tagErotic CouplingsRisking it All in Vegas

Risking it All in Vegas

bybluefox07©

Risking It All In Vegas:

The Story Of Two Literotica Authors


WRITTEN BY:

BLUEFOX07 and SIMPLY_CYN

EDITOR:

Miriam Belle

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

-Be forewarned, this story is about two people taking chances outside their marriages for various reasons. If cheating isn't something you can read about, please don't. Otherwise, read on. It's not an easy story, and I think I speak for both Cyn and myself when I say that the title of the story is very appropriate. This is a story about two people taking chances when maybe they shouldn't be. As a few readers noted earlier, the substance is in the subtext. Cheers! –bluefox07, 10.21.06

-This story is a labor of love between a very talented colleague, Cyn and myself. We actually do have something of a flirtatious relationship, and this story is the realization of that. A lot of heart and soul went into this joint venture, a first for both of us. The narrative shifts back and forth between us, offering a more complete account of our first meeting. I hope you enjoy this as much as we did "researching" and writing it. –bluefox07

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

-This is my first attempt at a collaborative story and I couldn't have handpicked a better co-author or patient teacher. I never would have imagined two authors with two completely different styles could come together and mesh so perfectly that their styles actually blend into one. But I think that we managed to "blend" perfectly. *winks* I hope you enjoy reading it half as much as I enjoyed writing it. But I have to admit, the process getting there wouldn't have been as satisfying if it wasn't for blue. Keep reading! {muah} - simply_cyn


***

Cyn:

I can't believe that I actually had agreed to meet him. This was so unlike me. I think all this erotic writing had finally gone to my head. Was I having trouble separating fantasy from real life? As I sat there packing, worrying over what to take and what he would think and how much could I carry and whether or not this outfit made me look fat... the list went on and on. We were just meeting to collaborate on a story.

That was it.

Period.

Nothing else.

I kept telling myself that. I could hear my voice echoing in the back of my head but the rational person in me kept tugging on my conscience ... "Cyn, what are you doing? You can't meet him. It's not right, even if your intentions are pure."

But were they? Were they pure? I wanted to beat my head against the wall and get rid of the conflicting emotions inside of me even as I continued to pack my most lacy undergarments... things I had never even worn for my husband. But then again, I had ceased to see him as my husband years ago.

We had married so young and against my parents' wishes. But back then I didn't want to listen to the voice of reason ... my father. I wanted to act on what I was feeling at the time. In retrospect, I knew I had done it in my one true act of defiance against him. I had always been "daddy's little girl" and had followed his will obediently my whole life. But when Kyle had come into my life, I had felt a surge of reckless abandon and went with it.

Now as I prepared to meet another man for the first time in my 17-year marriage, I knew my father had been right. Of course, I had realized that very fact many years back but I'm not one to just give up on a commitment. I had stood in front of my family and friends and most importantly, in front of God, pledging to honor and be faithful and everything else that marriage entailed and I took it very seriously. I couldn't just walk away from a promise I had made, even though it had been a huge mistake. Glancing over at the picture of my beautiful nine-year-old daughter, I sighed wistfully.

Promises aside, I knew the one reason I really stayed was because of her. She was the innocent one in all of this and didn't deserve to suffer because I was unhappy.

I could live without passion, couldn't I?

I think that's what had turned me to erotica. I had gone online, I think, in an attempt to escape this mundane life that I lived from day to day. I was searching for something else ... something to fill in the gaps when it came to my womanhood. I was longing for passion, for love and even if I couldn't have it offline, if I couldn't hold it secure in my arms that ached to hold someone, anyone that I could love, I might be able to release some of my pent-up frustrations online with my words.

A friend had introduced me to Literotica, an online place for erotic stories and with my writing ability she had encouraged me to start submitting poetry. Before long the poems weren't enough and I started to write stories ... stories based on my fantasies, my secret longings, my aching heart that cried out for passion and uncontrollable lust ... all those things that I wasn't getting at home from my own pitiful relationship.

That's how I had met him. He had sent me feedback from one of my stories and I remember sitting in front of my computer, reading his words. 'Hello, I'm a fellow writer on the Literotica website and I just wanted to tell you that your stories are the best. They've kept me sane and satisfied through my tumultuous marriage and given me sexual fantasies that are beyond compare. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't completely enamored with your style and you sense of sexuality. Please keep writing and thank you for sharing. Always, an admirer' and he had left his Literotica pen name and his e-mail address.

Now, I don't usually answer "fan mail" unless there is something about it that appeals to me. For instance, I've been asked to write some particular stories for fans, which I don't mind at all. I like to keep my readers happy but with that, you have to be ready for those that don't like that idea because it might go against the grain of my particular style of writing. But I never answer the kind of feedback where readers want to be my "fuck buddy" through e-mail or some kind of crap like that. All they are interested in doing is jacking off while I weave the story.

Uhm ... no thanks! I need a little bit more creativity than doing all the work.

But this guy ... I don't know.

There was something about those few simple words that said, "Cyn, you've GOT to write this guy back!"

Well, I did and honestly I'm not really sure what I said to him but he wrote back almost instantly. Apparently I had caught him online and before I knew it we were e-mailing back and forth and quickly it took on a more sexual nature. Lord, I must have really come across as desperate! Pretty soon, e-mail wasn't enough. We started instant messaging and good god almighty, did that send my libido into overdrive. There was something about him that emulated pure, undulated sexual prowess and the more we talked, the more I wanted him.

But this was just fantasy ... or at least I kept telling myself that.

He had asked me to collaborate on a story with him and honestly, I was flabbergasted. Martin was an amazing writer. He sure didn't need my input but I was intrigued. I really wanted to do this with him. Maybe it had been excuse, not just for him, but for me too because suddenly we had agreed to meet offline to collaborate our ideas; which we could have, honestly, done online just as easily. Yet here I was packing, getting ready to get on an airplane headed for Las Vegas.

With me being in Texas and him in Oregon, neither one of us wanted to be caught with someone other than our spouses. It seemed like the perfect place to meet. You know the old saying, "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." Even though that part of me kept saying, "It's only for collaboration of ideas". Yeah right, whatever. Then how come I was packing my sexiest lingerie from Victoria's Secret? I wanted my bathroom mirror to be impressed I guess.

The drive to the airport seemed to go on forever. It usually takes me about 45 minutes to an hour to get to DFW from where I live but today it seemed to stretch on unmercifully. My stomach was bunched up in little knots and I had to keep wiping my palms on my low-rise blue jeans that I knew showed off my tight, heart-shaped ass just perfectly. They were my favorite pair ... shaped to fit a woman with my type of curves, flared out from mid-calf just enough to give length to my legs with a few ragged holes here and there. Topped with a wrap-around orange and brown silk sleeveless top that tied to the side beneath my full breasts that showed enough cleavage to make any man stop and stare, I knew I looked more than good.

I looked downright fuckable.

I parked out in the remote covered parking and as I was pulling my luggage out of the back of my Ford F-250 (I'm a cowgirl, what can I say?), the transport bus pulled up and a young man hopped out to give me a hand. I couldn't help but notice his strong biceps that seemed to ripple beneath his short-sleeved work shirt as he hefted up my two larger bags with ease. Hey, don't blame me for looking! I'm a secret erotica fiction writer and I'm always looking for my next main character to play out my fantasies in words with. I felt stupid with as many bags as I had just for the short weekend as I took my carry-on and followed him into the transport bus. I was only going to be gone for three days!

I didn't really settle down until I got on the plane and it began to roll down the acres of cement that would take us to the right strip subsequently carry us to Las Vegas. I was a bundle of nerves, my fingers reaching up to smooth the loose curls of my highlighted auburn mane, blue eyes staring out the window as Dallas, Texas quickly sped away. As the plane took off into the air and my stomach flew right up into my throat, my nerves seemed to dissipate some. My fingers unclenched as I took a deep breath and accepted the decisions that I had made that got me here at this point in my life.

I was going and there was no turning back.

***

Martin:

Maybe it was the shared experience I found through Cyn's work that drew me to her like a moth to the proverbial flame. And like that small insect, I proceeded with just as much reason and understanding behind the irresistible pull of her fire. Perhaps it was the fact I had reached a point in my own life where at the age of twenty-five I realized that my marriage had been a farce. My commitment to the stranger sleeping next to me was hollow and only to be taken at face value in the hopes of sparing my children the pain and burden of my own mistakes. My honoring of the vows made that spring day in my parent's backyard in front of so many family and friends was now simply a binding contract to keep me at an unloving woman's side.

But believe me, I hold myself responsible.

I mean, I asked her to marry me.

I loved my children too much to leave them behind. My wife hid from me the fact that she was not only a very verbally abusive woman and impulsively violent (to the point of punching holes in walls and actually slapping me), but also that she meant to control every aspect of my life as well. I believe in the beginning she wanted to simply find a man who didn't beat her or rape her or abuse her children, and she found that in me. She put on her best face as so many of us do and to be fair, my fault was destined to be blindness to the early signs of her manipulations and insecurities.

The further into our marriage we went, the more her true colors showed. It was like finding out the paint job on your new car was a cheap quick fix as it peeled away in the hot August sun. When sex became a whisper of a thought in my home, I turned to my writing. While she ranted and raved about her suspicions and baseless accusations I immersed myself in the written word. My sexual frustrations and desires came to the forefront of my work and Literotica was the ideal outlet. But as much as I enjoyed the writing, it was the reading of other stories that captivated me.

The message to Cyn had merely been meant to let her know how much her work meant to me. I figured she probably got dozens of emails everyday about her stories, and that mine would simply be another note in the mailbox. But the intentions and the emotions behind the words, the messages between the lines of her narrative had intrigued me. The unique vision and sexual fantasies she had unknowingly shared with me had been an anchor through the troubled first year of my marriage.

Later, I would learn that Cyn was going through similar marital problems and that, like me in my own writing, she was living a secret fantasy life she could never have. In the conversations that followed her unexpected response to my email we discovered a mutual attraction driven not only by common ground but also by love of the sensual word. When she showed me a picture of her I was floored. Discovering that the woman I had been fantasizing about for the last few months actually exceeded my high expectations was a wonderful surprise.

While there was some nagging guilt about my attraction to Cyn, I also could not ignore the honesty and kindness this stranger was showing me. In one short day, she showed me more genuine emotion than my wife had in a year. After a few progressively erotic emails, we decided to write a joint story. Both of us being eccentric and I think tired of living in the shadows of happiness, we decided to meet in Vegas and write our opus together. It was insanely bold and exciting. It was sheer lunacy to put so much faith in someone you only knew through words on a computer screen.

But if writing were about one thing, was it not truth?

Bearing all this in mind as I looked out the window of the 737 airliner at the thick white clouds covering the earth below, I cast away any thoughts of doubt. The timing had been perfect for the trip. A medical seminar for certified nurse's aides in Las Vegas gave me a perfect excuse to meet with my muse (at this time, I was working as nurse's aide).

I couldn't forget her blue eyes and the way she smiled at the camera in the picture. Her hair was beautiful, a subtly radiant auburn burst of flame that fell to her shoulders and back in a simple cascade. I hadn't told her so, but I think my heart actually skipped a beat upon seeing that picture.

I rested secure in the knowledge that my children were safe with my parents for the duration of my journey while my wife visited friends in Portland. My heart raced as I restrained a smile, thinking of Cyn and what she would be like. The pulse of the engines mirrored the flow of blood in my veins, the idea of actually being next to her becoming more and more of a reality. I wondered at how she would walk or if she would blush when embarrassed by a compliment.

I was surprised at how quickly I had become attracted to her, and had to remind myself that she probably wouldn't want to sleep with me despite our heavy flirtations. And I could understand that. Our emails were certainly suggestive and our conversations so overtly sexual that it seemed sex was inevitable. But the actual act of making love versus talking about it was a whole other story. More than anything, I simply wanted to see her and be able to have this one moment of happiness. If nothing else, just to hear her voice with my own ears and maybe even touch her hand once.

I could live with an unhappy marriage for the sake of my children, but I needed this connection badly. I needed a kindred spirit... and I wasn't beyond admitting I was lusting after her like a schoolboy over his sexy teacher. I shifted in my seat as persistent visions and slippery thoughts of her naked body rolled across my eyes like a fine mist. The temptation of her sex open and revealed to me was almost too much to play with as I wiped my forehead and took a deep breath.

And then there were her eyes. If her eyes could captivate me so completely with a simple photograph, what would happen in person?

Could I resist her?

Something told me "no" despite my declarations to the contrary.

Oddly enough, I was fine with that too.

***

Cyn:

I couldn't tell you how long it took to get to Vegas ... a lifetime maybe.

In retrospect, I suppose that was true. Here I was, thirty-eight years old, on my way to meet with a twenty-five year old man whom I had only spoken to through e-mails, instant messaging, and ... our stories. The time on the plane was spent mostly staring out the window, watching the intricate patterns God had created on the Earth below. It truly looked like a patchwork quilt and I kept comparing it to how, in my life, all the pieces of what had happened in it until this moment were interweaved in a pattern much like the one happening below. I always believed that every thing in our lives happens for a reason.

What was the reason for meeting Martin?

As the plane landed with only a slight jolt forward, my thoughts were suddenly elsewhere. I could feel the return of those butterflies as I gazed out the window. Even in the daylight, the skyline in Vegas was spectacular. I could make out the tall replica of the Eiffel Tower, the large lion shaped MGM Hotel, the tall tilting glass walls of yet another hotel ... and another ... and another. I smiled, remembering what it looked like at night. You could see the lights for twenty minutes before the plane landed. I could have easily got lost in the city of sin and the idea of shopping and trying my hand at gambling and the sightseeing, but I couldn't think of anything else other than him.

I didn't have to pull out his picture to remember what he looked like. It was branded into my mind's eye just as deeply as if someone had taken a white-hot iron and seared it into my flesh; blonde hair shaven close to his head, bright blue eyes that seemed to say more than he was able to put to words at times, that serious expression on his face that spoke volumes about the things that he kept to himself that I so desperately wanted to know, and the muscular build that, despite myself, caused more erotic thoughts that I wanted to admit to. As much as I had grown to love spending time with him online, sharing story ideas and exchanging thoughts, he was deeply erotic and that coupled with the image of his bulging arms and well toned back and chest was enough to send my ability to fantasize into over drive.

I tried to remain calm as the pilot's meaningless "thank-you speech and all that jazz" echoed over the loud speaker of the jet, signaling all of us to start reaching for our carry-on luggage and what not. Taking a deep breath, I could feel my heart starting to beat like the wings of some wild caged bird that was desperate to get out! I waited my turn to step out into the aisle way, biting back a sudden desire to just sit back down and give way to my fears. Why was I suddenly afraid that he wouldn't want me?

I wasn't here to be with him ... we were only going to meet and write a story! Why was I suddenly scared about how I looked or what I had worn or how my hair looked? I could only bite down on my lower lip as my turn came to step out into the aisle and leave the plane.

I could do this ...

I wanted to do this ...

I had to do this.

I had forgotten that the very first thing that I would see would be rows of slot machines in the airport as soon as you walked off the plane, but then again, this was Vegas. Even the airport gave off that whole extravagant aura that can only be associated with the gambling capital of the world. My steps didn't falter even though my heart was beating a million times a minute. We had agreed to meet at the hotel and I glanced at my watch as I moved through the airport teeming with a wider array of people than I had remembered. Smiling, the only thing missing was a flock of Elvis impersonators.

What was Vegas without them?

By following the signs, I quickly remembered that it was a good ways walk as well as a short trip down the escalators to get to baggage claim, yet before I knew it, I was waiting at the carousel for my luggage. I couldn't help but look around, as if I expected to see him close by doing the same. And if I was honest, I wanted to see him. A part of me wanted that run-into-your-arms experience with him and as I stood there glancing over the slowly spinning choices of luggage I realized that I had come to Vegas for more than just a meeting of the minds.

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