Vegas

Las Vegas is a manipulator's paradise. Shoals of visitors swim into the huge, windowless, clock-less casinos that have turned hustling into a corporate science. Feeding off of the casinos is an ecology of hustlers, pimps, whores and drug-dealers, who will get you just about anything you could want, as long as you are prepared to pay.

People come here expecting to be manipulated, so getting them to do what you want is pretty easy. Where else do people spend their leisure time, giving away money, playing games they cannot win? They are in a mindset to be tempted by things that seem to good to be true and usually are. But they don't care. Whoever invented the town's motto that "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas," was a genius. Instead of feeling like idiots, the duped know that by the end of the week they will be on their way home and no-one will ever mention whatever it was was that would cause them anger, guilt or embarrassment in their usual humdrum lives.  Las Vegas is where I learned my craft.

My hosts on this trip are The Gamblers. Mrs Gambler is about fifty and Mr Gambler a little older. They come from Canada, where Mr Gambler owns a logging company. He is what the casinos call "a whale." A very high stakes recreational gambler.They come to Vegas two or three times a year, so that Mr Gambler can gamble while Mrs Gambler, with his blessing, indulges in her own particular brand of fun.

I met Mrs Gambler when sat next to me at a fairly high stakes poker table in the Bellagio. She was immaculately dressed, in a cream two-piece suit, white blouse and very high gold stilettos - I peeked under the table to see. Her clothes were clearly expensive, without a single label on show. Pure class. The clothes, the stakes and the ring, signalled that she was wealthy married woman, cruising for solo fun. I didn't need much encouragement when she who initiated a conversation. And it wasn't too long before her right hand found its way to the rest on the inside of my thigh. People are often not what they seem in Vegas, so, momentarily, I did wonder whether she might be a very high-class hooker. But what hooker would risk so much money at a poker table?

The situation didn't get time to develop because we were interrupted by a friend of mine, who stopped by to say hello. He is the poker equivalent of the young Jimmy Page. He is good-looking, famous, rich and shares Jimmy's private proclivities. As she looked at him, Mrs Gambler's pupils visibly dilated and whether she realised it or not, she was literally licking her lips. "Jimmy" and I chatted briefly about where one could find the best game, before he made his excuses and left, with a polite "good to meet you" to Mrs Gambler.

After he left, she simply said "wow," in a barely audible whisper.

I interrupted her reverie. "Would you like to meet him?" I asked.

"I just did," she said.

"No," I said, "I mean really meet him."

And that's how I got to know The Gamblers. I introduced them to "Jimmy" and his proclivities. His private, non-poker, games were new to her but she would have done pretty much anything to get a taste of him. And so she did.

I used to spend a lot of time in Vegas in those days, so Mr Gambler used to call me up when they were in town, to ask me to help Mrs Gamblers find her new found brand of fun. I was, of course, happy to help. She repaid me with expensive presents which I sold for cold hard cash. I am not in Vegas very often these days but I still know the key people. So when The Gamblers visit they are still kind enough to invite me over, all expenses paid, to help Mrs Gambler indulge, without putting her safety or reputation at risk. It's not that often, so would be churlish to refuse. And I do get lots of side benefits, not least participating in her fun.

***

The time difference between here and England, and the twenty-four hour nature of my existence here, has made it difficult to stay in touch with John and Kim. Kim and I have, however, been exchanging text messages.  Some of her messages have been wonderfully pornographic. We will be meeting on Monday, when I am back in England.

Also, she tells me that John has noticed the ankle chain. He simply told Kim that it suited her, with no comment as to how or why she came to be wearing it. I am sufficiently intrigued by this to try to rendezvous with John during his usual Friday night trolling, in a few hours time. I haven't slept yet but some chemicals will help keep me  going.