My Secret Rendezvous

I love Las Vegas. You know it's really true what they say: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, except for the memories. Now as I sit here on the plane back home after my conference, waiting for the flight attendants to close the doors so we can push back, I think back to last night.

Our conference had wrapped up around five p.m. My company had three seats for the dinner with the keynote speaker, but I passed mine off to a junior colleague--the guy who gave the keynote was fat, ugly, and had breath that smelled like rancid lake water. I knew because three times he had tried to corner me at the conference where he could talk to me close enough to try to look down at my boobs. He made my skin crawl. I felt like Princess Leia in Jabba-the-Hutt's palace every time he talked to me.

I hadn't been able to step out of the hotel where we were staying and where the conference was held all week, and I wanted to see a bit of the Strip. So I went to my room, got out of my coat and the slacks I had been wearing to keep my legs warm in the frigid ballroom, and I slipped on a pair of comfortable shorts. I debated if I wanted to change my blouse from business attire to something casual, but then I smiled at my tacky look in the mirror. This is Vegas. Who gives a fuck?

I slipped on some footie socks and comfortable walking shoes and headed back down to the lobby. When I stepped outside, the dry heat started to bake me. I will never get used to the desert. I work remotely... and when I say remote, I mean remote. My company's headquarters may be Toronto, but I live in a village in the Northwest Territories that's over one hundred miles from the nearest big box store, and our summer lasts maybe thirty days with daytime highs only about seventeen degrees (that's sixty-three for you monsters who still use Fahrenheit). It might not even get that cool overnight at this time of year in Las Vegas; and by the time I took five steps from the doors, perspiration was popping out all over my face. Goddammit--I needed to get back to air conditioning fast!

I walked as far as I dared before I was going to soak my shorts and blouse with sweat stains, and I ducked into one of the other hotels on the Strip. I didn't even see which one it was. I made straight for the ladies room and got in a stall to wipe the sweat off with some toilet paper. After a few minutes I was feeling cool once again and I stepped out and looked around to get my bearings. There was a bar with a sports book over there, and in the other direction was another bar that looked out over the casino. I'm not much of a gambler, but I like the musical noise of the slot machines and I could see the Craps table not far away. Sometimes it's fun to watch people as they win or lose money, so I headed over and sat down. I ordered a Captain & Coke--boring, I know, but it was my first drink of the evening, and I really didn't know what I was going to do. I knew what I wanted, but I couldn't be sure I would find it.

And then she walked into the bar. She was petite and blond, with a charcoal gray shirt featuring the logo of what I thought must be a local band, and some loose-fitting light-gray shorts. Her hair was the color of straw and fell to her shoulders in a beautiful mess. It didn't look like she had tried to style or perhaps even dry it after her last shower, but the way it hung there naturally was still so damn sexy. Her skin had a light tan--it wasn't pale like most non-Inuit people from my neck of the woods stuck as we were in the frozen tundra--but it wasn't quite as darkly tanned as most people I had seen on the Strip. Blond Straw, I thought--I liked making up nicknames for people that caught my attention, and that's the one I gave her.

She walked up to a barstool about five down from mine and craned her neck like she was looking for someone in particular. Then I heard the clink of keys dropping on the floor and she swore a mild oath. Blond Straw half-turned and bent down to pick up her keys, and I could see the top of her sexy black thong above the waistband of her shorts, and I could feel a tingle between my legs. Be still my beating heart! I thought. She put her keys on the counter, and then she sat on the barstool and started typing something into her phone. Probably waiting for her boyfriend or girlfriend, I thought, and she probably had expected them to already be here.

In a couple of minutes the bartender came from the back and took her order. I didn't hear what Blond Straw ordered over the sound of the casino behind us, and I tried hard not to be too obvious in checking her out. Her shirt wasn't tight, but I could tell enough to know that she had small breasts, perfectly matched to her frame. And as she leaned slightly forward and then back while typing on her phone, I could tell that the air conditioning in the hotel was a little chilly for her. Her perky little nipples poked at the front of that shirt. Not wearing a bra? I thought, and the heat between my legs grew a little warmer.

I nursed my drink until Blond Straw had finished hers. In that time, three people had approached her and talked to her. One was probably old enough to be her grandfather and seemed none too steady on his feet. She mostly ignored him.

Another was a woman who might have once been a knockout thirty years and fifty pounds ago. She wore a blouse three sizes too small, especially considering her boobs were the size of party balloons, and with every step I was afraid for the poor woman that buttons were going to pop off of it. Bustin' Out was the name I gave her. Bustin' Out stepped up and put a hand on Blond Straw's shoulder. The poor girl was so focused on whatever or whoever she was messaging on her phone that she actually jumped like she was startled. She turned in my direction to look at Bustin' Out and I could finally see her face clearly. Blond Straw was gorgeous and relatively young. I doubted she was drinking a virgin version of whatever she had, so I knew she must be at least eighteen--no, wait, this was the United States... was the age twenty-one in Nevada or something else? She couldn't be more than twenty-three I guessed, so I presumed she was at least a year or two younger.

Bustin' Out took a step back, clearly embarrassed that she had startled Blond Straw. I heard the alto murmur of the older woman's voice--whatever she said was again masked by the sound of the casino. Bustin' Out was trying to put a reassuring hand on Blond Straw's shoulder, but the body language of the younger woman said, no thanks. It was clear the girl was trying to be polite; it was also clear that attention from Bustin' Out wasn't what she was seeking.

Then I saw Douchebag walking toward the bar. Douchebag is a name I give to any man that deserves it. You know the type. He's in his late forties to mid fifties, he has a South Beach tan and usually a Cuban or Hawaiian shirt that is unbuttoned nearly to his navel and a forest of gray hair spilling out. And dollars to donuts he is wearing a necklace with a gold razor blade on it. Most of the time Douchebag has a beer gut. This time he didn't; but he was wearing cargo shorts and he was walking to the bar like he owned the whole damn casino. He could see Blond Straw's body language as easily as I could, and he thought he was going to be her white knight. Douchebag walked up and placed his palm on Blond Straw's back, rubbing it familiarly. She jerked her head around toward him immediately, and then Bustin' Out did something that actually earned my respect. She chose a new target.

As Douchebag tried to introduce himself to Blond Straw, Bustin' Out walked around to the far side of him and draped an arm across his shoulders, then she pushed those big party balloon titties right into his neck so that when he turned her direction, his face was full of them. Normally, I'm not a fan of big boobs, but every now and then they come in handy. You go girl! I thought.

Whoever Blond Straw had been waiting for had not shown up after almost fifteen minutes. I couldn't be sure, but I had to take a chance. If I wanted anything out of this last night in Vegas, I would have to toss the dice. I caught the bartender's attention, and I told him I wanted another Captain & Coke, and I wanted to buy Blond Straw another of whatever she was drinking for her trouble. He nodded, and when he went to Blond Straw, I saw her quizzical look and then the bartender pointed at me. I nodded and smiled politely, not wanting to approach if she preferred to be left alone. She had enough unwanted attention for one day.

A smile bloomed on Blond Straw's face, and she pointed to the barstool next to me. I smiled warmly and patted it. Speaking of heat, the tingle between my legs was starting to get revved up. Blond Straw grabbed her keys and walked toward me. Her gait seemed natural and unpretentious, but it was also so fucking sexy. I was reminded of something that a literary hero of mine, George R.R. Martin, once said in a couple of lines of dialog. Sam Tarley said, "I love to watch a woman walk away," to which Dolorous Edd replied, "I always prefer watching them walk toward me." Yes, Edd--I agree with you, I thought.

"Thank you," Blond Straw said. Her voice was sweet, musical, and sexy. I thought her orgasms must sound like the song of the angels, but it was too soon to have any confidence I might hear that for myself.

"You're welcome. You looked like you could use a little rescue there." I gave her a smile and extended a hand. "My name is Kelsey."

"Hi," she replied as she took my hand. Her skin was smooth, silky, and warm. Her touch made the heat and desire between my legs grow even more. "My name is..." a mischievous smile crossed her lips. "You can call me Secret."

I decided to push my luck. We were in Vegas, after all, and near the Craps tables. I was going to have to roll the dice if I wanted anything out of this last night in town. Working as a graphic designer for an ad agency, I had an encyclopedic knowledge of old products and tag lines. Secret was an antiperspirant from one of the big conglomerates in the USA that for decades had a famous tagline. "Secret--strong enough for a man, but made for a woman?" I smiled at her. If this went bad, I could tell her the story of the product and maybe salvage a conversation over a drink.

Secret actually blushed. "Made for the right woman, maybe..." she said coyly.

"And what kind of woman would that be?" I asked.

"Well Kelsey," she said. "For one, she wouldn't be pretentious. Vegas is a town of the most wonderful freaks, and she wouldn't care what anyone thought of what she was wearing."

That sounded encouraging.

"And she would have to be a woman who knows what she wants and is not afraid to let a girl know."

If the tingle between my legs got any stronger, I was going to start having to grind on my barstool.

"And then of course, I have a type." She started describing eyes, a build, a bust, and hair that was all remarkably like mine.

"I wonder where we might find someone like that?" I replied. "I think maybe I saw one staying on the same floor of my hotel."

Secret's smile widened. "It looks like my trip over here wasn't wasted after all. I was going to meet one of my girlfriends here to go to the gym when she got off work. But she ditched work two hours ago and her boyfriend took her out with him to play golf." I note she didn't really sound disappointed.

I got the bartender's attention and asked for my check. When I told Secret which hotel I was staying at, she said that the casinos all interconnected between here and there, and we could walk all the way back without having to go back out into that damned blazing heat.

We stood, and after we took a few steps I extended a finger and let it slide down Secret's forearm toward her palm. She took my hand and we smiled at each other as we walked back to my hotel. I let one finger gently stroke the side of her hand as I held it. I noticed that her nipples were tentpoling her t-shirt again, and she had a pleasant smile on her face. Her lips were slightly open, showing just a little bit of teeth. Those lips looked delicious, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to wait until we got all the way to my room to taste them.

We were in the elevator at my hotel riding up to the thirty-seventh floor when I kissed Secret for the first time. The tingle between my legs was an ache now, and I had been able to feel my own moisture as we walked back to my hotel from the bar. When the elevator started up, I turned to face Secret and pushed her gently to the wall of the car. I placed both my hands on hers and then slid them up her forearms, letting my fingertips slide along her silky skin. I brought my hands up across her shoulders and her neck to her face, until my fingertips rested just below and beside her ears. I looked into Secret's eyes and she looked into mine. Her smile mirrored my own, and as I leaned forward she half-closed her eyes and raised her chin.

Secret's lips were soft, warm, and wet. I gave her no tongue on my first kiss, or my second, or my third. She tasted even more delicious than I had anticipated, and I couldn't resist any longer. I extended my tongue between my teeth on our fourth kiss, and Secret's arms went around me, hugging me fiercely. I gave into my need and we kissed deeply. As our bodies pressed together, I realized I was right--Secret was not wearing a bra. Her nipples poked into my flesh and mine answered. Of course, I still had my sports bra on under my blouse, so I couldn't return the pleasant feeling Secret's nipples were giving me just yet. Our lips made sloppy, wet, sucking sounds as we kissed. Our tongues danced a ballet together in our mouths, sliding over and around and against each other as our breath came deeper and quicker. I hugged her, and I tried to resist the urge to grind against her in the elevator where anyone watching the security monitors could see us.

Secret grabbed and squeezed my ass, and then my right hand went down to clamp on hers, pulling her pelvis into my hips and rubbing the front of my shorts against hers--so much for my last shred of modesty. It felt like we had been kissing for hours; it felt like we had barely started when the chime of the elevator announced we had reached my floor. I pulled away from her lips reluctantly, and a strand of saliva connected us for a few centimeters before it broke. "I think we can get a good workout together," I said, and I led her out of the elevator to my room.

Secret slid her feet out of her laceless walking shoes as soon as we got into my room. She padded over to the king size bed on bare feet while I hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside door handle. When I turned, she was seated on the bed. She looked at me with her head cocked slightly to one side, and she bit the corner of her bottom lip as she smiled. It made her look sexy, innocent, and irresistible all at the same time. "You are so fucking hot," I said as I walked over to sit down beside her on the bed.

I slipped my right arm around Secret's waist as we resumed kissing deeply and wetly. My left palm went to Secret's sexy abs, and I slid it up across the cotton fabric of her t-shirt until I was cupping her right breast. Her breast was small, but it was firm and meaty in my palm. I squeezed gently at first, and then repeated with harder pressure until Secret moaned softly. Between each squeeze my hand twisted slightly, and I let my thumb slide across her areola and brush against her nipple. I felt her smile through our kisses, and I could sense the tiny quivers of pleasure that my touch was causing.

After a few minutes of kissing we lay down fully on the bed together, shifting our position slightly so that I could alternate the attention I was giving her breasts while we continued kissing. Now every time I brushed either her right or left nipple through her shirt, Secret gave an involuntary moan. I knew what those moans meant from me, and I hoped they meant she was ready to escalate as well. I slid both my hands down to the hem of Secret's shirt, and she lifted her arms up to let me pull her shirt off. Before I did, I slowed my kisses, finally sucking her bottom lip between mine as I looked into her eyes with smoky heat. I held her lip in mine for a couple of seconds before releasing it, then pulled back enough to lift her shirt off over her head.

I let my gaze fall slowly across Secret's chest and took in her breasts. She had small, pale areolas set in creamy, white skin, and her nipples stood erect proudly. "If you told me you were a goddess, I would believe you," I said. I placed my hands lightly on her sides at her rib cage and I began stroking her breasts with the pads of my thumbs. I resumed kissing her as I let my hands gently engulf both of her breasts, rubbing all of my fingers across her nipples as I massaged the mounds and areolas with varying degrees of pressure, squeezing and releasing again and again. I positioned my right hand so that Secret's left nipple rested between my middle and ring finger, and then I slowly slid my hand up and down, stimulating her areola and both sides of her nipple simultaneously. Secret's moans grew more intense.

My kisses left Secret's mouth and traveled down her chin and neck. When they reached her breastbone, I worked moisture into my mouth and I moved my lips over to her left breast. I puckered my lips around her left nipple and kissed her areola slowly. I slurped wetly with mild suction on her nipple as I kissed it several times. Then I opened my mouth wider and I let my tongue flicker across her nipple. Secret's moan was the loudest yet, and now her hips were slowly grinding against the mattress of my bed, her need growing inside as much as my own was. My mouth opened wider still, and I swirled my tongue slowly around Secret's areola and across her nipple. Then I sucked as much of her breast as I could into my mouth with gentle pressure as I lapped my tongue across her nipple. Finally I released the suction and then I gave her nipple little butterfly flickers with my tongue. I was trying to guage what she liked best, and by the way she was responding, it seemed she liked them all.

I spent perhaps three minutes worshipping her right breast with my mouth, then I moved to her left one. Now my left hand was massaging her saliva-slickened right breast while I gave its twin some attention with my mouth and tongue. I alternated my hand and mouth between each breast for perhaps two or three minutes at a time, going back and forth about three or four times before moving hungrily back up to kiss Secret some more. Now she was tugging at my blouse, and I helped her get my shirt off. Before it was all the way off, she had pulled one of my breasts out of my sports bra and she was sucking hungrily on it like a babe that was starving. As she sucked on my breast and stimulated my areola and nipple with her tongue, she looked up into my eyes with a hungry, sultry expression.

"Oh, fuck! You are so goddamn sexy!" I told her. "I want to taste every centimeter of you tonight." Eventually I got all the way out of my bra and I lay back on the pillow, watching Secret suck on my breasts and running my fingers slowly through her hair. After a few minutes, she repositioned to kiss me, and now our breasts pressed together. Both of our nipples were standing at full attention and the sensation of them rubbing on each other's skin brought groans of delight from our throats.

I wrapped my left arm around Secret's waist and I slid my right hand down to the front of her shorts. I slipped my fingers into the waistband and felt the warm wet heat of her panties. An intoxicating, musky scent filled my nostrils--the exotic spice that was unique to Secret's sweet sex.

"I've been wearing these panties all week," she confessed with a mischievous grin.

"Oh you naughty, naughty girl!" The front of her panties were soaked, and I stroked my middle and ring fingers up and down the length of her slit, letting the moisture and her hot scent build on my digits. I raised my fingers to my lips and sucked on them, getting my first taste of Secret's pussy. I savored the sweetness and moaned my approval at her flavor.