And Here, Find Here: A Final Throw-Back: “Lost Wages” I need a Sabbatical

Thought I’d throw this back out, before I delete it and since I ‘swerved onto it’ and it made me laugh because I still cannot believe I am capable of writing such shit at this late date in my lifetime.)

And a fucking night moth just flew past my ear. This Moth don’t know my mind and who she is fucking with! Just saying. Just saying: Sleep is an option (for me). Gonna explore it. 

Catch Y’all Manana.

And… ya know… Rambling is my soul.

Laughter is the song of your Soul.

Hope you like it.

(be certain to watch the video of Sammy Davis and Dean and Frank and Johnny Carson: you will not be disappointed–classic Rat Trap, er…Pack.)

Cheers,

Lance

Shucks!

***********

Las Vegas

And pondering why I love the TV show, ‘Nashville’ so much.

Here goes:

Many a time while stationed in San Diego, I would make a spur of the moment decision to drive the five hours to Vegas.

Occasionally with a buddy or two after closing down a bar somewhere downtown San Dog. Once or twice with a female accomplice,  but usually alone.

“It’s OK. We (I) can sober up on the road. We’ll get to Vegas about sunrise.”

Would just show up, never having the wherewithal or forethought to reserve a room so I’d just nap in my Tornado if necessary.

But then, I never really slept while in Vegas anyhow. Why would I need a room?

One Saturday night after a not-too-lucky session at the craps table, I fell asleep in my car, which was always parked in the Union Plaza Parking Lot & Cow Pasture.

plaza

Union Plaza
Live it Up!

Well I woke up Sunday morning, (with no way to hold my head that didn’t hurt) knowing full-well that I was due back in San Diego and on my “boat” before nightfall.

While attempting to drive out of the parking lot, the young uniformed schmuck informed me that I owed two dollars for the parking.

“Listen Asshole, I just dropped two grand in your casino last night.”

“Sorry Sir, but the parking is two dollars.”

“Let me say this one more time: I just ‘invested’ two large in your fucking casino.”

“Sir, I am just doing my job.”

“And me mine, for fuck’s sake. I’m protecting your way of life and your right to be an idiot.”

I then proceeded to drive through his little wooden gate, trailing splinters all over, never looking back except briefly to see the look on his face. (This behavior is not unprecedented in my past).

Got to San Diego with no gas, no cigs, no money, and no nada.

Had to ring up (collect) my girlfriend to meet me at a station and buy me some gas just to get to 32nd Street and back to my ship.

Ah! To be young, bullet-proof, and not worry about life’s consequences!

I love Las Vegas.

Was once almost thrown out of the El Cortez (Downtown Glitter Gulch) for card counting.

You see, I had read and studied Kenny Uston’s book

My Hero

My Hero

which I had purchased in a book store in Hong Kong. I spent many hours a day while at sea, practicing Uston’s card-counting methods.  I also read Ed Thorp’s (The guy who “invented” or rather “discovered” card-counting)

Actually, I got rather proficient at it hence my early and unceremonious exit from El Cortez.  I was too proud of my new-found skills and did not try to conceal my counting behavior.  I would place one or two-dollar bets when the deck was ‘cold’ and fifty-dollar bets when the deck went ‘hot’: breaking the cardinal rule, of never ever be obviously stupid. Technically card counting is not illegal, but the casinos will still throw you out if they suspect you have that skill.  And do not mistake: Black Jack is the only “game of skill” in Vegas, aside from poker, but who can afford that?

Slots? Oh Yeah. Once I was playing the “Big Quarter” ($25) machines at the Tropicana and won $5,000. (Proceeded to give it all back at the craps table, but not before I impressed the hell out of the management, betting black chips). They asked me “What do you do for a living?” I said, “I’m in the Navy.” They just shook their heads and asked me if I needed a girl. I said, “No. I just wanna roll a hard six; can you arrange that?”

Roulette? One time, after a particularly successful round of BJ, I was walking out of the Union Plaza (again), dropped a green ($25) chip on seventeen black: Bond, James Bond’s bet.

Bond; James Bond.

Bond; James Bond.

And WON! Took my winnings (approx. $800) and went to breakfast. Smartest, smoothest move I ever made in Vegas. Ah… those were the days My Friend; thought they’d never end….

Obviously I have some stories from Las Vegas.

Too bad I was born too late to experience “The Rat Pack.” Maybe if I accumulate enough good Karma, I can come back as Sammy Davis Jr. Or Frank Sinatra.  Stranger things have happened, in the night, eh?

Dean Martin, caught in a Gravity Storm.

Priceless.

***************

I guess that ‘bout sums it all up.

“Live it up, Y’all!”

Shonnie The Biker’s Wife Part VIII: “The Blackjack Enlightenment of Miss Shonnie”

 “I love Las Vegas! Jesus Christ do I love Vegas! I’ll make it, make it good and clear; it’s because my Girl’s Right HERE!”

–Dean Martin

“And MY Shonnie’s Right THERE!

Wearing Her ‘Come Hither’ Stare!”

–Lance ‘Martin’ Marcom

Vid Cred: icamatrix

***

I took Shonnie by the hand and we waltzed over to a blackjack table.

‘One Dollar Minimum Bet’

This was to be a training session and a trial run. An ‘Introduction’, or ‘Baptism’, or ‘Enlightenment, if you will.

Then again, it could just as quickly and easily degrade into a ‘Fiasco’, a ‘Waste of Time‘, an ‘Exercise in Futility’, given Shonnie’s paucity of patience.

“Hey! You said something about teaching me ‘counting down the deck’ in Blackjack. Was that bullshit, or what? I have never played blackjack. What is that anyway, counting down the deck? What does it mean?” She demanded.

“Lower your voice to somewhere around a three on your dial. And never use the ‘C Word’.

“Huh? The ‘C’ word?”

“Counting” I whispered.

She lowered her voice almost to a whisper, a difficult accomplishment for her. “Oh, Okay ‘Mister Mystery-Man’, I won’t use any ‘C’ words, until I call you out for being a ‘cunt’.”

“I’m a ‘man’. I can’t be a ‘cunt’.”

“Oh yes you can. I have met lots of ‘man-cunts’ in my day.” She did not whisper that, drawing some looks from nearby innocent bystanders.

Trying to ignore her remark for now, I said, “Just try to aim for ‘discreet’. This is Blackjack, not Craps. Blackjack is more subtle, more subdued, more cerebral. Craps is for screamin’ and hollerin’ and gettin’ rowdy. Blackjack is diametrically opposed and polarity opposite.”

“Do you ever speak ‘honest’ fucking English? You know, without all the bullshit fancy words that no one gives a rat’s ass to hear. You’re not as smart as you think you are, Cowboy.”

“Ah now, come on Lil Miss, Ah jes tryin’ ta inject ah little bit ah refinery into yer head.”

“Stop right now, or I am gonna ‘inject’ my fist into your head. Now, in English, tell me what is Blackjack. ‘Condensed’ ‘Abridged’ version if-you-please. See there Schmuck? I know a few ‘fancy six-bit words’ too.”

“Touché,” I said.

She smacked me hard on my ass.

I continued, “Surely you played ‘Twenty-One’ as a kid, right? Or was it all ‘Strip Poker’ or ‘Strip Her and Poke Her’ with The Boys-on-The-Block?”

“I’m warning you Asshole,” she said playfully, almost tenderly.

Shonnie is the only woman I have ever known who can successfully use ‘Asshole’ as a term of endearment.

“Okay. Okay. Seriously Shonnie, I just want you to get a feel for the game. Tomorrow, I will teach you how to count. You seem to have some ‘Rain Man’ in ya. No offense.”

“Rain Man?”

“Never mind. I’ll tell you later. You just listen to me, and as we play, and I’ll teach you all about what are called the ‘Basic Strategy’ rules of the game and more important, the rules you never, ever break while playing. Not The Dealer, nor the other players will mind or care.”

“Besides,” I continued, “It’s common for neophyte players to show up at a ‘Dollar Minimum’ table and get verbal instructions, even from the Dealer, if the dealer has any class at all, that is. Tomorrow, we’ll hit The El Cortez, and we’ll be in disguise. They have one of the last double-deck games in town.”

El Cortez is Jumpin’! Hahaha!

Worth a read: One of my ‘El Cortez Moments’

***

“El Cortez? Double deck? Disguise? Get the fuck out! And, by the way, I don’t remember seeing any ‘El Cortez’ anywhere.”

Not surprised you missed it. It’s a bit of a rundown joint… But in a good way, in the tradition of the old ‘Sawdust Joints’. Don’t worry. They used to know me there. Hopefully they have forgotten that they used to know me there. I’ll explain later. Please sit down and think about what you want to drink. The waitress will need to know.”

We sat at ‘Third Base.’ Well technically, ‘I’ sat at third base. Shonnie sat next to me.

‘Third Base’

“Card counters actually have an advantage when it comes to the seating. These players are recommended to sit in the third base position to give them more time to keep an eye on the table, as well as count, and of course bet last.”

Credit: Blackjack Australia

***

The dealer was a perky blond. Her name tag announced

“I’m Debbie-From-Des Moines”

Live it Up!”

***

This Here’s Debbie. Kinda Cute an’ Innocent-Lookin’ Ain’t She? Be Thee Not Deceived;

She’ll Take ALL Your Money Ere You Leave

(If You Grow Careless)

Trust Me

***

And as the hours passed by, I taught her Basic Strategy Blackjack. She was good with it. Grudgingly very good with it. (My gal ain’t stupid, just stubborn and impatient.)

We never bet much. This was just for training after all, (and we already had our stake from Shonnie’s earlier very profitable ‘Dice-Capades) and I distrusted the dealers at the Plaza anyhow, so we just chilled. Well, at least I chilled… and taught.

“This is boring.” she said rather abruptly.

“Honey, you’re learning the game. Relax.”

“I like craps better.”

“Darling, we all do, but Craps is all about luck and guts and gambling. Blackjack is all about skill, smarts, strategy, and patience. ‘Patience’, I realize, is not your strong suit, and I know from time to time I strain what little you have, but this game is gonna pay off for us tomorrow night. Trust me.”

“Whatever.”

We continued with the Blackjack Lessons for a few more hours.

Shonnie was growing weary and bitchy and mouthy so I called an end to the training session, satisfied enough by then with her understanding of the game.

We walked over to the coffee shop and I bought her a bagel with cream cheese (Her favorite food-of-the-moment, she claimed) Then I took her off to bed.

She was beyond ready, and fell asleep just as soon as blond hair hit white pillow. I gently pulled the blanket over her petite little, exhausted body.

I was left alone with my thoughts, my plans, and a hard on.

“Sleep Princess,” I whispered to her, “And I have something important to tell you tomorrow.”

She stirred a bit and moaned, but did not hear.

I lay down beside her, wrapped myself around her, and slept too.

And dreamt happy dreams.

***

Previously:

Part IX Coming Soon:

“Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Part IX: Counting”

Update: Part IX is Up

***

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

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!

Just Some Fun, Or a Promise of a Premise

For those of you who may have had the premature misfortune to read the end of the ‘Shonnie’ Series, I apologize.

I got lazy and lackadaisical. There (of course) is much more to the end of that story. I will sharpen my pencil and re-write it. The facts are the facts, but even ‘un-sharpened’ facts deserve their day in court… and with some poetry. This is just requisite in my world.

Meantime: Mae West is the woman I have always loved (This may speak volumes about me and most likely of my attraction for Shonnie). 

Watch the Video and wish to be… Cinderella

(Good luck with that)

Video Credit: CaliforniaDreamin1

“Life is a Cabaret”

Never forget that.

 

 

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

The Shonnie Saga Continues

Video Credit: Renato Spallucci

Parts One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six 

***

We freshened up, got dressed, and headed down to the Casino floor. Generally I don’t gamble in The Plaza, but this night I was freshly feeling full of myself and wanted to capitalize on that feeling before the fresh wore off. Allow me to explain something: I do not believe in Santa, The Easter Bunny, Karma, Fate, Oklahoma, or God. But I do believe in Dama Fortuna, and I could sense her radiance shining down upon me that night. The casino 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’, pulling out a crisp one dollar bill, I fed it into the machine. “Pull the lever and stand by,” I said to her.

“I’ve never gambled before,” she said.

“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.”
“Pear who? Okay,” she said, “Here goes nothing,” while pulling the Bandit’s one arm.”

“I certainly hope not,” I said, as we watched the cylinders spin.

Double bar. Double Bar. Double Bar! Casino silver dollars poured into the tray, making that oh so magical sound of metal raining on metal. One hundred bucks! A propitious beginning!

“Oh My Fucking God!” she screamed.

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

“Wow! Look at all that shiny money!”

“It’s yours. Take that 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 and pulling at my collar, breathed into her ear, “Speak into the microphone My Dear.”

“Lance, you’re crazy!”

“Yeah. 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?”

“Smart ass!”

“Ok then. We should be fine.”

Craps is the best game known to man. I love the high-energy. The camaraderie. The cacophony. The excitement. The electricity. The laughter. The tears. The suspense as the galloping dominoes bounce down the table. And last but certainly not least, the ability to win (and sometimes lose) large amounts of money in a very short time. And yes, I am what some might call, a ‘Dice Degenerate’. Started when I was hustling crap games in Junior high. In the hall ways between classes. Only got busted once. 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. 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 be the shooter.

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 players: Players who are having fun. 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. Savvy crap shooters recognize the early warning signs of ‘The Atmosphere of Doom’ and fly away like scalded rabbits just before, or 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 turning time.)

Looking down the side of the table, opposite the ‘Boss’ and the dealers and the stick men and all, I studied the players. There was a young couple to the right of ‘Normal Guy’. Right out of “Honey Moon Ville,” I guessed. Next to them stood a 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 lane. At the far end of the table there was a young bleach-blond hanging onto the arm of another elderly well-dressed business man. (‘A man and his Hooker’, I ungraciously thought). Next to them 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, craps players are infamously superstitious. And I was certainly no different.

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 after the present ‘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 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 said, “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 $45 dollars, plus of course our pass line bets with the odd’s bets behind them.)

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 put my hand on her neck, pull her ear to me and say, “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 ‘ahead’.

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

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

The ‘table’ agrees and I see chips of all colors dropping to the ‘Pass Line’.

Shonnie and I both drop one each green chip onto the Pass Line. Yes. I was confident. All bets now placed, I watch as she picks up the dice. Picked them up as one might imagine someone picking up a rotten banana, or a dead rat.

“They won’t bite,” I assured her. Just toss them at the end of the table. Oh and shake ‘em a little. But you can only use one hand when tossing them.”

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

“Hun, this ain’t a league of your own. Use one hand or they will frown and be perverse.”

“Okay,” she said. Then after shaking the dice a bit, she wound up… and threw! Right over the heads of the players at the far end of the table on off into space.

Collective groan from the table. In craps, the absolute worst thing one can do is miss the fucking table. It is always bad Juju. Ninety-Nine times out of a 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 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 try.

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!

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 minutes: an eon in ‘Craps’ Time. We won almost a grand, (thanks to my recklessly wild betting and the favor of Dame Fortuna. And of course 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 like this.

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

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

“Nope. We’re done here, but thanks.”

Shonnie and I gathered our (now mostly black–$100 chips—and I led her away)

“What now!” She demanded.

“Blackjack”

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

“Yeah, I know.”

 To Be Continued…  HERE Part Eight

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

Shonnie Saga Continues (Unsuitable for minors and miners: Adult Content)

Parts One   Two  Three  Four  Five

***

She dropped her robe and lay back on the bed. I had to pause a moment and fill my eyes. Her petite body was perfection. She was very light-skinned (not my usual ‘type’—truly I have always been a ‘brunette-with-a-tan’ man; never had any luck with blonds at all, but Shonnie was a different kind of blond. 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, thus denying me any direct look at my lustfully desired target. A better scripted scene could not have been created by even Howard Hawks. (Thinking ‘To Have and Have Not’ here—Bogie an’ Bacall). 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. 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 slowly 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 that so fine little firm ass of hers, I pulled her on top of me. She straddled me sitting full upright and as I kept my hands on her hips, she fucked me with what could almost be described as pure violence. Embarrassed to report, but about twenty seconds after I entered her, I was spent. She didn’t complain though, as she rolled off of me and lay on her back, both of us panting, sweating, but completely and blissfully sated (and spent)

As Joni began singing ‘Refuge Of The Roads’, Shonnie said, “Reach me a cig, will ya Baby?” (First time she had called me ‘Baby’. I kind of liked the sound of it. I lit two Marlboros at once, Movie Style, handed one to her, and we lay back, smoking and began (between giggles) 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?”

Vid Credit: 

JoniJourney

To Be Continued… Here

“Will you still love me? When I get back to town?”