – just in time for Nicky to lower herself on my very ready cock. Sara was right behind, offering her luscious red lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

“What took you so long?” Nicky groaned, even as she used some abdominal muscles I wasn’t sure existed in nature. It felt like she was literally pulling my cock into herself.

“I have no idea why I took my time,” I said between smooches. I don’t know why, but at that moment I paused, took a breath and looked closely at the two women. What I saw took my breath away.

I’d always seen Sara as Bud Wilson’s overly patient wife, doing her wifely duty even as he (and often, his daughter Belle) went out picking and bartering and God knows what in the barns and warehouses of America. She always looked good, always in colors that made her hair and surprisingly dark complexion stand out even more. I was quick to notice there were no tan lines on the woman.

Nor was her teenage counterpart any slouch. Nicky had legs that seemed to go on forever, toned to perfection as she obviously continued to dance and train after being let go by the increasingly senile Mrs. Castle. She had bigger boobs than most of the dancers, but still smallish – albeit with very prominent nipples that introduced themselves to me in the desert. Her dark eyes, however, are what enchanted me. Once we locked eyes, we did not break our gaze until her orgasm had her throwing her head back in ecstasy. My head whipped back as well, but I whacked it on the tub and promptly loss consciousness.

I woke up on the master bedroom’s bed, naked and dry and bookended by a pair of nude women. As a believer in equal time, I turned to spoon with Sara and buried my face in her glorious mane of red hair.

“You’re awake,” she said softly.

“Thank you for saving me from drowning,” I said. “It couldn’t have been easy pulling me out of that hot tub.”

“We didn’t,” she said over her shoulder. “We called room service and a pair of hunky young valets pulled you out. I think one of them diddled you for a minute.”

“What? Wait ... really?” I shouted, a little too alarmed.

“Gotcha,” Nicky said from behind me. “I was able to throw you over my shoulder, no problem.”

“Oh. Well, I’m grateful,” I said sincerely.

“Time you proved it,” Nicky said, reaching around me. But I was already slipping my cock into the warm, wet, waiting slit of a purring Sara. As we developed a mutually satisfying rhythm, Nicky did her part by sticking her index finger in my asshole. She was able to keep the rhythm even as we increased our intensity. She whispered dirty sweet nothings in my ear as Sara and I maintained our coupling.