I was never one for slot machines. But my friend, Annabelle, swears by them. We usually go to the casino together once every other month. When we get there we usually split up. I go to the poker or blackjack table and Annabelle heads straight to the slot machines.
Now Annabelle is a bit different than your average slot machine player. She is definitely not the old granny type in sneakers. She is quite beautiful and when we go to the casino she dresses to the nines. I mean she looks more like she is going to a hooker convention then to a casino. kiss918
She wears the slinkiest shortest dresses you can imagine, a bustier, blood red lipstick and nail polish and a pair of pumps that must be 6 inches high. When she walks into a casino every man in the place swoons.
The last time we went to the casino I decided to follow her to see exactly why she dressed the way she did – just to play the slots. If I didn’t know her better I would have suspected that she was picking up men.
That night I followed her I gave her a 10 minute head start. When I found her she was playing this slot machine like there was no tomorrow. And when I say she was playing it I mean she was playing the machine like it was a man.
She was right next to it. Rubbing her body up against it. It looked like she was purring something sweet into its ear. And when she tugged on its arm it was almost obscene. She did it like a porn star. And the cleavage she was showing it, I swear to God, made the machine blush and its lights and whistles go off.
I watched here for about an hour as she played this slot machine. The more she played the more she stroked it. And the lurid way she smiled at it made me blush. After a while I began to feel like a peeping tom. The intimacy between Annabelle and her slot machine was overwhelming.
I left her there and went to a blackjack table. I lost terribly that night. I couldn’t keep my mind on my cards. I kept thinking about Annabelle tugging on the arm of her slot machine. It reminded me of my first boy friend Big Mike.