Divas Las Vegas (24 page)

"Are you mad at me, Marilyn?"

"Not anymore, but don't stop, just in case."

Fortunately, the side of the building was dark and the
bushes made it even darker. Even so, I could see him unzipping his fly and pulling out his hefty schlong. "There are
hundreds of people all around," he said, leaning in for a
deep, soulful kiss, "and none of these people are aware that
two men are soon to cum together."

The thought made my cock pulse. "Better hurry, then,
before they find out and want to get in on the action." I spit
in my hand and began a slow even stroke on his hooded
boner.

"They should be so lucky," he groaned, reaching out to
match my rhythm.

It didn't take long, the riskiness of what we were doing
getting my juices flowing even more than normal. "Close,"
I soon rasped into his mouth.

"Then shoot with me," he whispered.

And shoot we did, our heavy loads splattering in thick
torrents against the ground beneath us, reflecting the white
of the moon above.

"You stroke better than you row," I told him with a
giggle, quickly getting my panties and dress back in order.

"And your dick is bigger than most women's I've been
with," he replied, with a wink.

"Thanks, I think."

Hey, I figured, I'd take whatever compliments I could
get, even strange ones such as that.

The next morning, our official one-week anniversary in
Vegas, I awoke next to a six-foot-tall, amazingly hairy, totally sweet man. That old saying "the darker the fruit,
the sweeter the juice" rang nicely true. And waking up
enveloped in his big, meaty arms was like heaven. We had
spent the night at Caesar's. I assumed that Justin was at
Glenda's.

"Good morning, Marilyn," he said, licking the inside of
my ear.

"You know that's not really my name, right?" I asked,
rolling over so I could pet the thick matting on his chest.

"No?" he asked, innocently.

"No, it's Em," I told him.

"It's a Em?" he asked, a look of confusion spreading
across his handsome face.

"No, it's Em, not a Em." I spelled it for him. By the time
he figured out what I was saying, it didn't much matter
anymore. We were happily in playback mode from the
evening before, minus the bushes, the wig, the dress, and
my itty-bitty panties. Glenda would surely be pissed when
she saw the grass stains, but it was well worth it.

When we were done, he leaned in and said, "I definitely
like you better as a man than a woman." He kissed me, long
and perfect. "Now you take me to my brother, please."

"Okay, but first can we go find my friends and get me
into some more appropriate clothes? I think I'm through
with the Marilyn look for a while."

"Sure, but then we go see Ahmed, right?"

"I'll do my best, Zahir. I promise."

He smiled and nodded. I was glad that I could help him
find his brother, but the question still remained...

"What kind of trouble is your brother in?" I asked,
sitting up to look at him.

"Oh, that is good question. I wish I had good answer.
Ahmed follow me to America maybe two years ago. I get
him job. I get him place to live. I even get him boyfriend. But
Ahmed is young and foolish. He takes to this country fast. Drinking, drugs, gambling. Is hard to be gay in my country,
so when you come here and have all this freedom, is easy to
get out of control."

Hey, it's easy to get out of control when you're born here.
Look at me. But I pressed on rather than having an open
discussion about it. "And Ahmed got out of control?"

"Oh, yes. I try to be a good role model, but he is, as I
say before, young. I am not quite sure why he not come to
work lately, or why he leaves apartment and no returns, but
I know he is in trouble. That is why I must see him soon."

He looked pained as he told his brief story. But at least I,
for one, knew where Ahmed was. The problem now was to
tell him about the murders and the possible connection to
Bart, the bartender, without getting him even more upset.

"Um, any idea how Bart would play into all this?" I
asked.

"Oh, Bart is nasty man. Why you ask?"

"We think that he's after your brother too, but we don't
know why. At least not yet."

"Is true, Ahmed and Bart are friends. Oh, well, maybe
not friends so much, but they do spend time together after
work. I do not know what they do together, though. Bart is
very, very straight. He loves the women. Ahmed is very, very
gay. So Zahir have no idea what they do together. Ahmed
tells me to mind my own business. I tell him, Ahmed is my
business. Is very sad. But I think Bart not nasty enough to
do anything bad to my brother."

When I told him the rest of it, about how we thought Bart
tried to kidnap Justin and that he might have been involved
in the three murders, that's when he shot out of bed and got
the both of us dressed. Then we practically ran back over to
the Aladdin. So much for not getting him upset.

We were back at Glenda's room in no time flat. The two
of them were giving each other facials when we arrived. I
was a tad peeved that they weren't concerned that I didn't make it back the night before, but, given the circumstances, I
didn't broach the subject. "Ah, the wayward friend returns,"
said Justin as we entered the suite. His hair was wrapped
up in a towel, his face was a shocking color of green mud,
and he was warmly ensconced in one of the Aladdin's cozy
bathrobes. I guess his pores were of a greater concern than
my well-being.

"But where is Marilyn?" Glenda asked, looking like
Justin's twin. Through the masses of goop on their faces
they both shot me a knowing grin.

"Um, seems like Zahir saw through my little disguise
and was hoping we could shed some light on his brother's
whereabouts. Funny, huh?" I said, plopping down on the
bed to join them. Zahir sat in a chair by the bed and faced
our little menage a mess. I quickly explained Zahir and
Ahmed's story to them so they'd be in the know.

"That's all fine and dandy," Justin eventually said. "But
there's a bit of a problem."

Zahir jumped up and shouted, "Where is my brother?"

The three of us let out little-girl squeals and practically fell off the bed. His sudden outburst had taken us by
surprise. Poor guy. I reached out to hold his hand and bade
Justin to continue.

"Well, that would be the problem. When I got to Earl's
last night, Ahmed wasn't there," he explained, and Zahir's
hand squeezed mine for dear life.

"Maybe he just didn't answer the door," I suggested.

"Good, Einstein. Yes, I thought that too. And after
hanging around outside for an hour and seeing no movement within, I decided to do some investigating. I searched
the sides and back of the house. There were no lights on, the
shades were all open, and I could see that there was no one
inside. And before you say that he could have been hiding
under the bed, or some such genius notion, let me say that I
too had that same idea and decided to find out for myself."

"Uh-oh," I moaned, which caused an even tighter vise
grip on my hand.

"Uh-oh is right. Seems our friend Earl is not too diligent
when it comes to locking up after he leaves. The window to
his living room was noticeably unlocked."

"So you broke in?" Zahir practically shouted.

"Bingo," Justin answered, and touched his nose with his
finger to indicate a right answer.

"Well, that's a lovely thing to do. What if you got
caught?" I asked.

"Wait, he's getting to that," Glenda chimed in as she
gingerly applied ruby-red polish to her toenails.

"Yeah, shut up and let me finish. Anyway, where was I?
Oh, yes, breaking and entering. Maybe I missed my calling.
It was oh so easy." (I was unaware that Justin had ever
had a calling to anything besides happy hour, but I let him
continue.) "First thing I did was to whisper Ahmed's name.
But nothing. Not a peep. No sound of scampering little feet
along the floorboards. So I went deeper into the bowels of
the house."

"What deeper?" I interrupted again. "There's only the
living room, bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen. You only
had to walk a few feet to get to any one of them."

"Please let him finish, Em. I've already heard this
story a bunch of times and I'm eager to be done with it,"
said Glenda, who was now applying the polish to Justin's
toenails. I nodded for Justin to continue.

"Thank you, Glenda. Some people never learn. So, as I
was saying, I decided to go exploring. And, as it's been so
rudely pointed out, it didn't take me long to discover that
the place was empty. Unfortunately, it was empty and somewhat ransacked. Perhaps it wasn't so smart to leave Ahmed
there alone, I'm guessing." (I gave a little cough to remind
Glenda and Justin that Ahmed and Zahir were brothers. I
didn't want either one of them to say anything more about Ahmed that might make Zahir even more upset.) "Anyway,
when I realized that I was already in a home that had been
burgled, I decided it was a good idea to leave. No sense
getting myself into even more hot water. But, as they say,
out of the frying pan-"

"And right smack into Earl," finished Glenda, and then
added, "Sorry, it's just that I've already heard this part
repeatedly before you both arrived." Justin shot her a nasty
look for ruining his tale, but seeing as she had control over
his feet, he allowed it and continued.

"And, yes, right into Earl. I was just leaving the bedroom
and he was coming in the front door. Neither one of us
was too happy to see the other. And when he noticed that
(a) Ahmed was gone, and (2) his place had been robbed,
guess who he blamed? He was just a few seconds away
from calling the police when he noticed a note sitting on
the nightstand. Luckily, Ahmed still had something of a
conscience left, because he let Earl know that he had to leave
fast and that he needed money. Apparently, Earl kept about
a hundred dollars in one of his dresser drawers. Ahmed
helped himself."

"I'm sorry for my brother," Zahir interjected, "but he
must really be in trouble to do these things."

"Which leads us to the next question," I said. "What
did Glenda learn from our friendly neighborhood murderer/
kidnapper/bartender?"

"I learned that you guys are lucky this is a suite with a
well-stocked bar. That guy's a total creep," she restated the
obvious.

"And he's got a small weenie," Justin added.

"And we know this how?" I asked, my jaw dropping at
the comment.

"Because he showed me," she answered.

"He showed you? Where did he show you?" I asked, now
shocked.

"In his apartment," she answered, head held low.

"Oh, my God, how did you get there from here?" I
couldn't begin to imagine.

"He tricked me," she answered.

"He tricked you to go to his house and he tricked you
into looking at his prick?" I was beginning to sound like a
deranged yet nelly Perry Mason.

"Uh-huh. But you guys wanted me to get you some information and I was just being ...um...amenable." That shut
me up. Guilt is nature's ultimate humbler. I sat back down,
apologized for getting so upset, and asked Glenda nicely to
continue. She shot me a nasty look and did just that. "Okay,
I met him at the disco, as planned, and he was, like, ooh,
look how sexy you are, and ooh, baby this, ooh, baby that;
and I had to sit there and accept it. Every feminist muscle
in my body was cringing, but I smiled and said thank you
and forced my demure side to come out and play. Oh, did I
mention the two bottles of Dom in the fridge that I charged
to your credit card, Justin?" (We nodded that it was fine
with us. Her self-respect was worth way more than that.
Besides, he could afford it.) "Anyway, that's when he told
me that we needed to go to his house so he could change.
The alarm bells were going off, but what choice did I have?
We couldn't go to dinner with him still dressed like a genie,
so I said that was fine, smiled, and allowed his arm in my
arm as he led me to his car."

The toenail treatment continued. Mine were next, and
though red is not my color, I allowed her to paint me so
that she had something to do with all that nervous energybesides slapping us silly for talking her into our mess. Zahir
removed his feet from our proximity for fear of being next.
His Palestinian upbringing was coming through, and I felt
bad for him, but I was glad he was now part of our team,
for better or worse, because now we had a new challenge
besides staying alive and finding that damn vase. Now we had to find Ahmed, too. I rubbed his thigh as Glenda went
on so he'd feel like one of us. His smile brought a muchneeded warm spot to my heart (and my loins).

She continued, "I knew, before we even reached the
parking lot, that he drove a sports car. It totally fit with his
personality. But when he pointed out the Corvette parked
across two parking spaces, and I saw the gold paint job and
the big silver pipes hanging out of the rear, I knew that I had
severely underestimated his machismo quotient. And when
we climbed in and I sank into the leopard-spotted bucket
seats and he cranked up the heavy metal crap that he had
in his CD player, and he started to make that head-banging
motion with his arms and neck, I also knew that you guys
would owe me big time. This guy was a Super Dick. He
represented every repressed-little-boy, self-centered, egotistical stereotype that I loathe. He did everything but spit
chewing tobacco out the window. Oh, and I had no doubt
that he was thinking I found the whole routine irresistible. When, in reality, I was pressing my body as close to
the door as I could so I could be as far away from him as
I could get."

I jumped up on the bed and gave her a neck massage. Out
of guilt? Hell, yeah. I was having super sex with Zahir while
she was on the date from hell. Still, at least she was sleeping
in a luxurious suite with absolutely no lingering scent of
chlorine, so my pity level was not at its maximum. And the
fact that she was sitting in front of me, safe and sound,
lessened my remorse considerably. Plus, since we were all
sitting there waiting for our nails to dry and not running
from danger made for a nice peaceful feeling, which I, for
one, truly needed by that point. But the specter of death still
hung over us. One had only to look over at Zahir and see
the worry on his face to know that this was just a breather
from the very real and very dangerous journey we were on.