Vegas in Kellie

I sat up and looked at two women of my age passing by: "Those girls are so adorable," and I pointed. The first woman had big sun glasses. The circle of the glasses went below her nostrils and half way up her forehead. She looked like an overstyled fashionista from a music video. She wore a lip stick red tube bikini and bottoms with ruffles.

"Excuse me." She looked me up and down, pausing on my bottoms and my top. Her eyes lingered on my hair. I felt dirty and self-conscious from being evaluated. The sides of her mouth dropped down to make me feel stung. Then, her head wiggled a little left and right for emphasis, "we are having a conversation." And they strutted on. The other girl had blue bottoms. They were this new style with a molded cup at the behind. Instead of the fabric stretching from buttock to buttock in a straight line, there was a molded shape to indent the center with ruffles, so that each buttock was its own sexy round shape.

My mood was ruined until I decided to take action. I threw my dress back on and left to my room. The bad state had slowly crept onto me like slowly increasing temperature on a. Once I had jumped out of the heat and lethargy at the pool, I felt better. I got my street clothes, high heels, and purse to take a cab to the strip to get a dress to become part of the sexy, elegant Vegas. It was time to leave the small town at home.

The famous strip hotels were visible from the cab: The elegant white logo of the Cosmopolitan high up. The Wynn hotel and Encore at the North end of the strip. There were the iconic New York-New York and the pyramid shaped Luxor. The cab crossed the freeway and we dove into the canyon of hotels that marked the strip. Throngs of people were pushing along the wide sidewalks. Bright video advertisements lighted up the intersections. Excitement overcame me looking at the bustle and world known landmarks.

The cab pulled into Cesar's Palace, where the driveway had two dozen cabs and stretch limos with people entering and exiting. The primly dressed traffic conductors where whistling sharply and pointing their sticks precisely to keep the onrush of vehicles in order. Gloved hands opened the cab door for me and made me feel like a lady, when I bambi-like stretched my calves out of the cab. Elegantly with my knees closed to hide my thong, I stepped up from the cab. I discretely gave the guy who opened the door a dollar bill. Wow! What a world!

The Cesar's Shops were indoors. Yet the ceiling was painted blue to invoke the sky. And the ground had cobble stones to create the fantasy of perhaps being in Rome. The outside of the stores were all styled by the Cesar's Shops look, darkened gold. Thus, the exclusive Gucci store at the entrance looked exactly like the Express store at the back end of the casino mall. Only, the Gucci store was empty and the Express store was crowded. Price does matter.

So, I picked a store in the middle. I wanted to give myself a special getting-over-the-cheater-boyfriend-gift. I wanted to have something Las Vegas, not American chain store. It was a boutique with many mannequins showcasing outlandish Vegas dresses that were straight out of a movie. I got excited. Then my cell phone rang.

It was Nancy, one of my cases at the Veterans Administration. She was one of the first women to fly an assault helicopter into combat. Barely, twenty years old, she had been decorated with the black-yellow-blue Aerial Achievement Medal for blowing up twenty forward radar installations. Then a mechanic had forgotten to tighten the back rotor hydraulic valve. Her chopper went down like a dead duck. Her right femur was shattered during the impact. The proper medication was denied due to a clerical filing mistake. That caused complications during her recovery. Normally, she would have been fine after 6 months. Now, she had two years of recovery. It was a really sad story.

I had given her my personal number to call with any complications. Nancy was crying. Due to some snafu, her pain medication was denied. A clerk had mistakenly checked substance abuse risk on her chart. So, they had pulled the pain drug and told her to toughen up. I had the afterhours number for the hospital administrator.

While I made calls on Nancy's behalf, my fingers rifled through the dresses. Should I go with a red one, like in the Matrix? For a while, my fingers tried to figure out a dress that was entirely made of ribbons and straps. I could not figure out how it was supposed to fit on my body. White could be quite elegant as well. "Yes, I will take personally care of it," was finally the good news on the other end. I texted Nancy to text me if there were still a problem after an hour.

The sales associate had patiently waited for me to finish my phone conversation. She swooped in immediately. Five gold rings were clicking on her wrist. Her hair was smooth and rolled into a bun behind her head with a chop stick. A big, white pearl ear ring was on her ear lobe.

"Would you like to try any?"

My fingers were on a black dress. The fabric had an odd, cool liquid feel to it. It was one of those novelty fabrics. It didn't feel like fabric at all. It had a shine to it like a liquid. It was amazingly pliable, supple, and limber. Holding it in my hand, I felt like it was liquid and would run through my fingers. I was simply amazed. It was a small black dress. Holding it in my hand, I noticed that there was no weight to it. I would feel completely naked wearing it. I hesitated.

The sales associated waved for me to follow and started walking. I kind of walked behind her like a puppy, a little confused by the strangeness of the fabric and my head still in the phone conversations. Next thing, I found myself in the changing room. The curtain was of a thick, heavy fabric that didn't close snuggly on the sides. People could peek in. I tried to pull the curtain all the way to the side. Yet, it returned to its old shape. I hate that feeling, even though probably nobody tries to peer in.

The changing room itself was opulent. The back wall was a floor to ceiling, wall to wall mirror. There was a comfortable sofa to rest on. The fabric was royal velvet. Track lights shone a bright, focused light that increased the contrast in everything. My hair looked so much better in the light. I felt a little like a fashion model. I slipped out of my dress.

I put the black dress on. The fabric felt immediately cool. It fit my body tight. Yet, the fabric's grip was as soft as the softest hand shake. The thin fabric exposed every little surface change on my body. I could see not only my navel button, but also the skin fold inside of my navel button. The fabric fit smoothly around my breasts. There wasn't the smallest gap beneath the bottom of my breasts, because normal fabric hangs a little or is pulled a little out from the protuberation of my breasts. It made my breasts seem even more naked.

And then I noticed how skimpy the dress was. It barely reached below my buttocks. The slightest upshift and my panties would be exposed. Above, it barely covered my areolas. A little slip down and I would have exposed them.

"Can I have a look?" asked the sales associate with upbeat cheer.

Unsure, I opened the curtain only enough for her face to peer in. Without asking, she pulled the curtain wide open. "That looks amazing on you. Your body is made for it." She took me by the hand lead me outside, spun me in a circle, I instinctively covered my breasts, because I feared the raised arm would have my nipple slip out.

The sole guy in the room kept sneaking looks at me with a blushed red head. He was holding shopping bags for his girlfriend. I liked that reaction of being notice. Finally!

"I'm afraid that it's too short. I'll get exposed."

"Don't worry. This material is developed by NASA. Notice how snug it fits. Take a jump in it. It won't slip a bit."

Seeing that I wouldn't jump and instead crouched a bit down, the sales associate jumped in her six inch high heels. A flash of my childhood rope jumping with my friends got me to jump as well. I checked myself. The dress was still in place. I jumped a little higher. The heavy techno beat in the boutique made me jump to the beat. I jumped up and down in my bare feet. The sales associate jumped with me. I tried to tempt the dress to slip by jumping higher and left foot to right foot. I got a little boisterous. It didn't slip. I was amazed.

The sales associate pulled a strand of hair out of her face that had become loose from the jumping. She looked at me with a dark face of concern. I immediately checked my body for a slip, nothing immaculate fit, and returned my gaze into her foreboding eyes.

"You realize that your underwear stands out in this fabric. It's so supple that you have to get special cover up underwear."

She let me to a bowl with solid colored bras and panties. They were very thin and flat. The price tag was $70 each. My breath stopped. I asked for the price of the dress. It was $400. I was breathless and embarrassed. I really liked the dress. My bank account would hurt. My upper boundary had been $100 for a dress.

"I'll get the dress. I don't think I need the underwear. I have something in the hotel." I was lying about the second part. I figured that in a dark night club, nobody would see my normal underwear.

When the dress was in the big paper shopping bag with the extravagant glamor photo on it, I realized how tiny it was. The folded fabric was about the size of my dad's white handkerchief. His thick cotton fabric compensated for being a little square folded twice compared to an entire dress and still appear the same volume. There was also no weight to it. I peered into the shopping bag again. The dressed was tiny in it. It slipped around like a gold fish inside of a gas tanker. The thrill was on!

In the evening in the hotel, I pre-partied with two vodka shots. Looking at myself in the dress in the mirror, I realized that my underwear was visible like stratosphere tower in the flat desert. Buzzed and daring from the alcohol, I slipped my underwear off. See, panty and bra lines are gone. My nipples were reproduced by the fabric in high detail. The mound of my pubic bone was clearly visible. My pubic hair made it a bigger mound. Impromptu, I rolled up the dress and want to town with the shaver.

When I stepped out of the elevator into the casino, everything had changed with nightfall. Throngs of girls in mini dresses with their high heels in hand were walking through the lobby. Bachelorette gangs were following the bride with a crown. One group of bachelorettes was dressed in tutu ballet dresses. Guys were walking in sharp suits with vests and ties. Other guys were dressed like rockers with torn jeans and wild, spikey hair. The taxi line was long.

When the taxi driver kept peering into the rear view mirror and offered adjustments of everything possible from air to music, I snickered to myself. Even though, I was thirty, the dress had given me back the power.

Upon arrival at the Cosmopolitan, I carefully stepped out, making sure that the worn leather seats hadn't pulled up my dress. The Cosmopolitan had such a, precisely named, cosmopolitan air to it. The bellhop uniforms were based on upscale suits. The lobby had giant pillars with LCD displays. The LCD displays invoked the illusion of naked people trapped inside the pillars behind a translucent plastic sheet. Some people were kneeling in an infantile position. There was a lone dancer. Someone tried to claw out of the plastic enclosure into the casino.

The reception staff wasn't caught behind a desk. The reception staff would walk up to the people in the line to have an almost intimate conversation to check them in, like a conversation with a friend, a very polite friend.

The crowd in the casino was very upscale party style. Every piece of clothing had something unique to it like a specialty designer had made it, none of that main stream Armani or DKNY designer stuff. The entrance to the bathroom had opulently upholstered walls. A bench was built into a cove of the wall that would be fit for display in a museum. Instead of cheap filtered water dispenser machines, the Cosmo had art dispensing machines. Little figurines and art photo prints were inside for $20 each.

I felt little in the midst of the classy environment, and at the same time, I felt large for being part of such a world class location, because I had my liquid, black NASA dress. I held my neck a little higher. I made a little wider steps with stiffer knees to be more elegant.

On the second floor was the entrance to Marquee night club. I was standing in the center court for a number of restaurants and the club. Instead of a dirty court yard, there was a pool table and living room furniture for people to relax on couches. The club had already five different lines formed for different kinds of guests. Guys were patiently standing in a very long line. Mixed groups were in a shorter line. Girls cheered and waved as another girl arrived.

I tentatively stepped closer to figure out which line to go to. A broad shouldered bouncer in an ultra-sharp suit looked straight at me and unclipped the velvet rope. While I stepped forward with my elegant steps, perhaps a little too stiff, a girl in my peripheral vision moaned "Why does she get to go in, when we have been waiting for half hour?" I inwardly smiled and passed the bouncers directing club goers left and right. "The queen of Las Vegas is in the house," I mentally sung to myself to a hip hop rhythm.

After stepping through a big door, I was in a dirty, bare metal fire escape stair case. It was disorienting. All the glitz was gun. People were climbing the tall stairs. I did my best with the heels. After three floors a door opened and narrower stairs let higher. People came out of the door. Other people came down the stairs. I decided that the best must be on top. So, I kept climbing. With each new level more people streamed out of doors. And the originally wide stairs became narrower and narrower until barely two people could pass each other on the stairs.

I stepped through the door. There was a small dark room. The hip hop music was thumping hard. There was a dance floor and tables around it with low couches. It was empty in here. Apparently, everyone was still in line outside.

The awkwardness of being alone hit me again. I didn't have any girl friends to talk to, while the club filled. A guy with a blue bow and French accent approached me: "You want drink, Madame?" "Oui, monsieur," I said with my high school French. He put my arm into his arm and walked me. "Jaegerbomb," he waved at the bartender. I protested. The music was too loud for the bartender to hear my weak protest. The French man smiled at me, while I downed the drink in one go.

The man to my other side turned around and screamed into my ear, "you seem thirsty. Let me buy you another drink." I nodded with a smile, still dealing with the burn in my throat. "Sex on the beach," yelled the man to the bartender, while smiling. I shook my head. The red drink in a tall glass with an orange slice for garnish appeared. I took that in sips. Both guys tried to ask me about where I'm from and what I do for a living.

With all the alcohol, my mind had zoned out. I was no longer thinking thoughts. My mind was neatly empty, quiet. I stared into a red light that was chasing around the room in a circle. My hands were waving to the music without me noticing. I strangely wasn't aware of what my body was doing. For a moment, my mind cleared up and focused on a mixed group taking a photo together, posing with their fingers as a V in front of their lips to signal giving a blow job. Then my mind disappeared into silence, tracing flashing lights, and moving to the music.

"I want to fucking dance," came out of my mouth next. I was pulling the French guy by his jacket sleeve. He was deathly afraid of dancing and fended me off. I stumbled to the middle of the still empty dance floor by myself. My body moved so effortless and was so one with the music that I was in awe.

Quickly, guys appeared out of nowhere to dance around me. I was like a single bambi deer among wolves. They were coy to move in on me. They were waiting for me. I kind of liked watching their hesitant faces. I could see their burning desire to get closer. Yet, they were afraid.

One of them reached out his hand. He was a young kid with Diesel jeans and a collared shirt. He spun me around a few times. I lost my balance. He caught me. We slow danced in an embrace. He turned me around to grind. He felt confident. He bent me forward. I did what any experienced girl does. I ground my two butt cheeks into his groin. I could feel his erection through the thick jeans.

He spun me back up. He puckered his lips and leaned forward as if he was going to take a dump. He was going to kiss me. I yelled no. He looked frightened. He backed off. Realizing that he was scared, I put his hand on my butt. He relaxed.

A minute later, he tried to kiss me again. His butt was sticking out and he leaned forward like an eager young calf to suckle on the milk bottle. I put my flat palm on his face to stop him. His eyes looked distraught. I put his hand back on my butt. His body was still stiff and hesitant. So, I rubbed my front onto his front. My boobs, the little pillows, touched his chest. The liquid dress, let me feel his belt buckle, the big hard, smooth, round thing, press into my belly, the tender, soft flesh. The primal part of his brain made him enjoy the body touch.

His hands squeezed my buttocks. I moaned a little as I felt my flesh pulled. I snuggled my smaller girl body onto his bigger, muscle hardened man body. His hands painted circles on my buttocks and explored them. I jumped onto his hip and pressed my thighs together around his trunk to keep from falling down. His hands instantly supported my buttocks.

He was a little bit of a desk jockey apparently, and stumbled toward the railing at the side of the dance floor. He sat me down there. I kept my legs crossed behind him to keep my underside from exposure, because sitting my short-short dress would definitely have bared it all. My hands were on his shoulder. Looking up at him made me feel a little droopy and submissive. He was staring directly at my boobs, the cleavage of bare skin exposed, and the round, cosmetically-enhanced shape beneath the fabric. That's why I had them enhanced to be admired in a swanky environment.

He went for the kiss again. I simply turned away my face and had his face hit my ear. Then, I put one of his hands on my tits. Oh, it felt so good. He quickly found the nipple under the fabric and softly squeezed it. He smiled ear to ear and pulled the nipple down.

"So, what's your name," he shouted into my ear with an eager, friendly smile.

"No," I yelled back with a fierce face.

I could feel the air blown out of his body. His face firmed with pinched lips, he squeezed my other nipple, rubbing the side of his forefinger and underside of his thumb on my nipple as if counting money. Glancing deep in my eyes with a daring smirk, he amped up the pressure. At first, it went from soft like gliding into the warm Caribbean Sea to firm like snuggling into tight jeans. And then he definitely had my attention with the blood running out of my nipples. The auto-arousal reflex kicked in. The first stab of pain mixed in with a sense of dullness and a desire for more – my body went limp. I let out a guttural moan.

Being aroused and mindless from the alcohol, I started to unbutton his shirt. With five top buttons undone, his chest was bared like a playboy. It also seemed to have put him into playboy state of mind. He pulled me off the railing and slapped my ass hard. I was going to let him ravage my body however he wanted, as long as he didn't kiss me or talk to me.