Here I was in Las Vegas. Somewhere I had wanted to visit for years. The city of sin, lights and excitement. Not that I was looking for sin; I was happily married. It was my first time visiting America; my husband had been twice before on business, and I'd convinced him that I should accompany him on his next visit. We had to pay for my airfare so I could tag along and see the sights, but this was fine as we were financially sound.
We had left our son and daughter with Ray's parents and had been looking forward to the first couple of weeks to ourselves for several years.
Ray was concerned I would be bored, as he had to work at a trade show for five days, and after the trade show, he had another three days of meetings in L.A. before we got some time to ourselves. But I put him at ease, saying I could shop and see the sights or sit by the pool and read. We were to stop in Hawaii for a few days after that to stay with my older brother's family before travelling back home.
Ray's company had put us up at the Luxor, a pyramid-shaped hotel on the Las Vegas strip. It was the third day of the trade show, and I rose with Ray at 7:00. He met his American colleagues for breakfast each morning before they caught a van over to the Mandalay Bay to prepare their stand.
I pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, but Ray stopped me. "It's way too hot out there; wear a skirt and blouse. That white cotton one, so you don't need to wear a bra. I wouldn't bother with panties either; keep nice and cool."
"I'm not going out without panties, you dirty bugger. But it would be nice to skip the bra,"
On our first day, Ray had arranged for me to join six other wives of delegates. We were to be escorted around the town by two American wives on a tour of the strip. But the other wives spoke little English, five being from Europe and one from Taiwan. So there were many awkward moments.
And so, on day two, I shopped alone. But for my third day in the city of sin, I felt like getting away from the main drag. So, after breakfast, I asked the front desk if there was a large mall where the locals shopped, and soon, I was in a taxi, cruising to what they told me was one of the larger shopping complexes in Vegas. It did not take long to get there, straight down a road that led away from the Hotel. Before I knew it, we were there, and I wondered why I had bothered to catch a taxi. I should have walked.
I'm very fit. I carried a bit too much weight in my teens, and just before I met Ray, I had joined a Gym and got myself back into shape. I always joked that Ray would never have looked at the pre-fit version of me. I have attended a gym at least three times a week ever since; I also did a lot of walking and played netball. All of these helped keep my figure trim, which I was secretly proud of.
Once in the Mall, I found most shops were not open as it had only just turned 9:00 a.m. Anyway, the shops looked identical to the previous two malls I had visited. I was considering returning to our Hotel when I saw a makeover sign outside a beautician shop. It was advertising a special makeover for half the regular price. I wandered in, and the young girl at the desk called her boss over. She offered me the supreme makeover for the same price as their base special if I would allow them to use my photos in an advertising campaign. I thought, what the hell? I was flattered they felt I was pretty enough for their advertising material.
Two hours later, all made up, and with my shoulder-length blond hair in a mass of curls, I was posing for the Mall's photographer. God! Ray would be blown away when he returned to the Hotel and saw me that night. The woman I saw in the mirror was a stunning new version of myself.
When I got out the front, though, the line at the taxi stand was very long. Looking up the road, I could see the strip, and figuring it was only a couple of miles, I decided to walk back.
I had not walked far when the footpath ended, and it was just a scrubby bush on either side of the road. The strip still seemed pretty close, so I kept going. After another mile, I realised I had made a mistake. The strip was no closer, and it was getting very hot. I began to feel very isolated and vulnerable. This unease intensified when a car raced past, and some young hoons shouted vulgar comments at me.
I turned and looked back to the Mall, trying to decide if I should head back there. But that now seemed a daunting distance away also. I began walking towards the strip again when an ambulance pulled alongside me.
A guy in full paramedic gear hopped out and asked if I was okay.
"I'm walking back to the Luxor, but I've just realised that it's a good deal further than I thought."
"Yes! Distances are a lot further than you think out here in the desert. It's not safe for an attractive woman to be hiking alone here. You are fortunate to have gotten this far without being accosted," he said, motioning me to climb into the front.
I went to decline, saying that I could get in the back. But he waved to the passenger door. "No! D.J. decided to stop, and we aren't meant to pick up hitchhikers, so you get to sit up front with him."
I climbed in and found a handsome black guy holding the seat belt out for me.
"Hi, Ma'am, I'm D.J. What on earth are you doing walking alone in the desert?"
I checked him out and replied, "I'm Carol; sorry to be a nuisance, but I did not realise the distance back to the strip. I'm staying at the Luxor."
He leaned over and helped me fasten my seat belt, and then, as he straightened the strap, his fingers brushed over my nipple. It was an accident, I'm sure, but the feeling was incredible, and my nipple instantly hardened. I had never been touched by a black guy before. Hell, I had never even talked with a black American.
"That's alright, miss, you're welcome. I'll drop you around the side of the Luxor; you don't want to be seen climbing out of an LSV, do you?"
I had no idea what an LSV was, but I guessed it must be what they call an Ambulance here. We talked, and he asked me where I was from, etc. I found him very easy to talk with. I learned that they were finishing their shift and heading back to base, and I was fortunate they had driven by as nobody walked where there were no sidewalks, let alone pretty ladies on their own.
When we reached the Hotel, D.J. held up his hand to stop me from leaping out. "Let me help you down. It's the procedure, ma'am. We can't have you falling out and breaking something. I'd get my butt sued."
He hopped out, zipped around the front, leaned in and grabbed the seatbelt as I released it. Again, his fingers brushed my nipple, this time the right one, and this time, I wasn't so sure it was an accident. The same result, though. Again, a rush of desire shot down to my groin. He helped me down from the cab. I was blushing profusely and trying to gather my wits together again. This handsome black guy was making me feel like a silly sixteen-year-old.
"Ma'am, would you let me return and take you to lunch? The least I can do for a beautiful visitor to our city. I have to drop the rig back at base and will shower and change." Then, looking at his watch, he said, "I'll be back in my ride about 1:00 p.m.
"No, I can't; I'm married."
"Being married doesn't matter, besides I insist. You can tell your husband it was in payment for the ride I gave you. Give me your number; I'll call you when I'm about to pull in at this same spot."
I knew I should disagree as my body was flushed and tingling with him standing so close. But almost against my will, I stuttered, "Okay then." And taking the phone, he was holding out to me. I typed in my number, remembering to add the country and area code, then quickly ran into the Luxor's side entrance, wanting to escape any further embarrassment.
My mind was working overtime. D.J. was smoking hot. He stood at least a foot taller than me, which must have made him about six-four. Still, he should not have had this effect on me. How embarrassing. In the inclinator up to our room, it took a lot of effort not to reach up and pull on my erect, sensitive nipples. And when I got into our room, I headed straight for the shower. I had to be super careful not to mess up my hair and makeup, only allowing the cold water to run below my shoulders.
Once I felt some semblance of normality return, I dried, rifled through my drawers, looking for my best underwear, and pulled on a bra, thinking that I needed protection if he was to brush my breasts again at lunch. Next, I put another skirt and top on, nothing flash; I didn't want to overdress and let him know my interest. Then I switched on the T.V. and sat and waited for his call.
I couldn't tell you what I was watching. My mind was awash with thoughts about the beautiful black man about to take me to lunch. I was attracted to him; there was no denying that. But I loathed infidelity. Some of my friends I played netball with had played around, and I disapproved strongly. I was sure Ray had played around a few years before, and it had hurt like hell, so I did not want to put him through that. However, there was a little voice telling me not to let the opportunity of a date with this gorgeous black man slip away, and I kept telling myself it was only lunch. I had to be perfectly safe in a restaurant in broad daylight.
I worked out from something he had said that he was only twenty-five. So he was almost five years younger than me. I blushed crimson when my mind stumbled into the realm of "all black men have huge cocks." Then I pushed that thought away, telling myself I was happily married and not in a million years would I let myself get in any situation where I would find out how big he was.
About fifteen minutes later, I got a text that he was almost there and should be pulling in when I got to the parking bay. Very excited, my body hot and flushed, I left our room and headed downstairs. He had it timed perfectly. As I stepped out into the heat, a charcoal Dodge Durango pulled up in front of me, and D.J. raced around to the passenger door to help me in. Once on the road, he explained that he was taking me to a small restaurant near where he lived and that it was about half an hour's drive away. I sat there wondering what I had let myself in for. Was I being abducted? Would I find myself at his house with a bunch of black guys waiting to molest me? Would I be cut up and sold for body parts? What a bloody fool I had been to take this risk. But the hot fluttering feeling in my belly stopped me from calling for him to stop and let me out.
Unaware of my thoughts, D.J. just chatted away, asking about my life and interests, and he seemed very interested in all my replies. Soon, we were pulling up outside a modest-looking restaurant in the suburbs. He explained he ate here a lot as the food was good and reasonably priced.
He ordered for me, explaining to the waiter that as I was staying in a flash hotel on the strip, I would be sick of the rich food, and we would like something simple. he and the waiter settled on grilled fish with a Caesar salad on the side.
The order settled, we continued our conversation. I found he was from an impoverished neighbourhood in Georgia. He had worked his butt off to raise himself out of poverty, won a scholarship to College, where he graduated, and went on to study as a paramedic.
"You don't sound very American," I commented, "I would have expected, as you come from Georgia, you would have a strong southern drawl."
"I have worked hard to get rid of my accent, hard enough to be black, let alone sounding like some hillbilly. So I watched a lot of English T.V. programmes."
He kept diverting the conversation back to me and was very interested in my life, hobbies, etc. He was especially interested when I told him I had ridden a motorbike. I probably blew my skill level up when I saw his interest. The fact was, I had only ridden a 100cc bike to university in my late teens.
He asked me if I would go dancing with him that evening, and when I said I couldn't as I would be with my husband, he said to bring him along. But, good lord, I don't think Ray would take too kindly to my taking him dancing with a handsome black guy. So I laughed it off, saying it would not happen. I was debating whether I would tell Ray about this lunch. I would not usually keep any secrets from him, but I was guilty about my feelings and interest in the guy. I was scared some of my illicit feelings would appear on my face.
After more conversation, D.J. asked me if he could take me out the next day.
