Please Re-Read. And Comment If You Be Not Too Feeble… I Find This True Story Endearing, And It Makes Me sad / And Happy. I Did Love Her. Much–Still Do–“Random Memories from The Middle East: The Road to Sharm el Sheikh” Janet! Damn it! (She Was My Fantasy Girl)

Parts  One  Two  Three  

*** 

I sped off still heading south. I observed her fade fast in my rearview mirror, but not before I saw her mouth hanging open in wide disbelief (As if I were actually calling her bluff). After about a half-mile and her no longer in sight, I stopped, opened a beer, popped in a Joni Mitchell–Hejira–cranked it up, lit a Marlboro and waited.

Presently I could make out her petite form marching through the sandy haze, her skinny arms flailing back and forth, not unlike a power-walker. As I watched her approach I snuffed out my second cigarette, tossed the empty beer bottle onto the back floorboard, turned down the volume on Joni’s Black Crow, and waited to see if she was getting back in the car.

She opened the door, threw herself in and off we drove, not saying a word until we got within about five clicks of Sharm el Sheikh. Her face was dirty with trails of sweat running down, making small rivers of mud, her hair windblown and looking to have absorbed quite some substantial part of the Sinai.

She did not look happy.

“Are you sorry?” she finally blurted out.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being an asshole,” she said.

“Oh, that… What!?” I was genuinely confused.

“For refusing to have sex with me this morning after that Israeli dude left.”

Now I am laughing. She wasn’t.

“Are you fucking serious Janet?” I asked after I had regained some composure. “You heard the man. We had to vacate. Did you think I was in the mood for love? With the IDF watching us? Shit Woman! It was time to go.”

“There was time enough… in the tent,” she said somewhat between clenched teeth and somewhat subdued—at the same time—a talent she had perfected over some years. (Ed. Note: Janet had five years on me)

“You are unbelievable. Okay, ‘I’m sorry for not fucking you’. Gimme another go? Right here. Right now. In this fuckin’ heat and in this fuckin’ sardine can of a car? Or would you prefer it on the burning sand with the scorpions and spiders?! For Chrissake Janet!”

“There was a time when you’d never refuse me, no matter where or what,” she said and then clammed up, starring out the window.

Fine! I thought as I gave the volume back up to Joni.

Just on the outskirts of Sharm (The whole Sinai Pennisula was ‘Outskirts’) we came upon a Bedioun ‘roadside do drop in’ sort of place.

“Hey Janet! Let’s check this out.”

“Can’t we just go in to Sharm?”

“No. I wanna talk to these folks. Besides they may have some stuff we need.”

“Fine.” (And then someday too soon, this woman would be my wife…)

I parked the car and got out. Janet cleaned her sunglasses and remained behind. I walked up to the ramshackle place and was greeted by an old grizzled Bedouin.

“Salaam alaikum,” I said.

“Salaam alaikum,” he said back. Then, “Amer-ca?”

“Yes,” said. “English? Speak?”

“La’, (no)

(I spoke just enough Arabic (and Hebrew) to get me into trouble back then.)

“Sodas? Coke-a-cola?” I asked.

“Naam,” 

“OK. Baksheesh?”

“Naam.”

I gave him a pack of Marlboros. He gave me two cokes. Apparently inflation had set in here. I smiled though and shook his hand, happy to have made some cultural advancement. Jimmy Carter shoulda seen me that day. Got back in the car. Janet, still incogneto, remarked,

“Was that worth it?”

“Yes. It was. Thank you. We are reps of the State Department. WE are suppose to be ambassadors. Don’t you git it?’

“Yeah. I ‘git’ it. I get that I want this trip to end soon. I am tired and hot and sweaty and thirsty and hungry and horny. And I see no end in sight for me.”

We drove on into Sharm.

As I have reported, Sharm back then was not much. There was one hotel, but who had money (or desire) for that? It had a tentative look about it anyhow. This was ‘Israeli-Occupied Egypt’ after all and finding investors to pump money into a region, however beautiful, must have been difficult, given the  volatility of the times and the probability that Israel would eventually give the desert back to Egypt (even though Israel had ‘held’ the Sinai for more than ten years at this point)

Past the hotel was a small ‘camping ground’ of sorts. There were ‘bird houses’ for rent: ten bucks per night and a communal shower/latrine area. I say ‘bird houses’, because that is exactly what they resembled: Thatched roof, two wooden ‘bunks’ side-by-side, and too small for a six-foot-one cowboy to sleep on. I lay down and test-drove one. I discovered that by leaving the door open I could be fine with the sleeping arrangements, letting my feet hang out, though if Janet and I were to have some privacy for any ‘Woo-Hoo’ / ‘Whoopee’, we would have to pretend we were in the back seat of a compact car and make due. (Unless we opted to keep the door open: an option my shyness would never allow me to consider)

At this point I must admit Janet was always a trooper during such times. She was of course a soldier, albeit a weekend one, and had previous experience with less-than-pristine habiliments. After we had decided to spend the night at this place, taken our showers, had some drink and sandwiches, her mood (and mine) improved as the sun went down and the heat subsided. Behind us were the mountains. In front of us, the sea, and ahead of us, our future.

We were after all, two lovebirds deep in love and in our own private birdhouse.

We made love in that birdhouse after sundown.

And with the door open.

And why not?

We were young.

(And we had all that ‘Diplomatic Immunity’  bullshit to boot)

*****

I love Joni’s smile. She don’t smile often, but when she does… magical shit happens. Shoots bolts right through my heart Baby!

To Be Continued…

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: Part “V(iva) Las Vegas”

Author’s Note:

Before we dive in, I’d like to humbly request/suggest that you take the time, if you have the time, to watch/listen to all the added multi-media and follow the link to the ‘desert’ post.

On the flip-side of ‘Humble’, I’d like to add this:

A great deal of thoughtful thought and time goes into the re-working, expanding of this Shonnie “La Cosa Nostra” Series. I have mercilessly interrogated my memory cells and dragged out items I did not take the time to recount in the original series.

The original was written in a frenzied rush, usually without even one edit. I am very happy now to have the time to try to do justice to my fond memories of Shonnie. She always deserved my full, undivided attention, and my best effort in her regard.

After all these years, I think I just may have finally become “Strong Enough to be Her Man.”

***

Every new word is still the truth as I best do remember events.

I sweat every word, every comma, and every ‘Added Value’ vid and song and link I drop in.

Nothing is hap-hazard.

Nothing is irrelevant.

This is a package deal.

A complete full-meal-deal.

Don’t ignore the fries and the hot apple pies.

I’d like for you to get the ‘full-benefit’.

My fervent desire is that you enjoy it and it satiates.

Bon Appétit

And As Always, I Do Appreciate Your Time Invested, And I Do My Very Level Best Not To Waste Even One Drop Of It.

For if I waste your time, that makes me a thief. And that makes me unhappy.

Thank You.

P.S. And for any of Y’all who may be wondering, yes, ‘Shonnie’ is her real name.

***

Our road trip to Vegas takes five hours and change. Once we got past San Bernardino and well into the desert I announced it was safe to drink and drive and ride. (We had, technically, already been drinking, but neither one of us considered beer ‘real drinking’.)

Needing a break, I pulled over and as we admired the scenery, we had a couple of cocktails. And smokes.

The desert was picturesque, desolate, and wondrous thrilling to behold.

(Recall, if you have read any of my “Desert-Rat-Lance” posts, how very romantic and beautiful I find the deserts of the world)

We hit the road again. Stayed on Interstate 15. It’s a straight shot into Vegas. Lots more desert. Not much traffic as well, even though it was a Friday.

For once, I had planned ahead and made a reservation.

At the Union Plaza Hotel and Casino, downtown: Glitter Gulch.

I never much cared for ‘The Strip’ during my visits to Vegas, but as this was Shonnie’s first trip, I promised myself I would set aside some time to show her the Glitter-That-Was-More-‘Glittery’-Than-Glitter-Gulch.

“Are we there yet Daddy?” she asked in a rather high-falsetto child-like voice about an hour out of San Bernardino.

“You need to pee again?” I shot back over strains of Jimmy Buffett and wind coming from my half-open window.

“Yeah. Matter of fact, I do.”

“Wimmen!” I said, as I pulled off onto the breakdown lane.

“I ain’t gonna pee here!” She protested.

“Look Darlin’, See those big ol’ rocks over yonder? You can go pee behind one of those. Nobody will see you.”

“Snakes,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Snakes. I don’t like snakes.”

“Okay, I will come with you. Just let me fetch my M60 machine gun outta the trunk.”

Ignoring my piercing wit, she said, “I won’t be able to piss if you’re watching me.”

“You’d prefer the rattlers watch instead?”

“Okay, but you turn your head at the last minute.”

“I never figured you for a prude Honey.”

“Fuck you. Les go. I gotta go!”

And off we went. There were no snakes that day, so mission accomplished, no apparent casualties, except for maybe some ants who could not haul ant-ass fast enough away.

Back on the road.

The rest of the trip was pretty much uneventful.

We arrived to Vegas about six in the evening. As we drove along The Strip, I pointed out all the hotels / casinos which had been graced by my presence (and by my money) during previous trips.

She was impressed and I could see her eyes lighting up. Shame it was still daylight and she could not see the true glory of the Neon City that is Las Vegas.

“Well, time enough for that later,” I mused.

We finally arrived at the very end of our road which was Fremont Street.

(This was years before they tried to re-vitalize Downtown Vegas by constructing ‘The Fremont Street Experience’ and completely shutting down all vehicular traffic–1995)

The Fremont Street Experience

***

So I checked us into my old Nemesis. I have always had a love/hate relationship with The Plaza, but not unlike a marriage gone bad, I just never could seem to break it off entirely.

We found the way to our room, which for me was mediocre (I have been ‘around-the-world, remember? And spent time in some fine, really fine hotels), but to Shonnie, who was not so much a world traveler—more of a life traveler—the room was amazing.

She immediately did a thorough inventory of all the ‘accoutrements’ in the room.

“Hey Lance!” she exclaimed. “Come look at this shit! There are little teeny-tiny soap bars in the bathroom. And little baby-sized shampoo bottles! And some paper thingy on the toilet. How I’m supposed to pee with that paper there? And look at this!” she said, walking out of the head and back into the room, “There’s a coffee pot and Coffee! And Look at this here! A Remote Control for the TeeVee!”

(She was, most likely, pulling my leg, but I went with the scene as she had written it—hitting my marks and saying my lines)

*heavy sigh*

 “Shonnie Darlin’, Welcome to the ‘First World’.”

“Smart ass! Hey! Just look at that bed! Is that one of them water-beds?”

“I seriously do not think so. This ain’t Caesar’s Palace Baby. We are in the part of Vegas known as the home of ‘The Sawdust Joints’.”

“Oh… Well, I like it.”

“Stay tuned.”

She walked over to the little desk beside the TV and picked up the room service menu. “Now this is my idea of Heaven”, she said.

“What?”

“We can have room service! I’ve never had room service. What should I order? I’m hungry.”

“Honey, order anything you want.”

“No. I’ll tell you what I want and you order it. I don’t wanna talk to some stranger on the phone about food.”

“Very well,” I said. “Go ahead. Take your time. Then I will order us up some supper. Wanna drink while you ‘peruse’ the menu?”

While I do what to the menu?!

“Decide what you want to eat.”

“Yeah… reach me a beer and my cigs while I study this. So many choices!”

She was enjoying her stay so far. And I was enjoying her ‘enjoying’.

“Have you decided what you want for supper?” I asked after a spell.

“Yeah, but I can’t make out what some of this stuff is, so I’m shopping ‘price’”

“Baby, you don’t havta shop price. I have money. Order what you want.”

“No, I mean I am shopping Price. Gonna order the most expensive thing on this menu and see what I get.”

Good Gawd! I am loving this woman! “You go right on ahead Darlin’.”

She had picked out what she called a ‘baby steak’, based upon the photo and pricey price in the menu (Filet mignon) and then said, “I love the picture of that steak but it looks kinda tiny. Can you add some taters or something with it?”

“Don’t worry Honey, I will take care of it. I’m gonna go for ice first, then I will order.”

“That Seven Eleven we saw is way far from here,” she protested. “Don’t you leave me alone!”

“You really are ‘country’, ain’t ya? And you called me ‘City Boy’. Baby, the ice is just down the hall. Be right back.”

Over her protestations, I went and fetched a bucket of ice. When I returned, she announced she wanted a shower:

“I’m gonna freshen up. You make sure that room service guy don’t come into my bathroom while I’m in there.”

“Shonnie, I will gallantly stand my post just outside your door.”

I lowered my voice an octave or two, snapped to rigid attention, then announced solemnly,

“None shall pass.”

A throw-away line that went sailing right over her head, but it made me happy none-the-less.

She gave me a cautiously perplexed side-ways look, then quickly said,

“Uh… Well… Okay then. See ya in a few,” as she disappeared into the bathroom, almost slamming the door behind her.

The food arrived while she was still in the head, showering. I tipped the dude and laid out our supper table. Opened the bottle of red wine I had tacked onto the order along with my ‘steak’, a semi rare cheeseburger (I am a simple man: simple wants, simple tastes, simple desires).

Anyhow, presentation is everything. I had also requested a single red rose for ornament and I placed that ‘just so’ on the table, along with the white candle I had also added to the order. I lit the candle and waited for ‘Lady Guinevere’ or ‘Joan d’Arc’ or ‘Mae West’ to appear.

I never knew who I would be dealing with from one moment to the next when it came to Shonnie. She had a natural chameleon talent, backed up by intelligence and instinct.

She yelled at me from behind the bathroom door: “Is he gone?”

“Yes Darlin’. I fought him off. He shall not return.” (Until we need him again) “Come on out.”

She opened the door, enveloped in a cloud of steam, wearing a pure-white hotel terry-cloth bath robe.

Resembling a vamp straight out of a film noir, she waltzed into the bedroom. I was impressed. She looked absolutely stunning, her wet hair flowing down her shoulders and dripping water everywhere. Her face was glowing radiant red and her blue eyes full of energetic mischief.

I suppose the shower had agreed with her.

She’d become reinvigorated and reborn, casting off the long hot trip through the desert.

As I filled my eyes with the complete little dynamo package that was Shonnie, I felt another brick in my emotional wall crumble into dust.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving!” she announced gruffly in that coarse gravelly voice I had grown to love so well.

We had our meal to the sexy strains of ‘Joni Mitchell’ singing from her album Hejira on my little boom box.

(I never go anywhere without my  lil boom box)

Neither one of us had any desire to watch television, as we were too much into ‘our’ music.

The music we made and the music we heard.

And too much into ‘our’ each other experience.

The TV-with-the-remote was just a novelty for her anyway; she had no desire to actually watch it.

Nor did I.

Half-way through our meal and our bottle of wine, Joni began singing this:

“A Strange Boy”

I half-hoped Shonnie did not listen too closely to the lyrics, but who the hell was I kidding?

Shonnie and I had myriad things in common yes, but paying particularly close attention to song lyrics, good ones, was damn near to the top of our ‘things-in-common-we-have’ Hit Parade.

Y’all tell me true:

Does this song hit too close-to-home in describing the relationship Shonnie and I were already so deeply into?

Do Y’all find me a ‘Strange, Strange Boy?’ Some parts obviously don’t work for my purpose here, but other parts of the lyrics work so completely well as to negate the bits that don’t work.

Y’all tell me: Enquiring minds wanna… and all that rot.

***

We finished our meal and retired to our rented, oh-so-inviting, so alluring, so sinfully comfortable bed.

We made love as Joni sang on…

Now the Title Tract from the album:

Yes. Joni was singing

Hejira’

(I LOVE YOU SO MUCH JONI!)

A beautiful, yet somewhat sad commentary on relationships set to the melodious Joni voice and her wonderful guitar strains.

***

Not my desire, nor my intent to drop in any ‘spoilers,’ but suffice to say, if you watch the vid and listen carefully to the words of the song, you may come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that I have included it here for a very specific reason.

Perhaps even a subtle foreshadowing reason.

Or perhaps not.

Or perhaps just a ‘tease’ to pique your interest.

Guess you will just have to keep reading…

***

Lying on our backs, smoking and glowing in our after-glow, she asked,

“So, you gonna show me around and about this Fool’s Paradise Town of yours. Or what?”

“In due time. In due time Darlin’. Now snuff out that cigarette, shuffle off that robe once again, lie back and relax. I have something I want to do to you first.

Then I am gonna teach you how to ‘count’ down the deck in Blackjack.”

***

Previous Chapter Here:

Next Chapter:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Pt VI: Vegas ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’”

Coming Very Soon

Update: Part Six Found Below.

If you are new here, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey

Below and then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”

i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Below is the commentary section from the original post.

Please read bottom up for continuity.

***

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:34 Edit

You should read the ones that really get thrown away.

😉

Cheers!

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:22 Edit

“There were no snakes that day, so mission accomplished; no apparent casualties, except for maybe some ants who could not scurry away fast enough.”

This. Of course, I’m enjoying it all but I do have a strange sense of humour that likes these kinds of throwaway lines.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 19:29 Edit

Thanks Annie.

Yeah, Heathen cracks me up. We like to keep up a lively banter.

Thanks for readin’ an’ commentin’.

Peace and Beer,

Lance

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 19:25 Edit

I agree Laura. It has been decades since I have gotten behind the wheel even with one drink in me. When I think back to the Seventies and Eighties and my reckless behaviour, chills run down my spine. I am so grateful I did not kill anyone (including my self).

Thanks for reading and for your comments.

Bad knees eh? Yep, I suppose that would present some problems when trying to ‘girl pee’ in the wilderness.

* wink *

🙂

lauramacky June 21, 2014 at 16:08 Edit

Ah yes, the days when we thought it was ok to drink and drive. It was only a ticket back then right? Gawd I can’t believe I EVER thought that. As for the Peeing…i have crappy knees…I need a white porcelain seat. When I was in Italy in a remote place, it really became a problem! lol

Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 21, 2014 at 09:25 Edit

Don’t know which part of this I like more…the post itself, or the comments you and Heathen are tossing back and forth! 😉

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 00:44 Edit

I am really struggling’ too much with what passes for my current sanity to respond.

(been re-watching Polanski’s “Macbeth”)

No worries!

I shall rally manana.

How I roll, n’est-ce-pas?

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 00:39 Edit

No worries. I’m into my third glass of wine, and thinking about burning up some innocent flowers. These here flowers I got have way too much gravity in ’em and it’s a toss up which of us will destroy the other. I’m a-fight it to the end either way.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 00:34 Edit

Ah shit!

Heathen,

Ya caught me on the leeward side of drunk.

Love this comment (and the Janis vid inspired bit.)

Promise this:

I will give a proper respond….tomorrow.

(any mis-spelled words are intent-u-al._)

–Lance

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 00:28 Edit

Blackjack? Oh, man, there you are in Vegas with a beautiful woman and you’re playing a sucker’s game. Damn. If I’d been there I’d have slapped you up side your fool head.

I might have been there, come to think of it. My memory’s faulty. Glitter Gulch… November ’88, at the Nugget. It was ’89 for you? Didja manage to avoid the infamous Barstow bats? 🙂

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

Random Memories from The Middle East: The Road to Sharm el Sheikh

Parts  One  Two  Three  

*** 

I sped off still heading south. I observed her fade fast in my rearview mirror, but not before I saw her mouth hanging open in wide disbelief (As if I were actually calling her bluff). After about a half-mile and her no longer in sight, I stopped, opened a beer, popped in a Joni Mitchell–Hejira–cranked it up, lit a Marlboro and waited.

Presently I could make out her petite form marching through the sandy haze, her skinny arms flailing back and forth, not unlike a power-walker. As I watched her approach I snuffed out my second cigarette, tossed the empty beer bottle onto the back floorboard, turned down the volume on Joni’s Black Crow, and waited to see if she was getting back in the car.

She opened the door, threw herself in and off we drove, not saying a word until we got within about five clicks of Sharm el Sheikh. Her face was dirty with trails of sweat running down, making small rivers of mud, her hair windblown and looking to have absorbed quite some substantial part of the Sinai.

She did not look happy.

“Are you sorry?” she finally blurted out.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“Sorry for being an asshole,” she said.

“Oh, that… What!?” I was genuinely confused.

“For refusing to have sex with me this morning after that Israeli dude left.”

Now I am laughing. She wasn’t.

“Are you fucking serious Janet?” I asked after I had regained some composure. “You heard the man. We had to vacate. Did you think I was in the mood for love? With the IDF watching us? Shit Woman! It was time to go.”

“There was time enough… in the tent,” she said somewhat between clenched teeth and somewhat subdued—at the same time—a talent she had perfected over some years. (Ed. Note: Janet had five years on me)

“You are unbelievable. Okay, ‘I’m sorry for not fucking you’. Gimme another go? Right here. Right now. In this fuckin’ heat and in this fuckin’ sardine can of a car? Or would you prefer it on the burning sand with the scorpions and spiders?! For Chrissake Janet!”

“There was a time when you’d never refuse me, no matter where or what,” she said and then clammed up, starring out the window.

Fine! I thought as I gave the volume back up to Joni.

Just on the outskirts of Sharm (The whole Sinai Pennisula was ‘Outskirts’) we came upon a Bedioun ‘roadside do drop in’ sort of place.

“Hey Janet! Let’s check this out.”

“Can’t we just go in to Sharm?”

“No. I wanna talk to these folks. Besides they may have some stuff we need.”

“Fine.” (And then someday too soon, this woman would be my wife…)

I parked the car and got out. Janet cleaned her sunglasses and remained behind. I walked up to the ramshackle place and was greeted by an old grizzled Bedouin.

“Salaam alaikum,” I said.

“Salaam alaikum,” he said back. Then, “Amer-ca?”

“Yes,” said. “English? Speak?”

“La’, (no)

(I spoke just enough Arabic (and Hebrew) to get me into trouble back then.)

“Sodas? Coke-a-cola?” I asked.

“Naam,” 

“OK. Baksheesh?”

“Naam.”

I gave him a pack of Marlboros. He gave me two cokes. Apparently inflation had set in here. I smiled though and shook his hand, happy to have made some cultural advancement. Jimmy Carter shoulda seen me that day. Got back in the car. Janet, still incogneto, remarked,

“Was that worth it?”

“Yes. It was. Thank you. We are reps of the State Department. WE are suppose to be ambassadors. Don’t you git it?’

“Yeah. I ‘git’ it. I get that I want this trip to end soon. I am tired and hot and sweaty and thirsty and hungry and horny. And I see no end in sight for me.”

We drove on into Sharm.

As I have reported, Sharm back then was not much. There was one hotel, but who had money (or desire) for that? It had a tentative look about it anyhow. This was ‘Israeli-Occupied Egypt’ after all and finding investors to pump money into a region, however beautiful, must have been difficult, given the  volatility of the times and the probability that Israel would eventually give the desert back to Egypt (even though Israel had ‘held’ the Sinai for more than ten years at this point)

Past the hotel was a small ‘camping ground’ of sorts. There were ‘bird houses’ for rent: ten bucks per night and a communal shower/latrine area. I say ‘bird houses’, because that is exactly what they resembled: Thatched roof, two wooden ‘bunks’ side-by-side, and too small for a six-foot-one cowboy to sleep on. I lay down and test-drove one. I discovered that by leaving the door open I could be fine with the sleeping arrangements, letting my feet hang out, though if Janet and I were to have some privacy for any ‘Woo-Hoo’ / ‘Whoopee’, we would have to pretend we were in the back seat of a compact car and make due. (Unless we opted to keep the door open: an option my shyness would never allow me to consider)

At this point I must admit Janet was always a trooper during such times. She was of course a soldier, albeit a weekend one, and had previous experience with less-than-pristine habiliments. After we had decided to spend the night at this place, taken our showers, had some drink and sandwiches, her mood (and mine) improved as the sun went down and the heat subsided. Behind us were the mountains. In front of us, the sea, and ahead of us, our future.

We were after all, two lovebirds deep in love and in our own private birdhouse.

We made love in that birdhouse after sundown.

And with the door open.

And why not?

We were young.

(And we had all that ‘Diplomatic Immunity’  bullshit to boot)

*****

I love Joni’s smile. She don’t smile often, but when she does… magical shit happens. Shoots bolts right through my heart Baby!

To Be Continued…

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part VII: “The Birth of a Star, A Craps’ Star!”

We freshened up, got dressed, and prepared to head down to the Casino Floor. Generally, and as a semi-hardened and made-fast rule, I do not gamble at The Plaza.

But on this night I was feeling freshly full of myself (No small thanks to Shonnie) and wanted to capitalize on that feeling before the ‘fresh’ had time to wear off.

Please allow me to clarify something:

I do not believe in Santa, The Easter Bunny, Cracks-in-Sidewalks, Broken Mirrors, Feet Belonging to Dead Rabbits, Karma, Fate, Oklahoma, or God.

But I do believe in Dama Fortuna, AKA ‘Lady Luck’.

In fact, before we left our Blue Hotel Room Love Nest, and while Shonnie was taking her second shower of the day, I offered up my Burnt Offering to La Dama Fortuna:

I carefully picked up a small bowl left behind by Room Service and ceremoniously set it down on the night stand. Then I retrieved a crisp five-dollar bill from my wallet. (I ain’t cheap ya know).

While holding ‘Honest Abe’ over the bowl, I splashed a little Jim Beam onto him.

Then carefully placing Mister President Lincoln into said bowl, I took my Zippo and set him and the fiver ablaze as my lil boomer box belted out this song, hoping Lady Dama would enjoy the music and smile down upon me and bless me with favorable favors:

Y’all may be thinking that I’m making this shit up.

Allow me to assure you.

I ain’t. I’m just really weird is all.

Gamblers, real true-blue-dyed-in-the-wool Gamblers, are a funny lot, funny as in half-crazy-funny at a bare minimum.

Your humble author is certainly no exception and registers a solid ‘three-quarter nuts‘ on the ‘Crazy O’Meter.

Shonnie emerged from her shower just as Frank was finishing up his song and Mister Lincoln had finished curling up and turning into semi-green ash.

“What the hell you been listening to? Some old-timey shit? And why are there ashes in that little bowl you’re all hunched over? And why does it smell funny in here?”

“Good God Woman! Must I explain everything to you? We’re In-Las-Fucking-Vegas! Normal behavior don’t work here. Trust me.”

She produced something resembling a petite pout, half-real at best, but I sensed I had slightly wounded her. Naw, probably just winged her a little.

I abandoned my tiny Dama Fortuna Altar and rushed over to Shonnie, embracing her little body and kissing her deep and tender.

“I’m so, so sorry Baby, (I genuinely was sorry for my un-called-for outburst) sometimes I get a case of the ‘pre-game’ jitters. Forgive me?”

She saw she had me at a remorseful disadvantage now and quickly capitalized,

“Okaaay, but you better be nice to me Cowboy,” she said softly while lowering her head and trying to look all ‘hang-dog’. Then she quickly looked up piercing me eyeball-to-eyeball and added not-so-softly, “Because you won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Smart Ass! C’mere!” We kissed again. Then we laughed in unison.

All Good Now.

The very LAST thing a gambler wants to take to the ‘Gamble’ is ‘Bad Juju’.

An Ill or even slightly awkward feeling between a gambler and his woman is the absolute worst Juju of all, even worse than betting with scared money, which is damn near as bad.

If you’re carrying either of these situations to The Arena you may as well save yourself the bother, mail them a check, and call it a night.

You want Good Juju and Fearless Money is what I’m sayin’.

Good Juju Being Administered by Dama Fortuna

***

As we entered the Plaza Casino proper, it was all flashing lights, laughter, musical sounds from the slot-machines—basically your typical Las Vegas Scene.

I led Shonnie over to a bank of ‘dollar slots’.  I pulled out a crisp one-dollar bill and fed it to the hungry machine.

“Pull the lever and stand by,” I said to her.

“I’ve never gambled before,” she protested. “You do it.”

“Honey, if my instincts are right, this ain’t gambling. Go ahead. It’s my dollar anyhow, so you really ain’t gambling, Per se.”

Joni’s Tribute to all the Slot Machine Junkies of the World

“The Dry Cleaner from Des Moines”

Vid Share Cred: Renato Spallucci

“Pear who? Okay,” she said, “Here goes nothin’!” while pulling the Bandit’s one arm, using both her arms to do so.

“I certainly hope not,” I said.

I’d never seen anything like that shit before: Both Arms to pull a one-armed bandits’ arm?!

I love this woman!

We watched the cylinders spin.

Then stop.

Bells sounded and lights flashed from the machine.

Double bar. Double Bar. Double Bar! 

Casino silver dollars rained down into the tray, making that magic music of metal clanging on metal.

One hundred bucks! A propitious beginning!

(And damn good Juju!)

“Oh My Fucking God!” she screamed.

“Baby, God had nothing to do with it. Thank Dama Fortuna, if you feel compelled to thank someone.”

“Drama…who?? Shit! Wow! Look at all that shiny money!”

“It’s all yours. Take that plastic bucket and fill it up.”

“Should we go again?” She asked breathlessly.

“Absolutely not,” I said. “Come on. I’m gonna show you the ‘real’ games.”

“You’re the Boss,” she giggled.

I leaned very close to her, pulled my collar to her lips as I breathed into her ear,

“Speak into the microphone, My Dear.”

“Lance, you’re crazy!”

“Yeah. I am. C’mon.”
I led her to a craps table.

“Oh! This looks complicated,” she said.

“Well, yeah. It is and it isn’t. Don’t worry. I will walk you through it. One question though, do you throw a baseball like a girl?”

“Screw you!”

“Ok then. We should be fine.”

Craps is the best game ever invented by Man.

I love the high-energy!

The Craps Crowds

The cacophony.

The excitement.

The electricity.

The camaraderie.

The laughter.

The tears.

I love the suspense as the galloping dominoes bounce down the table.

And last but certainly not least, I love the possibility of winning (and sometimes even losing) very large amounts of money in a very short amount of time.

“It’s all-in-the-game Yo!”

And yes, I am what some might call, a

‘Dice Degenerate’.

Started when I was hustling crap games at Honey Grove Junior High in the school hallways between classes.

Only got busted once.

Rather Proud of my Record.

***

Shonnie and I shouldered our way in at one of the far ends of the table. We sandwiched ourselves between a middle-aged, gray-haired man (on our left) in a business suit (I immediately pegged him as a ‘Corporation Man’ on Convention) grasping what looked like a scotch and water and there was a cigar in a tiny ashtray set on the rail in front of him. It was obviously neglected, as there was an inch and a half of ash hanging from it.

On the right side of us, a ‘normal’ looking guy, about thirty-something, sporting a too loud red t-shirt and a gimme cap. Baseball. I forget the team.

Normal Guy had control of the dice, so that meant once his roll ended it would be Shonnie’s turn to ‘step up to the plate’.

The table was just about at ‘capacity’. I glanced around, looking at the contestants. You see, in Craps the idea is to find the table with the highest energy level. You want the most up-beat, loudest, rowdiest players at your chosen table:

Players who were having FUN–Again, Good Juju.

Sad to say, but one can never (in my experience) win any money at an empty table or one with an atmosphere of doom, which does sometimes come rolling in like a blue norther on a bad Texas Autumn afternoon.

Savvy crap shooters recognize the early warning signs of ‘The Atmosphere of Doom’ and fly away like scalded rabbits just before, or just as it descends.

This table was on the upswing and I intended to make quick work of it before the worm turned. (The worm always turns, but sometimes, thankfully, it takes some long time in the turning.)

Looking up and down the side of the table, opposite the ‘Boss’ and the dealers and the stick men and all, I studied the other contestants. There was a young couple to the right of ‘Normal Guy’. Right out of “Honey Moon Ville,” I guessed.

Next to them stood a nervous-acting, fidgety Middle-Eastern type wearing a white starched shirt and lots of bling. Next to him, a dude with a crew cut, tight shirt, bulging biceps, who may have been suffering from ‘Roid Rage’, given his overly passionate ramblings at the dice as they bounced down the green felt.

At the far end of the table there was a young big-bosomed bleach-blond hanging onto the arm of another elderly well-dressed business man. (‘A man and his Hooker’, I ungraciously thought).

Next to them there was a diminutive oriental man. I was thinking ‘China’, but could not be certain. I had a wonderful experience once at a craps table at The Golden Nugget following the streak of another China Man. Won almost two grand while he was in control of the dice.

You see, all craps players are infamously superstitious and from that night forward every time I encountered an ‘Ornamental’ man shootin’ crap the needle on my Juju Meter pushed slightly more into the green end of the spectrum.

There were several other players mixed in and even some standing behind, perhaps waiting for some space to open up.  I was happy with the crowd and the level of ‘Good Juju’.

After the current ‘roll’ had ended (wins all around) I pulled out four Benjamins and put them on the table in front of one of the dealers.

“Give me two hundred green ($25), and two hundred red ($5),” I announced. The dealer spread out my four bills so ‘The Eye in the Sky’ could get a look. He then stacked my chips and slid them toward me.

“Good luck Sir,” he said, as I split the chips (‘Checks’ in the Vegas’ vernacular.) with Shonnie.

With all the bets paid, Normal Guy was ready to go at it again. I instructed Shonnie to take a red chip and place it in front of her on the “Pass-line” (If you don’t know how Craps works, you may be at some loss here—I will try to make it as easy to understand as possible.) I placed a red chip in front of me on the Pass-line as well.

All bets placed, Normal Guy tossed the dice toward the far end of the table. He rolled a four. (Meaning he had to roll another four before he rolled a seven, thus crapping out.)

“Put two red chips behind your bet,” I told Shonnie.

“Why?”

“We’re taking the odds,” I said.

“I don’t understand.”

“Just do it. Smartly.”

She stacked up the chips behind her original bet and I did the same.

On a hunch, I tossed a red chip onto the middle of the table and yelled, “Hard Four!” (Betting that the shooter will make his ‘four’—called his ‘point’, but that he will do it ‘the hard way,’ i.e., two deuces and not an ace and a three.

This is really a sucker bet, but I had Dama Fortuna in my corner. The bet pays ten for one, which if won, would net me forty-five dollars, plus of course our pass line bets with the odds placed behind them would win as well.

Normal guy tosses… wait for it… Double Deuces! Pandemonium from the players. Everybody wins!

“How did you know to do that?” Shonnie asks, as some decent stacks of red chips came our way.

I gently curled my fingers around Shonnie’s tiny neck, pulled her ear to my lips and whispered, “Stick close Baby. Gonna be a bumpy night.”

Winners paid, Shonnie and I put another two red chips on the pass-line. Normal guy rolls an eight. We back up our bets with two each red chips. Normal guy then rolls a seven. Aw Shit! Crapped out! No worries. We are still way ‘up’.

Now the dice pass to Shonnie. I can see she has stage fright. One of the dealers senses this too.

“Don’t worry Little Lady! Newbies are always lucky!” He says.

The ‘table’ agrees and I see chips of all colors dropping unto the ‘Pass-line’.

Shonnie and I both place one each twenty-five dollar green. Yes. I was confident. All bets now placed, I watch as she picked up the dice. Picked them up as one might imagine someone picking up a rotten banana, or a dead rat, or a used condom.

“They won’t bite,” I assured her. Just toss them at the end of the table. Oh and shake ‘em a little. And here, let me blow on ‘em.

“Blow on ‘em?” she said incredulously.

“Old Indian Tradition. Remember I am part Comanche.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Baby,” I said, “You can roll your eyes at me all you want, but right now I want you to roll those bones, er… dice toward the end of the table and don’t forget you can only use one hand to do so.”

 “One hand?” she protested. “I always throw a baseball with both hands.” I hoped she were joking.

“Baby, this ain’t little league. Use only one hand or they will frown and act perverse.”

“Okay,” she said. Then after shaking the dice a bit, she wound up… and threw the dice…

…Right over the heads of the players at the far end of the table and off into space, most likely reaching escape velocity somewhere in the vicinity of Caesar’s Palace.

Collective groans from the table.

In craps, the absolute worst thing one can do is miss-the-fucking-table!

That, THAT! Is Extremely BAD Juju.

Dice are like the American or the Texan Flag. Never, ever let them touch the ground. Ever!

 It always, always forecasts a negative outcome. Ninety-Nine times out of one hundred, the next roll will produce a crap out. In Shonnie’s case, the anticipated next roll would be snake-eyes, Box cars, or ace-deuce.

All instant losers.

I watched as most of the table players pulled chips back from their original bets. Not me. As someone went searching for the errant dice, I told Shonnie to put two more green chips on her pass line. I did the same.

We now had one hundred-fifty-dollars bet, even though I was not certain she would find green felt upon her second attempt.

She was offered two more dice by the dealer (stick man, just another word for him). I whispered in her ear, “Just relax Honey. Use a little less passion and a little more finesse this time. You’ll do great.”

She shook the dice, wound up, and pitched ‘em down the lane. When they came to rest: Natural Eleven! Winner! Winner! Chicken Dinner!

I grabbed her and kissed her hard on the mouth.

“Now, Do that again Little Dynamo Darlin'” I said.

Well… Now! Suddenly the table went nuts! Large bets were placed all around (after some applause).

Shonnie kept ‘control’ of the dice for the next fifteen or twenty minutes: an eon in ‘Craps Time’.

We won well over a grand, some thanks to my recklessly wild betting and some thanks to the favor of Dame Fortuna.

But of course, most of the thanks went to Shonnie’s curve ball.

When she finally crapped out, there was more applause. Everyone had ‘gotten well’ with her streak. And there are no more appreciative gamblers than craps’ shooters when it comes to situations such as these.

“Color us up,” I said to the dealer as I pushed our stacks and stacks of chips toward him.

“But Sir,” He protested, “You’re up. Aren’t you going to shoot?”

“Nope. We’re done here, but thanks.”

Shonnie and I gathered our (now mostly black–$100 chips.

I double-tapped a black chip on the table and tossed it to the Pit Boss. “For the Boys” I said.

“Thank you Sir,” he said back.

“What now?!” Shonnie demanded gruffly, but wearing all smiles.

“Blackjack Baby. Blackjack.”

“Lance. You’re nuts! I have never had so much fun! I love ythis!”

“Yeah, I know.”

(On both accounts)

***

Previously:

Part VIII Coming Soon:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: Part VIII: Black Jack Preamble”

***

If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below

And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”

i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTenElevenTwelveThirteen

***

Commentary Section From The Original Post:

LAMarcom June 26, 2014 at 16:45

Maybe ‘distrust’ is too strong a word. It is just that I have had some major losing streaks at the Plaza BJ tables. And of course I cannot blame my poor money management skills for that! Haha!

Thanks for your visits here and for your comments.

Cheers,

Lance

LAMarcom June 26, 2014 at 16:44 Edit

Thank you Sadie. Gonna try to get another chapter up tonight.

I appreciate your visits very much. And your comments Too!

Cheers,

Lance

~ Sadie ~ June 26, 2014 at 14:08 Edit

Can’t wait for more, Lance! Great story, great storytelling!! I have loved looking forward to each new chapter 🙂

Exile on Pain Street June 26, 2014 at 06:31 Edit

Why did you distrust the dealers at The Plaza? They’re as honest as the day is long. Seriously…what’s not to trust? Shonnie’s right. BJ is boring. Craps rules.

I’m going to catch up on on these chapters sooner or later. I love a good casino tale. Maybe I’ll get fired or laid off. That’ll give me loads of free time.

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife VI: Vegas’ ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’

Shonnie Saga Continues:

Unsuitable for minors and miners, and especially casual diners:

Adult Content

If you find yourself on the

‘Prude Side of the Pew’,

You may want to skip this one.

(And That’s a Joke, Y’all.)

Relax!

Lock your screen if you need to step–away from your computer for a moment.

***

She extinguished her Marlboro and stood up. Nonchalantly dropping her robe onto the floor, she lay back on the bed. Seductively, she brought her left knee half-way to her chin, then turned slightly to face me.

I had to pause for a moment to fill my eyes. Her petite body approached perfection. Very light-skinned, almost cream colored–warm cream–French Vanilla, like for coffee.

She was so silky-smooth-to-my-touch, everywhere I touched.

With smatterings of freckles ‘strategically’ placed here and there, she could best be described as almost ‘Half-Ginger-Cinnamon-Girl’.

With Attitude

Cinnamon Girl

The combination of all her traits nearly made me believe in a God.

No. They Made me Actually Believe in a ‘God-Ess’, specifically ‘Aphrodite’ and her descendants, one of whom I held captive inside a Blue Hotel Room at that very moment in my time.

Yep

‘Aphrodite’

Much more accurate.

And here is why:

The Good, The Bad, and The Beautiful

The Good:

Justice: Aphrodite Always Helped The He who was forever teased and tormented by The She, The She with whom He was hopelessly in love.

Joyful: Because she was the Goddess of Love, she brought joy and laughter to mortals. (‘Weren’t no thang; just a happy collateral side-effect.’)

Beauty: Aphrodite was most Beautiful and Seductive, The Most Beautiful and Seductive, and she brought her ‘beautiful seductive’ to everyone who was lucky / unlucky enough to know her, or only even of her.

(Lucky or Unlucky?) Kinda depended upon one’s frame of reference and the eventual outcome. Your mileage may, or may already have–varied–Contingent upon your age, I suppose)

The Bad:

Treacherous: Aphrodite did not love her husband Hephaestus, so she sought out Ares.

Malicious: In the story of “Aphrodite and Psyche,” Aphrodite heard of Psyche, and jealous of all the attention people paid to Psyche, she summoned her son Eros, and had him put a spell on Psyche, thus ruining her day, and indeed, the rest of her life for that matter.

Jealous: Aphrodite did not want any mortal to be more beautiful than she. And she just would not tolerate it, not even the mention of the possibility of it.

Period.

End of that story.

Greedy: When she saw pretty things, she took them.

And I can attest to the veracity of this. Shonnie, descendant of Aphrodite, found my heart to be a ‘Pretty Thing,’ so she took it. She has never given it back either.

The Beautiful:

“A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words”

Do any of these traits strike you as being vaguely familiar?

Remind you of Someone?

Well they should, if you have been paying attention.

Here’s a Hint:Related by Marriage to a Biker

Not Actually Her: Just A Reasonable Facsimile

(Full Disclosure:  ‘Blond’ is not my usual ‘type’—truly I have always been a ‘semi-tall-brunette-with-a-tan’ man; never had any luck with blonds at all, but then, Shonnie was a different kind of blond, now wasn’t she?)

***

The sun was setting outside the huge hotel window and cast a slight shadow over her. Her hair was still semi-damp and fell down perfectly over her breasts, slightly curling up at the ends. Her right leg was seductively raised up, bent at her knee and turned slightly to the side.

(Yes. Yes! I know! I already mentioned this pose. Please allow me the simple, sinful pleasure of revisiting that image just-one-more-time-in-my-mind. Thank you.)

Her pose thus denied me any direct look at my lustfully desired objective, but I was confident I could find it.

A better scripted scene could not have been created by even Howard Hawks. (Thinking ‘To Have and Have Not’ here—Bogie an’ Bacall).

“Anybody got a match?”

“Yeah, Shonnie & Lance”

***

I continued to draw the scene into my mind, hoping to meld it permanently with my memory cells. Joni began singing “Blue Motel Room” on the boom box.

“You window shoppin’, or are you coming into the store?”

“Into the store,” I said, “I have spied something interesting enough to draw me in.”

I knelt down at the foot of the bed, picked up her right leg and kissed the underside of her foot, then took her big toe into my mouth for a moment or two sucking it; licking it.

Then I began working my way up her calf to the inside of her thighs, ever so slowly back and forth, ‘thigh to thigh’, I suppose you could say.

At this point she was beginning to writhe a bit. I proceeded north and just as ‘Blue Motel Room’ ended, I began.

Tantalizingly slow at first, then faster and faster, then slowly again… occasionally gently sucking her clitoris, alternating with circular tongue motions, also mixed in with rapid back and forth tongue movements.

While Joni sang ‘Song for Sharon’, a rather longish song, I brought Shonnie, by my count, to three or four climaxes. (But what do I know? Well, I WAS THERE, after all, and I felt her contractions in my mouth.)

I was about to lose it myself so I threw my back down beside her, pulling her on top of me. Grasping her so fine, firm little ass.

She suddenly sat bolt upright, straddling me, grabbing my arms and pinning me down. She passionately fucked me with what could almost be described as ‘pure sexual violence’.

(No ‘making love’ in this instance; we had succumbed to our basic ‘animalistic’ instincts!)

Embarrassed to report, but about twenty seconds after I entered her, I was spent. She didn’t complain though. She rolled off of me and lay on her back, both of us panting, sweating, but completely and blissfully sated (and spent)

Joni began singing ‘Refuge Of The Roads’.

***

Another Thinly Veiled Foreshadowing?

Perhaps…

“Another Fuckin’ Song Lance? Really? You’re Wearing us OUT!”

“This one is Important. Very Important!”

“It is Joni’s song, yes.

“But more than that, way much more than that,”

“It is Shonnie’s Song.”

“Not requisite that you listen, only requested, but it sure would make-my-day if you did listen. The Words are important.”

“And… if you DO Watch/Listen, you will ‘auto-magically’ be entered into the First-Ever…”

“Texan Tales & Hieroglyphics”

“Give-Away of Free Stuff Lottery”

(Quantity and Quality of Stuff Subject to Availability)

‘Availability’ of money in the author’s bank account.

Good Luck!

***

Shonnie said, “Reach me a cig, will ya Baby?” (First time she had called me ‘Baby’. I loved the way it sounded coming from her slightly course and throaty voice.

I lit two Marlboros at once, ‘Movie Style’, handed one to her. We lay back, smoking and began (between giggles and exchanging ‘We are so great, and proud of us’ looks) a smoke ring competition.

(I lost.)

***

Cigarettes dispatched, Joni run out, silence now, Shonnie once again broached the subject,

“Are you ever gonna show me this town?”

“Yes, I am. Let’s get to it, shall we?”

***

There is Always Gonna Be At Least One Critic:

Previously:

Coming Soon:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Part VII: A Crappy Star is Born”

If you are new here, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey

Below and then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”

i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen

***

Commentary Section From Original Post.

For continuity, please read from the bottom up.

***

27 THOUGHTS ON “SHONNIE THE BIKER’S WIFE, PT VI: VEGAS’ ‘SOFT PORN’, OR ‘BLUE HOTEL ROOM’”

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:36 Edit

Actually with just a little practice, they are quite easy to produce. Of course it helps a lot if you’re a smoker…

Thanks very much for your visit.

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:33 Edit

I thought smoke rings was something they only did in cartoons? I almost want to take up smoking to see if it can be done in real life!

LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 17:49 Edit

Hehehe,

Thanks so much.

Cheers,

Lance

NancyTex July 21, 2014 at 08:25 Edit

Total lady-boner material right here. Well done, Lance.

LAMarcom July 16, 2014 at 12:31 Edit

It was, yes, one of those ‘wow’ moments.

😉

Thanks for reading and for the great comment.

Wow!

Cheers,

Lance

LVital7019 July 16, 2014 at 12:25 Edit

HEL-lo! Inaword: Wow. 😉

LAMarcom June 23, 2014 at 19:12 Edit

evil grin *

Thanks Sandra!

Sandra June 23, 2014 at 18:42 Edit

Dang is the AC broken again? No, it’s just Lance telling another story. 😉

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 11:12 Edit

Haha! You know, wh@t happens in Vegas… Well, you know.

Thanks Annie for reading my ‘Blue’ Hotel Room.

Cheers,

-Lance

Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 22, 2014 at 10:58 Edit

I know it is hot in Vegas, but REALLY! LOL

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 10:13 Edit

Don’t touch that dial!

🙂

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:57 Edit

Really?

Money?

Cash money?

Hahaha!

And I spent all that time reading an’ watching ‘Macbeth’

And trying to emulate Shakespeare and Marlowe…

Sadie,

You always make me smile!

My Friend!

🙂

~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:52 Edit

WOW Lance – women pay money for this shit . . . just saying . . . 😉

Looking forward to Part 7!!

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:23 Edit

And sexy, eh?

Laughing out loud!

Tis a true story, by the way.

Shonnie was just that… sexy.

I miss her!

Anonymous June 22, 2014 at 00:20 Edit

Wow!

Intense!

LAMarcom June 22, 2014 at 00:16 Edit

Sadie, I am just a guy with a desire.

To write.

Thank you.

~ Sadie ~ June 22, 2014 at 00:12 Edit

Lance – I haven’t even read it yet – in the middle of 3 diff things BUT def reading before I go to bed tonight. Just had to tell you when I checked my email & saw the new installment I was all frickin excited dancing in my chair & chanting yay yay yay!!! I have absolutely loved this series of stories. GREAT job in the writing & the execution, keeping us all waiting with bated breath for your nest chapter!!! 🙂

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 23:44 Edit

My weakest point is, alas, understanding things. But I’m a-hang around just the same because fading away is something I ain’t mastered yet, either.

Keep ’em coming, my friend!

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:53 Edit

yes.

Frame of ref here, David.

My mind is all over some place.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:51 Edit

Happily enuff, It is coming.

After the bliss what was the bliss, that was, Las Vegas.

For us.

(You see? I have to build the bliss, before the remiss.)

Shorely, Certainly, (Shirley?) you, of all people, understand.

The unrequited bliss.

David Scott Moyer June 21, 2014 at 22:43 Edit

Used to be???

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 22:41 Edit

Oh man, I was looking for the weird and all I got was that Lance got laid. Where’s the weird? I wants the weird! 😀

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 22:20 Edit

Most assuredly, the pants.

Loosen ’em up a mite.

Then you will be fine.

With wine.

And thanks for reading.

(Don’t tell anyone I used to be a pervert.)

Please!

Anonymous June 21, 2014 at 22:16 Edit

Whew! Is it hot in here or is it just me yoga pants?

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 21:59 Edit

Lee, I thought you had banished me due to my Socialist Lean.

So glad ya didn’t.

Thanks my old good friend!

Keep reading.

It does get ‘weirder’

Lee June 21, 2014 at 21:40 Edit

whew!

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife: Part “V(iva) Las Vegas”

Author’s Note:

Before we dive in, I’d like to humbly request/suggest that you take the time, if you have the time, to watch/listen to all the added multi-media and follow the link to the ‘desert’ post.

On the flip-side of ‘Humble’, I’d like to add this:

A great deal of thoughtful thought and time goes into the re-working, expanding of this Shonnie “La Cosa Nostra” Series. I have mercilessly interrogated my memory cells and dragged out items I did not take the time to recount in the original series.

The original was written in a frenzied rush, usually without even one edit. I am very happy now to have the time to try to do justice to my fond memories of Shonnie. She always deserved my full, undivided attention, and my best effort in her regard.

After all these years, I think I just may have finally become “Strong Enough to be Her Man.”

***

Every new word is still the truth as I best do remember events.

I sweat every word, every comma, and every ‘Added Value’ vid and song and link I drop in.

Nothing is hap-hazard.

Nothing is irrelevant.

This is a package deal.

A complete full-meal-deal.

Don’t ignore the fries and the hot apple pies.

I’d like for you to get the ‘full-benefit’.

My fervent desire is that you enjoy it and it satiates.

Bon Appétit

And As Always, I Do Appreciate Your Time Invested, And I Do My Very Level Best Not To Waste Even One Drop Of It.

For if I waste your time, that makes me a thief. And that makes me unhappy.

Thank You.

P.S. And for any of Y’all who may be wondering, yes, ‘Shonnie’ is her real name.

***

Our road trip to Vegas takes five hours and change. Once we got past San Bernardino and well into the desert I announced it was safe to drink and drive and ride. (We had, technically, already been drinking, but neither one of us considered beer ‘real drinking’.)

Needing a break, I pulled over and as we admired the scenery, we had a couple of cocktails. And smokes.

The desert was picturesque, desolate, and wondrous thrilling to behold.

(Recall, if you have read any of my “Desert-Rat-Lance” posts, how very romantic and beautiful I find the deserts of the world)

We hit the road again. Stayed on Interstate 15. It’s a straight shot into Vegas. Lots more desert. Not much traffic as well, even though it was a Friday.

For once, I had planned ahead and made a reservation.

At the Union Plaza Hotel and Casino, downtown: Glitter Gulch.

I never much cared for ‘The Strip’ during my visits to Vegas, but as this was Shonnie’s first trip, I promised myself I would set aside some time to show her the Glitter-That-Was-More-‘Glittery’-Than-Glitter-Gulch.

“Are we there yet Daddy?” she asked in a rather high-falsetto child-like voice about an hour out of San Bernardino.

“You need to pee again?” I shot back over strains of Jimmy Buffett and wind coming from my half-open window.

“Yeah. Matter of fact, I do.”

“Wimmen!” I said, as I pulled off onto the breakdown lane.

“I ain’t gonna pee here!” She protested.

“Look Darlin’, See those big ol’ rocks over yonder? You can go pee behind one of those. Nobody will see you.”

“Snakes,” she said.

“Huh?”

“Snakes. I don’t like snakes.”

“Okay, I will come with you. Just let me fetch my M60 machine gun outta the trunk.”

Ignoring my piercing wit, she said, “I won’t be able to piss if you’re watching me.”

“You’d prefer the rattlers watch instead?”

“Okay, but you turn your head at the last minute.”

“I never figured you for a prude Honey.”

“Fuck you. Les go. I gotta go!”

And off we went. There were no snakes that day, so mission accomplished, no apparent casualties, except for maybe some ants who could not haul ant-ass fast enough away.

Back on the road.

The rest of the trip was pretty much uneventful.

We arrived to Vegas about six in the evening. As we drove along The Strip, I pointed out all the hotels / casinos which had been graced by my presence (and by my money) during previous trips.

She was impressed and I could see her eyes lighting up. Shame it was still daylight and she could not see the true glory of the Neon City that is Las Vegas.

“Well, time enough for that later,” I mused.

We finally arrived at the very end of our road which was Fremont Street.

(This was years before they tried to re-vitalize Downtown Vegas by constructing ‘The Fremont Street Experience’ and completely shutting down all vehicular traffic–1995)

The Fremont Street Experience

***

So I checked us into my old Nemesis. I have always had a love/hate relationship with The Plaza, but not unlike a marriage gone bad, I just never could seem to break it off entirely.

We found the way to our room, which for me was mediocre (I have been ‘around-the-world, remember? And spent time in some fine, really fine hotels), but to Shonnie, who was not so much a world traveler—more of a life traveler—the room was amazing.

She immediately did a thorough inventory of all the ‘accoutrements’ in the room.

“Hey Lance!” she exclaimed. “Come look at this shit! There are little teeny-tiny soap bars in the bathroom. And little baby-sized shampoo bottles! And some paper thingy on the toilet. How I’m supposed to pee with that paper there? And look at this!” she said, walking out of the head and back into the room, “There’s a coffee pot and Coffee! And Look at this here! A Remote Control for the TeeVee!”

(She was, most likely, pulling my leg, but I went with the scene as she had written it—hitting my marks and saying my lines)

*heavy sigh*

 “Shonnie Darlin’, Welcome to the ‘First World’.”

“Smart ass! Hey! Just look at that bed! Is that one of them water-beds?”

“I seriously do not think so. This ain’t Caesar’s Palace Baby. We are in the part of Vegas known as the home of ‘The Sawdust Joints’.”

“Oh… Well, I like it.”

“Stay tuned.”

She walked over to the little desk beside the TV and picked up the room service menu. “Now this is my idea of Heaven”, she said.

“What?”

“We can have room service! I’ve never had room service. What should I order? I’m hungry.”

“Honey, order anything you want.”

“No. I’ll tell you what I want and you order it. I don’t wanna talk to some stranger on the phone about food.”

“Very well,” I said. “Go ahead. Take your time. Then I will order us up some supper. Wanna drink while you ‘peruse’ the menu?”

While I do what to the menu?!

“Decide what you want to eat.”

“Yeah… reach me a beer and my cigs while I study this. So many choices!”

She was enjoying her stay so far. And I was enjoying her ‘enjoying’.

“Have you decided what you want for supper?” I asked after a spell.

“Yeah, but I can’t make out what some of this stuff is, so I’m shopping ‘price’”

“Baby, you don’t havta shop price. I have money. Order what you want.”

“No, I mean I am shopping Price. Gonna order the most expensive thing on this menu and see what I get.”

Good Gawd! I am loving this woman! “You go right on ahead Darlin’.”

She had picked out what she called a ‘baby steak’, based upon the photo and pricey price in the menu (Filet mignon) and then said, “I love the picture of that steak but it looks kinda tiny. Can you add some taters or something with it?”

“Don’t worry Honey, I will take care of it. I’m gonna go for ice first, then I will order.”

“That Seven Eleven we saw is way far from here,” she protested. “Don’t you leave me alone!”

“You really are ‘country’, ain’t ya? And you called me ‘City Boy’. Baby, the ice is just down the hall. Be right back.”

Over her protestations, I went and fetched a bucket of ice. When I returned, she announced she wanted a shower:

“I’m gonna freshen up. You make sure that room service guy don’t come into my bathroom while I’m in there.”

“Shonnie, I will gallantly stand my post just outside your door.”

I lowered my voice an octave or two, snapped to rigid attention, then announced solemnly,

“None shall pass.”

A throw-away line that went sailing right over her head, but it made me happy none-the-less.

She gave me a cautiously perplexed side-ways look, then quickly said,

“Uh… Well… Okay then. See ya in a few,” as she disappeared into the bathroom, almost slamming the door behind her.

The food arrived while she was still in the head, showering. I tipped the dude and laid out our supper table. Opened the bottle of red wine I had tacked onto the order along with my ‘steak’, a semi rare cheeseburger (I am a simple man: simple wants, simple tastes, simple desires).

Anyhow, presentation is everything. I had also requested a single red rose for ornament and I placed that ‘just so’ on the table, along with the white candle I had also added to the order. I lit the candle and waited for ‘Lady Guinevere’ or ‘Joan d’Arc’ or ‘Mae West’ to appear.

I never knew who I would be dealing with from one moment to the next when it came to Shonnie. She had a natural chameleon talent, backed up by intelligence and instinct.

She yelled at me from behind the bathroom door: “Is he gone?”

“Yes Darlin’. I fought him off. He shall not return.” (Until we need him again) “Come on out.”

She opened the door, enveloped in a cloud of steam, wearing a pure-white hotel terry-cloth bath robe.

Resembling a vamp straight out of a film noir, she waltzed into the bedroom. I was impressed. She looked absolutely stunning, her wet hair flowing down her shoulders and dripping water everywhere. Her face was glowing radiant red and her blue eyes full of energetic mischief.

I suppose the shower had agreed with her.

She’d become reinvigorated and reborn, casting off the long hot trip through the desert.

As I filled my eyes with the complete little dynamo package that was Shonnie, I felt another brick in my emotional wall crumble into dust.

“Let’s eat! I’m starving!” she announced gruffly in that coarse gravelly voice I had grown to love so well.

We had our meal to the sexy strains of ‘Joni Mitchell’ singing from her album Hejira on my little boom box.

(I never go anywhere without my  lil boom box)

Neither one of us had any desire to watch television, as we were too much into ‘our’ music.

The music we made and the music we heard.

And too much into ‘our’ each other experience.

The TV-with-the-remote was just a novelty for her anyway; she had no desire to actually watch it.

Nor did I.

Half-way through our meal and our bottle of wine, Joni began singing this:

“A Strange Boy”

I half-hoped Shonnie did not listen too closely to the lyrics, but who the hell was I kidding?

Shonnie and I had myriad things in common yes, but paying particularly close attention to song lyrics, good ones, was damn near to the top of our ‘things-in-common-we-have’ Hit Parade.

Y’all tell me true:

Does this song hit too close-to-home in describing the relationship Shonnie and I were already so deeply into?

Do Y’all find me a ‘Strange, Strange Boy?’ Some parts obviously don’t work for my purpose here, but other parts of the lyrics work so completely well as to negate the bits that don’t work.

Y’all tell me: Enquiring minds wanna… and all that rot.

***

We finished our meal and retired to our rented, oh-so-inviting, so alluring, so sinfully comfortable bed.

We made love as Joni sang on…

Now the Title Tract from the album:

Yes. Joni was singing

Hejira’

A beautiful, yet somewhat sad commentary on relationships set to the melodious Joni voice and her wonderful guitar strains.

***

Not my desire, nor my intent to drop in any ‘spoilers,’ but suffice to say, if you watch the vid and listen carefully to the words of the song, you may come to the conclusion, rightly or wrongly, that I have included it here for a very specific reason.

Perhaps even a subtle foreshadowing reason.

Or perhaps not.

Or perhaps just a ‘tease’ to pique your interest.

Guess you will just have to keep reading…

***

Lying on our backs, smoking and glowing in our after-glow, she asked,

“So, you gonna show me around and about this Fool’s Paradise Town of yours. Or what?”

“In due time. In due time Darlin’. Now snuff out that cigarette, shuffle off that robe once again, lie back and relax. I have something I want to do to you first.

Then I am gonna teach you how to ‘count’ down the deck in Blackjack.”

***

Previous Chapter Here:

Next Chapter:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Pt VI: Vegas ‘Soft Porn’, or ‘Blue Hotel Room’”

Coming Very Soon

Update: Part Six Found Below.

If you are new here, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey

Below and then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road”

i.e., The Lancelot Links:

***

Below is the commentary section from the original post.

Please read bottom up for continuity.

***

LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:34 Edit

You should read the ones that really get thrown away.

😉

Cheers!

Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:22 Edit

“There were no snakes that day, so mission accomplished; no apparent casualties, except for maybe some ants who could not scurry away fast enough.”

This. Of course, I’m enjoying it all but I do have a strange sense of humour that likes these kinds of throwaway lines.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 19:29 Edit

Thanks Annie.

Yeah, Heathen cracks me up. We like to keep up a lively banter.

Thanks for readin’ an’ commentin’.

Peace and Beer,

Lance

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 19:25 Edit

I agree Laura. It has been decades since I have gotten behind the wheel even with one drink in me. When I think back to the Seventies and Eighties and my reckless behaviour, chills run down my spine. I am so grateful I did not kill anyone (including my self).

Thanks for reading and for your comments.

Bad knees eh? Yep, I suppose that would present some problems when trying to ‘girl pee’ in the wilderness.

* wink *

🙂

lauramacky June 21, 2014 at 16:08 Edit

Ah yes, the days when we thought it was ok to drink and drive. It was only a ticket back then right? Gawd I can’t believe I EVER thought that. As for the Peeing…i have crappy knees…I need a white porcelain seat. When I was in Italy in a remote place, it really became a problem! lol

Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 21, 2014 at 09:25 Edit

Don’t know which part of this I like more…the post itself, or the comments you and Heathen are tossing back and forth! 😉

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 00:44 Edit

I am really struggling’ too much with what passes for my current sanity to respond.

(been re-watching Polanski’s “Macbeth”)

No worries!

I shall rally manana.

How I roll, n’est-ce-pas?

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 00:39 Edit

No worries. I’m into my third glass of wine, and thinking about burning up some innocent flowers. These here flowers I got have way too much gravity in ’em and it’s a toss up which of us will destroy the other. I’m a-fight it to the end either way.

LAMarcom June 21, 2014 at 00:34 Edit

Ah shit!

Heathen,

Ya caught me on the leeward side of drunk.

Love this comment (and the Janis vid inspired bit.)

Promise this:

I will give a proper respond….tomorrow.

(any mis-spelled words are intent-u-al._)

–Lance

happierheathen June 21, 2014 at 00:28 Edit

Blackjack? Oh, man, there you are in Vegas with a beautiful woman and you’re playing a sucker’s game. Damn. If I’d been there I’d have slapped you up side your fool head.

I might have been there, come to think of it. My memory’s faulty. Glitter Gulch… November ’88, at the Nugget. It was ’89 for you? Didja manage to avoid the infamous Barstow bats? 🙂

***

Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.

But if you can’t wait… Here ya go!

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen