A couple nights after Jeri's visit, Fritz called to talk to both Ron and MaryAnn. "Hey folks I just got back from Sacramento. Suddenly I'm the Golden Boy in politics and the nabobs up north have been teaching me how to comport myself in the nation's capital. I leave for Washington in a couple weeks to settle in, but first things first.
"When we can make the arrangements Jeri and I are going to keep a promise to ourselves. We're taking a three-day vacation in Las Vegas and Jeri insists insist our favorite campaigners come along -- all on us."
Ron asked, "Surely you don't mean 'all on us?' Is this legal?"
Fritz chuckled. "Great minds think alike Ron. I was concerned about that too, but my advisors tell me it's completely legal. After all this is my money. I made a bit at lawyering you know. In any case I owe you folks big time. You made it happen. Now shut up about it and let us treat our best friends to a three-day getaway."
Ron and MaryAnn were indeed ready for a vacation and one with two good friends sounded like a wonderful idea.
When they hung up MaryAnn asked her husband, "Do you think Jeri is sexy darling?"
"Oh my god yes. She has a figure that would look good in a porn flick, but you know what really excites me?"
MaryAnn reflected that he wouldn't have been quite so candid before they started swinging. She hugged him, fondled his crotch and whispered, "What about her excites you. . ohh did I cause that?" She grasped his burgeoning cock.
"I think you have been talking dirty to someone. . . but, Jeri? You want to know what about her excites me? Like you, she's honest. I'm certain she doesn't lie. I wonder if she ever even faked an orgasm?"
MaryAnn answered, "If she did it was with her husband. . . unless she was lying about never being with someone else of course."
"I knew it! You were telling family secrets, and apparently so was she. Does that affect us in any way, say, in Las Vegas?"
"I hope so."
All at once the atmosphere was charged with sexual potency. His mind was on Jeri, and on MaryAnn's response to his oblique question. Her hand had invaded his pants and was gently stroking his cock. He pushed his own hand up under her sweater and tweaked her nipples. She felt like she was nineteen, on a date, and being seduced by a boy she really liked.
She decided to let her would-be lover skip second and third bases and head for home. She sat down on the couch. He joined her, kissed her, then started to feel her up. She would be a pushover, literally. A slight push and she fell back on the couch. He eased her back and she lay down, her skirt up around her waist. Then she pulled him on top of her. He pulled down her panties, dropped his trousers, and moved on top.
She guided it in and they had one of the fast fucks they had learned to love lately. She met every stroke with one of her own. Within a few minutes he commenced with those short fast ones, uttered "I love you MaryAnn" for the umpteenth time of the session, then he held it tight inside her and it happened.
As they lay there, still entwined, she asked him, "Good eh?"
He kissed her again and said, "The best."
"Think I'm better than Jeri would be?"
Ron had been thinking exactly that, but decided against saying it. "Oh of course not."
As she pushed him off her, she gave with that wicked smile she had when she was up to something, "If you ever find out, let me know."
Within a week all arrangements had been made and four middle-aged, but giddy people were off to the city of sin, a place that promised "Whatever happens in Las Vegas Stays in Las Vegas." Jeri thought about the slogan, but she just wasn't sure things would happen. She underestimated her friend who, herself, had no doubt at all. MaryAnn didn't wait for things to happen. She made them happen. After all she had engineered the impossible election of Jeri's husband.
Fritz spared no expense. He had rented a penthouse suite complete with two adjoining bedrooms, a spacious living room, and a fantastic view of the lights of Paris, New York, Rome, and Camelot. On weekends the suite generally was comped to a whale, a high-roller among high-rollers -- one of those guys who routinely bet ten grand at a pop. Ron had to pay for the room. It was much less expensive than gambling enough to get a place like this "free."
The first night's agenda included dinner in the finest restaurant on the strip, some dancing in a skyroom, then a couple hours of giving money back to the house at the gaming tables. The four of them were overdressed for a casual town like Las Vegas. Both guys wore a suit and tie, and looked spiffy in them. MaryAnn and Jeri both wore dresses, both were low cut, and looked hot in them.
When they met in the living room, MaryAnn, remarked, "Hey Jeri, we look like a couple high class hookers. We will have to hang out around the big stakes tables and show our tits."
Jeri, by now used to MaryAnn's brashness, pulled her dress away from her breasts briefly exposing her nipples and asked, "Wonder how much these would go for?"
MaryAnn noticed Ron bending over to get a good look. She said, "I'm sure they are worth only about a thousand -- each."
It was going to be a great evening. MaryAnn promised herself that she would be very circumspect in her drinking. She loved the excitement this evening promised but wanted to control the excitement.
At the top restaurant on the strip, she ordered bouillabaisse and wondered if the shellfish really acted as a sexual stimulant, not that she figured she needed it. She also passed up on white wine in order to sip a Burgundy. She was feeling good enough not to need any liquor to reach some sort of nirvana.
The conversation was casual and free flowing, not much politics but a lot of social comments. All considered themselves freethinkers and avoided dogma. Jeri seemed to spend a lot of time looking at Ron, just as MaryAnn figured she would.
Then to the club in the skyroom. A live band was there. MaryAnn hardly missed a dance, except to turn down a guy who insisted "Hey little lady, come on. If something happens we can leave it here, just like they say." She reflected that under different circumstances it might be an adventure but she did have on an expensive dress, and her would-be paramour looked as if he might not hold his supper. She gave him a smile and a "no, but thanks for asking."
Fritz asked, "How much do you think you could have got for an hour or so?"
"Less than I'll lose in a couple hours playing Texas Hold-em. Now dance with me before Mr. Drunk comes back."
The evening was off to a nice start. Fritz was a good dancer and she moved in closer than he expected. When he looked down at her she smiled and said, "We are good friends aren't we.?"
He smiled back and commented, "Jeri said you two had the best conversation since you were sorority sisters at the big college up the road."
"Oh we did. We had a lot to talk about whether you folks could keep your privacy and live your lives as you wished now that you are a public figure."
"I'm sure you had good advice. You've been pretty much in the spotlight yourself what with your writing and opinions. How do you keep your privacy."
"To start with I never do anything scandalous." She gave him a big grin then added, "Of course I have to change the definition of "scandalous" now and then. Mostly though Ron and I ensure that whatever happens behind our closed doors stays behind our closed doors."
His hand drifted a bit south and he gave her a slight squeeze. She smiled and moved almost imperceptibly closer. Surely this was an omen to more intimate touching later. Things were right on schedule. She looked over at Ron and Jeri and noticed their handsome counterparts also dancing close together. She reflected everything so far was akin to foreplay, exquisite foreplay.
Then back to their own hotel casino for a couple hours of what the chamber of commerce euphemistically calls "gaming." The guys headed for the craps tables, Jeri to the slots, and MaryAnn to the poker table. There was room for one more at a Texas hold-em table. One player was a woman and she was not Annie Duke. Nor were any of the men Chris Moneymaker or Professor Lederer. The folks at the table were probably good but not invulnerable. MaryAnn had a chance.
She knew the rules and had a good grasp of the odds, but the top-dogs didn't have to stop to remember either. They had both down pat. While she would be trying to figure out her chances of filling a winning hand they would already be planning how to extract the maximum amount of money out of what they had, or could expect to have, or what they would pretend they had. The ability to do all that smoothly was what separated the big winners from the rest, and the rest from their money.
But MaryAnn wasn't outclassed in an average game. She knew people well from her experiences as a journalist and she knew how to spot a braggart when she was interviewing someone. How much different would it be to spot one at the poker table?
She bought two thousand in chips and joined the game. The table had a limit of five hundred per bet. Yes, a bad run would wipe her out, but she figured she could hang on and, maybe make a profit. This was one of the few games where she would not be fighting immutable house odds.
The other woman was a bit older, perhaps fiftyish, but still striking. MaryAnn sensed her resentment. Mrs. Fifty-Something wouldn't get all the attention now. Well this might work out for her. Getting the best cards not nearly as important as playing mediocre ones wisely. That and flashing her tits perhaps.
As the game progressed MaryAnn folded more often than not, contributing to the ante and blinds with no return. But she kept her eyes open and looked for something she could use. When she won a small pot, she gave with a Scarlett O'Hare flutter, leaned over towards the other gal and made her tits wiggle.
Would her act of ingenuity work? Or did her opponent wonder if she was being set up? A macho dude at the table was amused at it. "Damn it was worth losing just to see that." The thing was that both the woman and Mr. Macho were solid players. The others simply nursed their chips and played without imagination. She followed the maxim "don't try to bluff a poor player, or a good one who is on a losing streak unless he gives an indication that he or she might fold."
