Critical Mass

The sun broke over the horizon just as the 737's wheels hit the runway at McCarran. It had been over a year since I was here last, and it's one of the few places other than home that I miss when I'm not there. I had really come to love this town, and as much work as the trade shows were, it never really felt like work when it was in Vegas. Plus, there was a big NHRA drag racing event out at the speedway...and I was arriving Halloween morning...

Surreal. I remember that not too long I'd get this sick feeling just seeing those signs along the highway coming into town, warning potential marijuana users of the draconian punishments they'd face for the tiniest infraction. Now there's signs in the terminal letting you know where you can pick up your weed cards. It was one of those signs I was looking at when I spotted her.

Fucking stunning. Tall, a perfect, modern Betty Page, even though she was just dressed in jeans and a jacket. I tried to keep an eye on her as the nice old couple I was chatting with on the plane asked if I'd like to share a cab up to Fremont Street. I'd made arrangements to have my rental car waiting at the hotel, so I was up for the offer...but in the second I'd glanced away the black haired Goddess had vanished.

I had a list a mile long of the things I had to do, but when those things are to be done in Vegas, priorities change quickly. I checked into The Four Queens, and headed across the casino to the elevator to my room. I really started to feel my lack of sleep, and foregoing the drag races that day for a few hours of shuteye started to make a lot of sense. I stared out at the flashing lights of the casino as the elevator doors began to close...and there she was.

I could have bumped the door open and headed back out there...like a tourist with all my baggage and crap, but the instant I spotted her, I knew she was probably staying on Fremont, if not The Four Queens. I headed upstairs. A couple of guys in the elevator were talking about how fast the cars were running out at the track, records were being shattered and the competition was fierce. As much as it appealed to me, I suspected that Halloween on Fremont would the real entertainment...

I wound up sleeping the entire day, and came down around nine thirty that evening, refreshed, anxious, strangely energized...the crowd already building as the spectacle began to unfold...wild costumes, incredible women, music...fucking insanity. I thought about that woman...and realized the best way to spot her if she was anywhere was to just take it all in...

I can't imagine not staying on Fremont Street when in Vegas. The first few times I visited, I wound up on the Strip, and it was everything I hate..fake everything, in vulgar, pointless excess. Fremont, it feels like home somehow, but maybe it has something to do with the fact that when I was a kid I was morbidly obsessed with nuclear weapons, and had {among many others}, a photo on the wall of my room of Fremont street with a mushroom cloud off in the distance. Somehow, that image became an inviolable reality...unfakeable as Sinatra.

The crowd thickened, the costumes and characters becoming more outrageous to the point where the onlookers became the obvious...lots of folks here for the drags, wearing their race fan clothes, the tribes wearing colors supporting their favorite teams and drivers...Vegas..races...out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the best costume I've seen all night; a spot on Hunter S. Thompson, aviators, cheap Las Vegas see-thru green visor, his mannerisms perfect, garishly incongruous with the small group of identically dressed race fans who seem to be his compadres...I walk by him and give him the big thumbs up, just as the black haired Goddess comes out of nowhere and takes his arm. Across the airport terminal, or the casino, she was gorgeous. Face to face, literally breathtaking...Hunter S. Thompson, you lucky fuck...still getting laid from beyond the grave.

The mass swirled, more than thirty thousand people crammed down on the street. The crowd became prettier as the night progressed, hipsters, off duty showgirls and working girls replacing tired race fans, visitors staying on the strip cabbing it down to Fremont once word spread of the chaos in old Vegas. A killer Marilyn Monroe flashes by...half baked Japanese Elvis...then another...I spot Hunter S. and Betty Bombshell through the crowds...she does not seem to be shy about being touched by strangers...or flashing a pair of amazing fucking tits to other Betties...I get close to her, turn to look at an evil mechanical carnivore, the crowd churns around me...I can smell her, but she's vaporized...it's getting late, and I know I have not seen the last of her...best head back towards the hotel..

I always forget about the bells, not that they bother me. Actually, I find the sound of church bells at the core of Vegas in the morning proper and civilized. Not in the sense of God calling to sinners, or where the hell are you going to go when you've blown every dime, but simply as a public temporal reminder. Wake the fuck up. Get on with your day.

In my opinion,the best restaurant in the world is at Number One Fremont Street. Du-Par's is so good that I have stood up rich, important customers who wanted to go for overpriced sushi or to Gordon Ramsey's so I could go to Du-Par's and have the chicken pot pie. Or, the corned beef hash. Which is exactly what I planned on ordering for breakfast, along with a slice of peach pie. This was something on the Vegas priority list not to be meddled with.

"Good Morning, honey, jus' fo' one?"

"Yeah..."

"'ju OK at the lunch counter?"

"That would be great, thanks."

"OK, follow me...poor baby, gonna have to have breakfast sitting next to a PRETTY lady..."

Fuck Me. There's Betty. T-shirt, jeans, no makeup...and even more devastating unadorned. I try to keep my cool, reminding myself to not think about the fact that I'd gotten myself off in the shower thinking about her last night, and again this morning when intellectualizing church bells did nothing to relieve the raging fucking hardon I woke up with...

Her food arrived as I sat down, giving me a chance to take a deep breath and take stock of this insane adolescent rush...

"Wow...Eggs Benedict.. that looks incredible..and I thought I knew coming in here what I was going to order..."

"Mmmmm, yeah, it was this or the corned beef hash.."

I ordered the corned beef hash, and peach pie.

"Hi, I'm Heidi.." She extended her hand.

I felt like roadkill, in the instant before it becomes roadkill. Stunned. A line from Iggy Pop's 'Sister Midnight' looped though my head..."I am an Idiot for You..."

"Mike...nice to meet you."

We chatted politely, as tourists do, what brings you to town, any plans, sightseeing, the routine played out almost farcically. She was thick with the smell of sex, her nipples stiffening as I glanced at her t-shirt.

"So are you going to the drags today Mike?"

"Probably should, say hi to some friends. Gonna be cold today, dense air, serious tailwind. Records will be broken...so will engines." Suddenly I felt like some boring car geek...

"Yeah, my husband got dragged out of the hotel at seven thirty this morning by the guys he works with so they could head out there...he wasn't too happy about it, but it's part of the reason for the trip here...he figured there is fuck all happening before noon, but...yeah, he's not like most car guys. I don't even think he IS a car guy, you know, like the guys he works with...but he's a great machinist and scary fucking smart...and tends to keep it to himself."

"Is he the guy I saw you with last night down on Fremont? Showing no particular Fear...or Loathing?"

She smiled broadly, opening beyond the static point of daily politeness. Her stunning green eyes narrowed, as she slid forward ever so slightly...

"Watching me, hmmm? Should I be worried? It's not that I didn't notice you checking me out at the airport yesterday. And you nearly got out of the elevator when you saw me at the casino..." Her hand slipped across the counter, brushing against mine as she reached for the sugar.

"Interesting. Who is watching who?"

"That's a good question, Mike... you do like to watch, don't you?"

Next thing I know, our curvy little waitress is telling me how much I'm gonna love my breakfast as she lays it out in front of me, topping off my coffee and giving me the wink about my breakfast partner. In the time it took to wait for the best breakfast I'd ever eaten, this woman seated next to me had gone from stranger that had inflamed complete irrational lust in me at first glance to captivating bombshell who was making her intentions very clear. I glanced over at her and caught her smiling at the fuss the waitress was laying on me...

"So, Mike. You COULD go watch the races...or, maybe you'd like to hang out with me today? Saturday in Vegas, I'm sure there's plenty to do..." She looked me in the eye, adding, "You seem to have a pretty good idea of what's going to happen at the track anyway."

I knew exactly what would happen. I'd ditch my VIP credentials, score a general admission ticket and become a face in the crowd so I could just hang out with regular gearheads from Bakersfield or North Vegas, and shoot the shit with guys and gals who build their own cars on working class budgets and street smarts...like I did when I started out. If I was going to hang out with any of my customers or friends who are Famous Race Car Drivers, it wouldn't be at the track anyway. But, thinking about it, the idea of sitting out there when the wind was fucking howling and the sun started going down did not seem nearly as pleasant as the prospect of spending the day with my very interesting new friend...

We finished breakfast and sauntered down Fremont, not bothering with my ever changing selection of shades and hats, thinking that the fans who'd recognize me would already be at the track. Wrong...in front of the Golden Nugget I can hear a couple of East Coasters hollering my name...I try to just continue my conversation with the lovely Ms. Heidi, but here they come, Sharpies and souvenir ball caps in hand from a company I sold twenty years ago. Spent a couple of minutes signing their hats and chatting with them, until Ms. Heidi took me by the arm, suggesting that we run up to 'our' room so she could grab her sweater...

"So, what's the deal, are you famous or something? Do people come up to you all the time and pester you like that?"

Good question. I explained to her that among car types I'm pretty well known, that I've started, bought and sold several companies over the years that build "hot rod parts", among other things.

She looked at me, glancing up and down the street at the dozens of car types.

"Hmmmm. Y'know, Mike, I don't believe you got around to answering me, back at the restaurant...when I asked if you like to watch...I mean, it's pretty obvious you do like to people watch...but how about we, umm, raise the ante, it IS Vegas..."

Just then another bunch recognized me, louder than the last guys, hooting my name with last night's decaying bourbon vapor. Heidi scanned them as they approached, and immediately put herself between them and me, continuing with her offer of raising the ante...and not being shy about it.

"...tell me that you have better things to do today than come up and watch me, Mike. You have had your eyes on me since you landed here yesterday. Don't you want to see more of me...see me get more, comfortable?...show you my toys?"

It was the very first time I had completely ignored people trying to get my attention. Clearly, these guys were still hammered from the night before, half of them oblivious to the fact I was being publicly seduced by a gorgeous woman, the others hooting about it like fucking hillbillies...

"..c'mon, I know you are fucking dying watch me play with my pussy...just like you're dying to watch me crawl across the room and unzip those Levis with my teeth..."

How fucking dense could these guys be? I'm kind of busy, fellas, can you see that? And you're asking stupid questions about shit no one has bothered with for thirty fucking years? With the most beautiful woman any of them will probably ever see standing right there, offering me everything on the menu? I took Ms. Heidi by the arm and headed into the hotel, never saying a word to any of them.

As I suspected, Heidi was also staying at The Four Queens. She and her husband had a room in the North Tower on the same floor as their entourage, two floors above mine. Ms. Heidi, however, also had a room...fuck, a suite, in the South Tower. She unlocked it, and the smell of sex nearly flattened me...

"Welcome to our playroom, Mike...sorry, still a bit of a mess, had a little party up here last night. We met some hot Marilyn Monroe lookalike downstairs...her and I nearly fucked my husband into a coma...unfortunately, he left his, uh, toothbrush and razor in the other room...and when he went to grab it is when his crew were just heading to the track. He didn't bother to take a shower and wore his sex soaked Hunter S. outfit to the races just to piss them off..."

I stood in the entry as the door closed behind me, the smell of well fucked women providing the potent backdrop to what I visualized happening here only a few hours earlier; full on three way featuring Betty Page, Marilyn Monroe and Hunter S. Thompson...the sheets on the bed still damp and warm, holding on to the last intense moments of carnal depravity far longer than nature intended. I imagined that fireball in the photo I stared at throughout my childhood had a similar effect on the desert beneath it...

Yeah...I like to watch. In this case, 'like' may not be a powerful enough word...

She stood across the room, facing me. The look on her face made it very clear that this was as much about her being watched as me watching her...

She peeled off her t-shirt, her breasts full and deliciously pendulous, nipples rock hard...somehow they were more gorgeous than they were when she was flashing them the night before. She unzipped her jeans, smiled, and with one smooth, sharp shake of her hips, was standing extravagantly naked in front of me...my prick was aching, beads of sweat were rolling off of my forehead. If this woman was as serious about being watched as I was about watching her, I was more than happy to indulge her...I sat down, got comfortable, and let her show me what she was all about...

What she was about was not shy...sitting down on the edge of the bed, slowly spreading her legs as she stroked herself. Her eyes moved to my crotch, watching as my cock throbbed, sliding her fingers into her fuck swollen, dripping pussy. She began to moan, her voice shaking...her legs quivering...her entire body drawn in as it became clear she was still riding the Orgasm Express. Fluid ran from her body; semen dripping from her magnificent cunt in long, thick, ropey waves, her own juice squirting onto the floor as she furiously stroked her clit. She locked eyes with me, trapping me, immobilizing me as my cock felt as if it would split apart...

...She licked her lips, an evil smile crossing them as she watched me squirm in the chair. Without taking her eyes from mine for a split second, she reached across the bed and dragged an enormous dildo out from under the covers...holding the head of it to her lips she sniffed at it, rolling her tongue around the circumference of it's huge head, licking the sticky frosting from it with an urgency that would indicate that the toy was covered with the juice of another woman. She drew the head of it into her mouth, her lips and tongue absorbing every drop of fuck residue still coating it as she worked it into her throat...her eyes still staring into mine she watched as I began to shake. It was as if I hadn't ejaculated in weeks, I could have dropped my load without any other action other than seeing her gorgeous face sucking the huge dildo she held in her hands...there are women who know exactly how fucking incredible they look while sucking cock, and the gorgeous Ms. Heidi could very well be a contributing editor of any book written on the subject...

I flashed for a split second to my grand fortune...before noon on Saturday in Vegas, a good night's rest and an amazing breakfast behind me, and an unbelievably attractive woman now working a huge dildo into her glorious pussy in front of me...there was no point in trying to make sense of it; there was something about this place in the desert that spoke to me only with silence; had made sense only out of the corner of my eye...how could anyone fully understand a place where the very essence of the universe had been stripped naked and put on display; her terrifying beauty unleashed in a dance too stark and primal to witness in any context that would separate us from the responsibility of our cleverness...

She had been dead right; I had been dying to see this fucking Goddess crawl across the floor, it had been what I'd imagined her doing while getting myself off earlier. Actually watching this perfect creature slinking toward me, in total pheromone overload, was far more intense than I had expected. Her breasts hung heavily, shaking and swaying in counterpoint to her hips...the massive dildo still buried deep in her frothy cunt. Her eyes, deep, wild, unnervingly green, locked on mine as she inched toward me...her hips moving in a wide, deliberate arc as she somehow drew the dildo deeper into herself. Her body flowed into the depth of her arousal; waves and ripples of pleasure danced through her, uncontrollable...her eyes and body drinking in the thrill of being the observed...the focus.

Time became a blur, to look down at her stunning face as she inched the zipper of my jeans down, her body quivering in a state of overlapping petite mal orgasm...was to know that the only thing in the universe that mattered was the singular perfection of the immediate present. My cock fought it's way out of my jeans, every click of the zipper allowing more blood to rush into it; it's mass screaming at this sexy fucking thing to take it into her gorgeous mouth and suck it raw, to experience her in her element...

The most delicious moments in life are rarely what we expect them to be...I could barely feel her tongue on my cock, but it was as if every orgasm I had ever experienced was now gathering inside of my balls. The brutal attack I'd imagined, and craved she would have unleashed upon my aching prick, was now something I seriously doubted I could even survive...her tongue traced invisible lines of unimaginable pleasure up and down my prick, it's painfully engorged head oozing uncontrollably as she toyed with it, her eyes locked on mine...I had seen that look before on the faces of overstimulated cocksuckers, but this woman was in a different league altogether; fellatrix, obsessed, somehow able to plug into the man who's cock she was sucking on a level far beyond biological and physiological. She cradled the head of my cock on her tongue, and slowly drew it into her mouth...

I exploded. The instant I did, she unleashed the intense onslaught that I had woefully underestimated...never allowing my prick to leave her mouth she violently pounded her head up and down into my crotch, taking the length of it down her throat and torturing my balls with her tongue each time she did. She raked her teeth up and down the shaft, sucking the head of it so fucking hard I thought it would rupture, all the while drawing what felt like gallons of cum from my body...she pulled my prick deep into her throat, screaming into the head of it as her body spiraled into wave after wave of convulsive orgasms, the huge dildo that she had buried into her pussy blasted out onto the carpet with a massive torrent of pheromone saturated essence of woman...