Here, in the heart of the desert, an oasis had been born that history had never seen before. It was of magnanimous proportions and it took the notion of what an oasis actually was to unparalleled heights, making it unrivalled as a sort of latter-day Xanadu. People came from far and wide to frolic in this artificial environment. They were drawn by the sheer spectacle of it and they were drawn by the staggering array of attractions that inhabited its towers and spires. Conferences and conventions brought some while the dreams of “hitting” it brought so many more. I was there for a business meeting and, to some degree, my future was bound up in what I was there for. This put me on a sort of knife-edge as I was engulfed by the city, if it might be called that, of Las Vegas.
The meetings had gone quite well for the first two days that I was there and, on the third, I entered into what might be termed a “party” zone with my business associates. The President of the company lived in a ritzy development called Canyon Grove and it was at his house that we convened at to talk business in a more relaxed setting than that of a boardroom or convention floor. In a way, it was almost a relief to get away from “the Strip”, as the area where the hotels stood was known. The urge to gamble and go overboard almost vanished for me when I was outside the environs of the hotel I was staying at.
The Mandalay Bay, for that was the name of the establishment, is a striking example of the far reaches of the creative impulses that surround everything in the city on the desert floor. Here almost anything that one could desire from a vacation point of view had been brought to vibrant life. There were the usual attractions of the gaming tables in astonishing abundance and variety. Slot machines that seemed to number in the thousands chattered away and rang bells and whistles as the hands of those drawn to them fed them. There were several restaurants and also several places that brought a variety of entertainments to their stages. Stores that sold all kinds of luxury goods lined the outer walkways of the casino area and one was hard-pressed to avoid spending outrageously on things that could be termed trivial.
As I wandered these halls of pleasure, I could not help noticing the enticing arrays of human flesh that were everywhere. There were tourists clad in the skimpiest of garments, revealing breasts that seemed to be so visible that anyone so inclined was able to literally feast their eyes on the jiggling globes that were everywhere. The female employees of the Hotel were themselves dressed in outfits that left surprisingly little to the imagination. Once my first meetings were over and I began to really look around me, I began to feel some almost uncontrollable urges pulsing in my loins. Although it was something I only rarely entertained as a possibility, I began to think of what the world of paid sex would offer me in this metropolis of sin. I began to think more and more of singing in the choir in this cathedral dedicated to the notions of naughtiness. Somehow I resisted this impulse since I knew that there could be a high price to pay for such indulgence but the thoughts roamed around in my mind like animals unleashed and a growling in my brain kept reminding me of my horny state.
I was asked to be ready to be picked up in the early afternoon to go to the house of the President of the company and I stopped in at Raffles Café for a relaxed lunch before the appointed time. The waitress who served me was a good-looking woman. Her blonde hair was smartly arranged and she went about her business in a positive way. It was part of working in this environment that one had to at least seem to be in a good mood and wear a smile. This woman did wear a lovely smile along with the skimpy outfit but it seemed to be a little strained to me. Some sort of intuition told me this and I questioned her about what she was actually feeling.
Julia, for that was her name, was somewhat surprised by my line of questioning since almost all of the men she dealt with took a crudely sexist line in the conversational approaches. She seemed amazed that any man seemed to be interested in her internal feelings rather than the curve of her breasts and the jiggle of her buttocks, which protruded from the bottom of her garb almost as much as her breasts did from the top of it. Somehow, right in the thick of it, we connected in a human fashion and a polite conversation ensued as she shuttled food and took orders at a number of tables, including mine. I was not surprised when she told me that she really was sorry that there were rules about fraternizing with the guests of the hotel but as she left my table for the final time, I gazed at her physique with no small amount of longing. I was lost in that gaze when she turned and gave me a really delightful smile that left me wondering how I might find this woman outside of the environs of the Mandalay Bay.
Once I reached the President’s house, he imposed on me to prepare dinner for the twenty or so people who would be there that evening. It had been his intention, he told me, to take everyone out to dinner but that had become impossible with the crowd growing in number to an unforeseen size. Since it was in my own interest and since I loved cooking anyway, I told him that it would be my pleasure to do that for him provided I had some sort of help and provided it was understood that I would not be involved in any clean-up work.
He agreed quickly to this and he gave me several crisp, hundred-dollar bills with which to obtain what I needed for the evening’s entertainment and the keys to his black BMW for transport. We spent the next hour or so talking business and then I began to think about what I would prepare for his guests many of who were friends of mine. I had wanted to go back to the Hotel early so that I could attempt to track down Julia by playing detective but the thoughts of her creamy flesh had perforce to disappear now that I was faced with feeding the dinner party with more than just a barbecue.
I cruised up Sahara in the black BMW, headed out toward Summerlin, which lay, on the western edge of Vegas. Whenever I travel I take my own music along and I barreled toward the crags of the red rocks on the edge of town with sounds pouring out of the premium sound system that occupied the dashboard of the luxury automobile. The throaty voice of the engine, with all of its twelve cylinders, somehow seemed perfect with the cadence of the music I had brought along for my own edification. Several locations for finding the food had been given to me and it was no hardship to be driving this beautiful automobile on this particular mission.
The car rode like a dream and I felt like a spiral on the desert floor, connected over the eons with the movement of rhythmic life eternal, the sounds pounding out in their patterns. That was when I saw her in her car. Julia, driving a blue Nissan and turning into the parking lot of the Wild Oats store, just where I happened to be headed. It seemed almost too good to be true so I geared down and turned into the parking space beside her and emerged from the car I was driving as she emerged from her own.
