Advantage Player 1 I'm an Advantage Player. At least, that's what the casinos would label me if they realized what I'm doing. An Advantage Player is different than a gambler. Gamblers rely on luck. Advantage Players rely on having an Edge. An Edge, while never guaranteed for every single play, is consistent. As such, it beats luck every time. Don't confuse an Advantage Player with a Cheat. An Advantage Player plays by the rules. For example, in Roulette an Advantage Player might be one who has determined a wheel's bias and plays accordingly. Or one who has a tiny computer that can perform a real-time computation of ball speed verses wheel rotation and give you the probable wheel octet of the final ball drop in time to get your bets down. This is possible. It's been done. And the casinos know it. But if they change the rules too much to prevent this, even the gamblers won't come out any more to play. Then they're out of business. A cheat, on the other hand, will pass-post his bets. That means using slight-of-hand to increase the amount wagered on a winning bet after the outcome is known. Or use a Savannah move on the Roulette table to switch out a large bet for a small one on a losing wager, while leaving the large one to be paid off without suspicion when it wins. Or pull cards out of play at the card tables, waiting to reinsert them at a more profitable moment. That is against the rules, although a good cheat can be surprisingly difficult to catch in any of these maneuvers. That's why casinos have TV cameras everywhere, along with pit bosses, undercover agents, outside detective agencies, and a few other specialists in their employ that they don't like to even mention by name. All of them employed to ensure that The House makes an "honest profit" - if there is such a thing. The best way to beat a casino is when you're playing something they don't believe can be beaten. If they don't believe it's possible to control the results of a dice toss in Craps, they won't stop you when you do exactly that. That's been done too - very successfully! I play Blackjack. This is where my Edge resides. - - - Blackjack is a strange game for a casino. Sometimes I wonder why they have it at all. It's not like Poker or Baccarat, where you play against other players while The House collects a safe percentage. Nor is it like Craps, where you hold control of your own fate by how you toss the dice. It isn't essentially random chance like a slot machine, video poker, Keno, or Roulette, just to name a few games that strive their best to be truly random. Blackjack has a history. As the cards are dealt they are removed from future hands until the entire deck - or multiple-deck shoe - is reshuffled. It features some of the best odds for even an moderately skilled player who can follow simple instructions. Just by playing Basic Strategy a player can cut the casino's edge to less than one percent. And then there are ways - legal and not - to improve that further. Card counting is not illegal, although the casinos would like you to believe otherwise. Although that's not my Edge, card counting can give a skillful player an advantage better than the House has normally. A good counter can spank the casino every time. Card counting teams often have had takes of over a hundred thousand on a single weekend. As a result, casinos both make it hard for counters to start with, and are expert at spotting their particular style of play. And then there are the cheats: swapping cards in and out, marking cards, manipulating bets after the results are known, and even stacking decks and entire shoes - although these options often require a crooked dealer working for you. The casinos have fought back. First they tried changing the rules, but the players left in droves. Even committed or recreational gamblers know a truly bad deal when they see it. The next step was the introduction of six and eight deck shoes to make counting difficult, automatic shuffle machines, dealing all cards except the dealer's hole card face up without allowing the players to ever touch them, and intense surveillance of anyone who seems to be winning too much. A casino can always win too much, but a player better not. If you think the casino is your friend who is simply interested in you having a good time, you are wrong. Recently casinos have tried the continuously shuffling shoe. In this innovation, the shuffle machine and shoe are combined, with four decks in play. One deck is stacked waiting to be dealt, while the other three continuously shuffle themselves, adding cards to the ready deck as they are removed. Played cards are immediately placed back in the machine. Despite the fact that there is no interruption of play now at all, these have proven immensely unpopular even compared to the traditional eight deck regular shoe, and lately they are being removed as fast as they were initially introduced. Despite all this, Blackjack continues to succeed for the casino. The game is simple to understand, it's quick to play, and most players won't learn even Basic Strategy. Casinos continue to make a lot of money offering Blackjack - but not from me. - - - When I play I do everything to convince them I'm not an Advantage Player. Because my Edge doesn't come from counting cards, I don't play like a card counter does. From the first hand of a newly shuffled shoe to the last hand dealt out of it my bet is exactly the same. A card counter varies their bet when the count favors them, or even has members of their team only enter the game when the count is highly favorable. I don't play the minimum bet for long, like the counting member of a team does, waiting for the count to go positive and the big players to suddenly enter. I never put my hands near the cards, or anywhere near my bet unless increasing it once play has started. I don't want to give any signals that I'm a cheat attempting to manipulate any aspect of the play. And I never bet with more than one color of chip at a time. That might raise suspicion of past-posting or Savanna setups. I make sure that I never carry my cell phone - even when it's turned off - or anything else electronic on my person. Even my wristwatch is an old mechanical model - when I wear one at all. More than once the House Geek has sidled up against me, electronically sniffing to see if I have anything at all electronic on my person. Since the late Seventies, a few players have taken wearable computers into casinos concealed on their bodies. Even when they're legal under the gaming laws, most casinos will Backroom you over this, and even get you arrested although the charges have been dropped every time. Others have smuggled in small TV cameras to photograph the cards to track play, or try to see the dealer's hole card. These methods are less legal. Most such electronic devices can be detected by something as simple as an AM radio, and require bulky clothes to hide. I'm completely clean, and dress with as little an amount of room to conceal anything as I possibly can just so they'll realize that. Sometimes when I'm on a streak they'll send the Coolers over as well. What's a Cooler? Someone with such bad luck - or karma, if you prefer that term - that they can chill a hot streak from ten feet away. Yes, casinos actually believe this kind of thing. Or at least they won't take any chance that it might actually be true that some people are naturally lucky. This is all part of their Edge. But Coolers don't bother me. They can't touch my Edge. And I do feel sorry for them. They are some of the saddest people I've ever met. One acquaintance of mine has his own system for deciding when to play. He's built himself a battery powered random event generator egg like those used in the Global Consciousness Project. He asserts that the bias in random values tells him when things are good, neutral, or very bad. He also swears that a Cooler anywhere nearby will knock it for a loop every time. I never play at the same table with him, just in case he's ever busted and the goons are suspicious of anyone who might have been working with him. His device is completely legal and has nothing to do with the game itself. But casinos are renownd for being technologically illiterate Luddites and exceptionally small-minded over absolutely everything they don't understand. In fact, I make it a point to never sit down and play with anybody I recognize from my past play. I don't want to look like part of any Blackjack team. - - - I drink at the table, because I can play with several drinks in me. They're free because that's part of the casino's Edge. Drunk players make stupid mistakes - like increasing their bets when they're losing on the theory that you can't lose them all. And continuing to play when they should have left with their winnings long since. Casinos love to see gamblers drink, so I indulge them. It doesn't measurably affect my advantage. And speaking of that theory that says you can't lose them all, it may be true, but playing even perfect Basic Strategy will lose you more hands than you win in the long run. The casino's Edge is about one half of a percent in a six-deck game where the dealer stands on all seventeens - and about two-tenths better when the dealer hits soft seventeens. This doesn't mean they win one more hand than the player out of every two hundred dealt. That percentage is measured in money. They'll win a number more hands than you will on average for every two hundred hands played. The dealer will make his point (any seventeen or greater) four out of five times. And because they play by a fixed set of rules on when to hit, they don't make stupid player mistakes. Even when they do bust, you may have already busted first and gain nothing by their bust. And anyone who plays a consistent No Bust, or no split or double down, strategies will lose their money quite quickly. A player's advantage comes in using his available options at the right moment. Splitting pairs under the right circumstances; doubling down on a good hand when the dealer's up card is hard for them to make; and blackjacks paying off at three to two. Some casinos offer hand-dealt single-deck games that limit, or eliminate entirely, some or all of these advantages for the privilege of playing with a single deck the way the game once was played. Again, only a fool would give away that much of his advantage back to The House. But I see fools at those tables every time I play. Over the long run a skilled player loses money much more slowly than an unskilled, impulsive gambler who is more remembered for having a short, hot streak. Still, an advantage player can take all of them to the cleaners. I typically win fifty-four percent of my hands - and far more than that money-wise. I could up that winning percentage by several percent, but above a certain point even the slowest casino will eventually realize I'm winning too often for even a good hot streak to explain. When you bleed them slowly, you can bleed them for a whole lot more in the long run. - - - I don't try to act - or play - too stupid. Nobody's going to buy that act, or believe I'm having this much Beginner's Luck, forever. As a result, it helps to speak the language. Just for your information, casinos are in the "gaming" - not "gambling" - business. And when I say "I keep a stack of nickel checks as drink tokes on the table" the translation is, "I keep a stack of five dollar gaming chips as tips for the waitresses who brings me the 'free' drinks." While most states forbid using gaming chips for any other purchases (something about avoiding taxes on your winnings, I'm guessing), waitresses and dealers have no trouble taking them as tokes. Why gambling is gaming, chips are checks, and tips are called tokes is something I may never understand. Fortunately you don't need to know this answer to play the game - and take their money. - - - Despite the fact that I'm welcome back at every casino I've taken at least once on the apparent theory that I'll simply lose it back to them the next visit, I don't repeat. I'm not going to lose it back to them next time, and I know eventually they'll figure that out. Win too often one place and you can find yourself banned at all the casinos. Find yourself in the Griffin Detective Agency book of known cheats and it won't matter that no court has ever proven you've broken the rules. The casinos just won't let you play again. Because the biggest corporations back the Strip casinos in Las Vegas, that's the place to play. They still make a profit even on the rare nights when I do play. I'll never break Las Vegas with the amount that one person can win playing Blackjack a few nights a year, but that's good. It's the ones that are on a mission to "Break Vegas" that get themselves caught. Along with those who bring in stupid accomplices who always seem to manage to trip them up in the end. That won't happen to me. I play alone. I have one other advantage at Blackjack, even when they're suspicious that I'm winning too much. Until they figure out how I'm doing it they're likely to let me continue - at least as long as I don't win too much. They want to understand me. Find a weakness. Anything before a thousand more me's suddenly show up and clean them out for good. - - - This trip I'm playing at that big Roman casino. The one that has their own reality show on cable. And I'm doing everything I can to keep a low profile. For starters, I began playing Thursday afternoon while crowds are still light. I'll be playing through Sunday afternoon if all goes well. I pick a twenty-five dollar minimum table that just opened to start. One where the dealer is standing with all the cards from the new decks just opened to use today still spread out while waiting for the first player to show up. I guess they believe that all the players that come in afterwards have assumed that the first player verified that everything is on the up-and-up for everyone else - like that ever happens! I take the seat one away from the Hot Seat to start. When I find a table like this, or if I can play through both sets of decks alone, my edge kicks in more quickly. Also, I won't look like part of a team as long as no one else comes to play partway through. And by not playing at the high-limit tables I don't look like a high roller - or someone ready to bet big and clean them out the moment circumstances swing my way. All advantages to me. In Blackjack parlance, the Hot Seat is the position opposite First Base. First Base is the first position to the dealer's left, and the one dealt first. The Hot Seat is the last position to be dealt before the dealer deals their own hand. It's called the Hot Seat, because often the rest of the players will blame the Hot Seat for not playing correctly than each time the dealer does well. Actually the Hot Seat is my intended goal. My most effective play comes from that position. While I'll complain bitterly when forced to move over into it to accommodate arriving players, moaning that now I'll be the one to blame for all their losses, I'll be cheering inside when it happens. For now, as long as it remains empty I'm already effectively in the Hot Seat. I buy in for five hundred dollars of twenty-five dollar green chips. "Cash in five hundred!" the dealer shouts to the pit boss above the casino din. "Five hundred," comes back the echo. I insist on all twenty-five dollar chips when the dealer tries to give me some hundreds as well. I don't start playing at that level, and want the piles of chips in front of me to be high from the beginning - the better to hide my winning in later on. One of the two working pit bosses, an attractive, experienced looking woman with Grace on her name tag comes over and I ask her to track my play. Since most advantage players try not to have their play tracked, I don't look like one now. Besides, I should get some comps out of it by the end of tomorrow, and at least a dinner by tonight. And while it will attract some initial attention, I start by playing minimum bet on two adjacent positions. There are some reasons for this. The first one I explain to the dealer, a nice young man named Ben. "Can't let it just be you and me, Ben. You'll clean me out before I can enjoy the rest of my afternoon here otherwise." And there is some truth to this statement. If you've ever played a dealer one-on-one you know how quickly things seem to always turn against you. "Why is that?" he asks me pleasantly. Maybe he doesn't actually know. "Well, Ben, it's my theory, but when there're six players at the table you should only get one blackjack out of every seven dealt. But when it's just you and me, you'll get half of them. And since you automatically win every blackjack regardless of my hand, and I can't even insure against them when you have a ten up instead of an ace...well you see how that's to my disadvantage." I didn't mention how buying Insurance is always considered a bad idea. He nodded, knowing how fast he's cleaned out many players under exactly these circumstances, even if he doesn't buy my explanation for it. But that's okay. I'm going to intentionally say a lot of stupid things before tonight is over. The second reason is that by playing the Hot Seat position as well as my own, it makes it harder for someone else to suddenly slip in there. A third reason is that playing more hands gets me through the first couple shoes more rapidly. Since my playing time is limited, this gets me into the feel of the game more quickly. The hands go by quickly, and I'm playing near even using the Basic Strategy that any player can learn. Casinos don't care about basic strategy players. Heck, they hand out the guides, and it's permitted to keep it on the table next to you during play at any casino - at least as long as you don't write anything on it yourself. If you want to keep score, go play Baccarat. My excuses for moving into the Hot Seat at the first opportunity are many. If someone bumps against my chair even once I'll move and say, "I've got to get out of this traffic." If someone is just watching my play over my shoulder because I seem to be doing well I'll move and say, "I don't mind if they watch, but I don't want to feel crowded." If a pair of new players come up together I'll move and comment, "You two probably want to sit together." I can get away with this even when other open seats together are still available. Anything to get myself ensconced in the Hot Seat without seeming to want it. Suddenly we're at the end of the first shoe. "Sorry, Ben," I tell him. "I'd like to play the last hand of the shoe for you too since I've heard that's the best luck. But I never know when it's coming up. Hope you don't mind if I do the first hand instead." It's the same story I'll tell every dealer tonight at least once. The trick is to always seem to be mildly complaining about something. Better that than appearing jubilant about winning so often. Let them see me as an unhappy gambler who has lost so often in his life that he can't ever bring himself to enjoy a good streak now. Ben's not real talkative. "No problem," he assures me concisely. He's happy, however, for all possibilities of tokes. He gets a surprise. The next hand I play the same twenty-five dollar bet for him as I'm playing for myself, setting it at the one o'clock position above my betting circle for both hands. And when I double down my eleven against his six up Bust Card, I double his bet as well. Some people might do a Short Double of less than the original bet, but I want him on my side tonight. I win both my hands. Ben waits politely to ensure I don't pull back any of my side bet for him, and as a result gets one hundred and fifty into his toke box. People who are out to take the casino usually aren't giving it back so generously to the dealers as tokes. The waitress - her name badge says Holly - comes by for my first order. I change a twenty-five dollar check for five reds. I ask for red wine - and a bottle of water. Hard to get too drunk on that combination. - - - I start my plan of deliberate deception. This consists of anything and everything I can think of to leave them believing that my mind isn't seriously on the game. I joke with Grace each time she comes by. I'm working on building a rapport. I ask if this table can be made non-smoking, and am flatly refused. Grace has to be tough to hold this job in such a major casino. "I don't want to rule out other players so early on," she tells me firmly. "May I ask again when the table fills up if everyone else agrees?" I come back to her with. "You can ask," is all she'll give me. After some long coaxing I find out from Ben who the hottest female dealer, who is also single and on tonight's shift. He points her out to me over on the far side of the pit. From what I can see, she is pretty hot. With a player at this table already, a couple more players soon come over, passing by a pair of tables where the dealer is waiting for their first arrival of the day. Drinking, smoking, and gambling all seem to go together, and one of them immediately lights up. I grimace and move over into the Hot Seat to "get away from the smoke." In the early days of the Las Vegas Strip, the casinos actually gave away free cigarettes as well as booze to all the players. After all, make the gambler as comfortable as possible and he'll stay longer. I'm personally glad they finally stopped that practice. Holly comes by again. The way I'm tipping her, we'll have great service at this table all afternoon. Holly is into her mid-30's, and remains exceptionally pretty in her short ruffled skirt, and heels that show off a pair of thin, yet very shapely legs. And her corset of a cocktail outfit has the exposed top half of her boobs pushed up nearly to her throat. However, there's no ability to flirt with her. Her earnings are based strictly on how hard she works, and that gives her no time for unproductive conversation. Like many, she's may well be a single mother supporting a couple kids. That seems more the rule than the exception here. Besides, all is not lost with her. She'll remember my tips, and might be interested enough to come back around after her shift is over. Not everything has to happen instantly around here. Grace comes by again and sees that I've moved. I grimace at the smoke and she smiles back at sympathetically to me. I guess she's a non-smoker too, but has to act in the best interests of her employer. I continue to play a hand for the dealer on each new shoe. When it's time to switch dealers, Ben hates to leave. Can't blame him. I've won more hands for him than I've lost. He's hardly likely to comment about that to the pit bosses though. The table fills up and I'm reduced to just my one playing spot. That's fine, and part of my plan. By now I'm enough ahead that I'm comfortably playing seventy-five dollars a hand. I'm careful to only up my bets, first to fifty, and now to seventy-five, at the start of a shoe, and play them consistently at that level for each entire shoe. Grace comes by again and notices my higher level of play. That's part of her job to track my play. And the more I play per hand, the more it counts towards Comps. "Getting more daring I see," she comments with an easy smile now. "Hey, I'm playing with your money now," I smile back. - - - There, I've just uttered the Biggest Lie in all of gaming. There's no such thing as playing with the casino's money. Once you win it it's YOUR MONEY. And the only way they can get it back is if you GIVE IT BACK TO THEM. But so many people really do think otherwise. So by saying this I sound like I'm getting a little bit reckless, which is exactly what I want them to think. Those who do think and act otherwise end up giving back all their winnings in the end. Later Grace sees I'm only playing one chip again. But it's a black hundred-dollar chip now. I try my best to keep the amount of my winnings non-obvious, and turning big stacks of chips into smaller stacks of more valuable chips helps. Even when the color is different, people are unconsciously more aware of the size - even when trained like Grace to never make that mistake. I also am already Going South with some of it. That means I'm taking big chips off the table when no one seems to be paying attention and putting them out of sight in my pockets. In the newest, high-tech casinos this trick doesn't work. All the cards are marked with invisible ink, and all the checks have RFID chips in them. The card values are read as they leave the shoe, and the location of every check at the table - including each amount bet as well as those in your purse or pocket - are available to the casino at all times. They're not so high tech here yet. And if I get caught at this, like any professional comic I already have my Saver line locked and loaded. While Going South is completely legal, casinos are suspicious of EVERYTHING. If asked I will easily reply, "This is the only way I can ensure going home with SOMETHING from tonight." Grace doesn't ask. "Are you a guest of the hotel?" she asks instead, wanting to keep me playing here long enough to lose back anything I've won - and more. Casinos win in the long run. After all, these modern palaces to excess weren't built on the backs of winners. "Yeah," I reply noncommittally, knowing what she has in mind next, but not wanting to let on. "Where is it located?" That was fast. Usually I have to play a lot more than this to get offered more than just a buffet ticket. I give her my room number. It's on a low floor of budget rooms. "I think I can get you something better," she tells me. "Meals too?" I ask, handing her my cardkey. Sometimes you do have to ask if you want something. "Just charge them to the room." That'll keep me here for meals as well. A half hour later she hands me another cardkey with a Post-it of my new room number on a much higher floor. It's got to be a mini-suite at least. - - - I continue doing occasional strange things, usually with good results. I give more explanations that superficially make sense. I split tens against a dealer up six. Now this is a move that basic strategy tells you NEVER to do. You should always stick with a virtually certain winning hand. While I've yet to have a dealer yet berate me for doing this like I've heard of other players encountering, I once had another player get up in disgust and leave at my unorthodox and disreputable play. Our current dealer gives me a questioning "Do you really want to do this?" look. "I'm just trying to get more money on the table while you have a hard hand to play," I tell him easily. "Splitting tens!" he announced loudly, waiting for a pit boss to acknowledge him back before continuing. The casino does not wish to be accused of encouraging especially stupid plays it seems. I get another ten, split that one out too, and win all three parts when the dealer turns over a ten and draws seven to bust. When this same situation comes up again about a half hour later everyone looks at me waiting to see if I'll dare do this again. One has already said the only time he sees this move is in Blackjack tournaments, where wild play is not only encouraged - but necessary. "Learn the rules first," I tell them. "So you know how to break them properly." I stand instead, and lose when the dealer turns over a five and draws a king. Sometimes almost perfect isn't enough, but I'm still ahead overall. - - - My table finally gets the dealer that Ben was talking about. Her name is Cathi, and she is a hot. Short, nice figure, blonde, and I happen to notice wearing two-inch-heels where most dealers wear comfortable working shoes for the long hours they are standing. Blue-eyed Cathi needs the height. She's very cute package, but only about five-feet-four. If I'd met her on the street I might have passed her by. She's a short blonde, with spiky hair. Her face is cute, but her expression on it is off-putting. Although she has a nice enough figure, my first impression is that she's one of those women who is wound up so tightly inside that she's a sexual harassment suit waiting to explode. Then she looks over and smiles at me. Word about the level of the tokes I'm doling out tonight has probably gotten around. I decide to give it a run with her anyway, since it will help significantly disguise the seriousness of my play. - - - Flirting is a game that can be over in a moment, or go on for years. I decided to aim for something closer to the short side of that interval, possibly making my play by the third time she rotates in to our table tonight. I open up with, "So Cathi, do you ever date customers?" She countered with, "Are you married?" That counter will shoot down at least nine out of every ten propositions. Most men gambling in Vegas are married - even if they want to pretend otherwise. That tells me she gets a lot of invitations, handles them very directly, and isn't married or committed herself yet. "No," I reply to her, which is true. "And you haven't answered my question yet," I remind her. "They can't play at my table if I date them," she reply, missing another chance to close the door on me. Just then we reach the end of the shoe and Cathi calls for a shuffle. As she puts one set of decks into the shuffle machine and retrieves the other, one of the other players starts griping about shuffle machines in general. He's sure they're cheating him somehow. There was just no way his own bad play - he'd already split fours TWICE, losing double his original bet each time - could possibly be to blame for his losses. He's also bemoaning the loss of the days when Blackjack was a single deck game and "You got to hold your cards instead of the dealer seeing them." "I like them!" I say loud enough to be heard over the general casino noise. "What?" "I like shuffle machines, six deck shoes, and dealing the cards face up." "Why?" "Shuffle machines and shoes keep the game going. I hated the delays back in the days when all six decks had to be shuffled by hand. I came here to play Blackjack. Didn't you?" "Well, yeah." "And they can't be stacking the deck." "How can you be so sure?" "Once it's in the shoe, the deck is the deck. Even if they could stack it to start with, the moment you played something unexpected, like splitting fours," he frowned at that. "Or someone comes or leaves the table, it would throw the whole rest of the deck off. We'd probably win everything the dealer was supposed to win." "Okay," he grumbled. "I see your point." "And as far as holding your own cards, that doesn't change a single thing either. The dealer still has to play the way the rules state, and the outcome will be the same. The only thing I'd like better would be if the dealer dealt all her cards face up as well." That got a good laugh from everyone including Holly, who was taking her latest orders. (Note to unsuccessful and/or desperate males: women all love a good sense of humor.) The complaining player seemed mollified a bit, and decided to medicate his sorrows by ordering another drink from our dedicated waitress. I asked for some more wine and water. "Also," I added, this way at least Cathi can add up my cards and give me my totals faster than I can do it myself." I could tell Cathi hadn't rejected my proposition outright when she had me cut the new deck. She could have just as easily avoided me if she wasn't interested. I won the first hand, giving Cathi a two-hundred dollar toke in the process. She smiled at me again. I got an even bigger laugh a couple minutes later from the newlywed couple sitting across the table from me now. The wife was at First Base and she had just gotten a king-seven against a dealer up nine. "You got the Mother-in-Law Hand," I told her with a smile. "What do you mean?" "You want to hit it," I said, smiling even more broadly now, "but you can't." That broke up the whole table, who apparently hadn't heard that one before. Even Cathi was laughing, and making Cathi laugh wasn't hurting me at all. But the newlywed woman herself was laughing hardest of all. So hard I was afraid she was going to fall out of her chair entirely. It was almost a minute before she could continue playing. Cathi turned out to be a fun dealer. She helped a couple of the other players who were obviously new to the game with their best moves under a couple tricky circumstances, and more. While I'll often comment when someone gets an ace, "Okay, you got the hard half, now let's see the easy half," referring to the fact that while you can only expect approximately twenty aces to be dealt from a full shoe, thirty-two percent of the cards otherwise are tens. Pair that ace with any ten for Blackjack! Each time Cathi dealt a player an ace in the first round, she'd pat the table in front of them saying, "Come on lucky ace!" She was cheering for the players too. The slow, gentle flirting with Cathi continued until we changed dealers again. What I hadn't planned on came next. - - - I should have remembered that this night of the week is Lady's Night at this casino. I'd heard about it from the reality show. What is Lady's Night? It's when the twenty-something young women in town put on their evening best and arrive en masse to assault the middle-aged men. Now don't get the idea that I'm being overly harsh here. These aren't whores, hookers, adult entertainers, or any of the other professional working girls. In fact, prostitution is illegal in Clark County where Las Vegas is located. You have to travel a good seventy-five miles or more to a county where that is accommodated. These are just very pretty single girls - who unfortunately know too well just how pretty they are - out to have some fun at someone else's expense. Considering how many of them are recent college graduates just starting their way out in the world, most of them need someone else to pay for their gaming and entertainment in a place like this. And they're not shy about asking. In fact, they're usually downright direct. Most arrive in groups of two to four, probably having shared the ride in, together for mutual support. They'll cozy right up men with large...er...stacks of chips...they've never met before, lean over to show some already well exposed cleavage, maybe even plant a kiss on the cheek while asking, "Would you like me to help you play those?" It works. It works amazingly well. Older men with money to burn being flattered by young women in skimpy dresses that often leave little to the imagination. I will never cease to be amazed just how much money a man will part with for a little flattery from a pretty girl who plans on him receiving nothing more than that. And who will disappear the moment his money is gone. At my table I was one of only two possible candidates, so some of them passed us by for richer hunting grounds. Also, being in the Hot Seat made me harder to reach. This was fine with me. It was a distraction I didn't need, already being up over ten thousand dollars for the few hours I'd played so far, and intending to leave with much more before the night was over. I'd already turned down a couple of these freeloaders with a quiet, yet serious, "No thanks," when I saw Her. She stood there fifteen feet away by the nearest row of slots, looking both beautiful and forlorn at the same time. She was tall, striking, and memorable. She looked to be twenty-four, a nice five-foot-nine barefoot, and had more class and unconscious grace than she realized. She also had a figure! I immediately dubbed her The Woman in the Red Dress, because she wore a rich red evening dress with a deep-V from her neck nearly to her navel. I could see just enough of the side to know it was backless down nearly as far, meaning no bra was covering her clearly ample bosom. Despite the way the dress artfully bunched itself in pleats over the two sides of her chest, it was clear she had something nice residing there. The pleated skirt part reached demurely to her knees, below which she wore sheer nylons. Her dress was matched with a red satin pair of three-inch pumps with sturdy square heels. I could see Ms. Red Dress is a big girl, and wasn't about to go tottering around in some insane pair of stilettos. What I could see of her legs made me forget about Holly altogether. This dress was a perfect match for the waves of rich dark brunette hair cascading down around her face and beyond, and was complemented by matching lipstick and nail polish. Ms. Red Dress was hesitating before making her first move of the evening. And she had a deer-in-the-headlights look telling me this was likely the very first time she'd ever done anything like this. - - - My snap judgment, before I had to turn back and play my next hand, was that there is no way she'd come here alone. She had to have been dragged here by some girlfriends who where trying to improve her clearly dreary social life with some girl's night out fun. She was a peacock among the peasants. When I won my hand and looked back she was still there. Then, as I suspected would happen, two other, more experienced looking, girls went back over to her. One of them was a busty blonde with a far more exposed superstructure who I'd already turned down. Although there is no way to overhear a conversation even between the players next to you in a normal casino, I knew exactly what those girls were saying to each other. Her friends were trying to get her to make her move. It's easy, they were telling her. Just find a man with lots of chips - and a drink or two in front of him - who is winning. Bat your eyes, rest your hand lightly on his arm, lean forward a bit, and say your line. At one point they even gestured towards me, obviously recognizing the value of the black chips I was playing with now. You don't want to stand here like a wallflower all night, do you? I could tell she wanted to do this. To go out and just have fun as easily and naturally as her friends were able to do. She yearned for it. And she knew the only thing holding her back was herself. But it was so hard to just actually break the ice this first time. They spoke at her for a couple more minutes, then suddenly left her alone again as they targeted in on a loud, boisterous group arriving at the next table. A table where the minimum bet started at five hundred dollars. The older man leading them there was wearing a half open silk shirt whose price I wouldn't even try to estimate, plus several heavy gold chains and diamond-encrusted rings. Most of his entourage were younger men of his same ethnic group. A natural target for the women, except for Ms. Red Dress, who most certainly wasn't ready to swim with those sharks quite yet. As she looked around for something - anything - other than that, I delayed playing my next hand long enough to catch her eye long enough to offer a sympathetic half-smile. Then I had to turn back to my cards. Things were helped along at that moment as the player next to me busted with the last of his money and got up, leaving an empty chair next to me. I felt the heat of Ms. Red Dress's tentative approach without looking back that direction at all. I didn't want to scare her off. I could hear her soft breath, and felt the intensity of her gaze on my blind side as she waited for an opening in the game. I played - and won - two more hands before I felt her hand descend gently onto my bare arm. She used the same line as her friend tried on me. Maybe it's the line they all use. In a slightly husky voice she asked, "Would you like some help in playing those?" I looked up to see the most clearly communicative - and equally indescribable - expression of anguish on her lovely face. One which silently shouted, I hope he isn't going to expect too much more than what I just offered! - - - Now I'm an Advantage Player in Blackjack, even if I haven't told you yet how I do it. I started with five hundred dollars three hours ago and am already up thousands. I plan to be up tens of thousands before the end of this weekend. I intend to make a year's salary before I leave. I've done it before. Then I'll lay low for a couple months before popping back up and doing it again somewhere else. It's wonderful to have an Edge in any one field. Where I'm exceptionally fortunate is to have an Edge in a second one as well, and that's dating relationships. And this Edge I came by so easily that anyone one can do it if they can actually break the ice to try it the first time. It's not any harder than what it took for Ms. Red Dress to approach me in the first place. And the answers are all in one chapter of one obscure book. Once upon a time I read an autobiographical book by a Nobel Prize winning physicist. Each chapter covered an amazing - and amusing - incident in his pre-World War II college life, or when he worked on the first atomic bomb project. And although he didn't get the Nobel Prize for anything less than a truly brilliant mind, even he had his problems with women. In one fascinating chapter he details how it was all finally explained to him, and how to use that information properly. This is no lie, although it's nothing to be used casually - or uncaringly. I've had this Edge also with me for a long time now, practiced and waiting for when I really needed it. After getting a close-up look at Ms. Red Dress, that time had now arrived. - - - "Have a seat," I said, pulling and swivling the chair so that she could side in beside me. I also pulled back my last winnings to keep my betting consistent. Her dress rustled as she sat down next to me and I got a whiff of her intoxicating perfume. Yes, this one was definitely worth the risk. I played another hand, and lost, before turning back to her and asking, "And what's your name?" "Vicky," she said softly, her voice more sweet than husky at that level. "Okay, Vicky," I said to her. "Do you know how to play Blackjack?" "A little," she ventured. I turned back to double down on my ten, and easily beat the dealer's seventeen. "And you'd like to play some?" I asked, turning back again. "Yes." "With some of my chips?" A much softer, more tentative, "Yes." "Learn how to really play this game?" "Yes." "Well then, let's see about that." I took four black chips and set them inside the insurance arc of the table. "Change to twenty-fives," I told the dealer. "Check change in!" he announced. When I pulled back the stack of green chips I kept my hand on it. Just as her hand reached mine I looked up into a pair of the clearest, most beautiful eyes any woman could hope to have - or any man hope to see - and I hit her with my Edge. "Vicky, before I give you these chips," I said calmly and clearly, "are you going to have sex with me tonight?" - - - That's it. That's all you need to know to have your best chance of scoring with a woman. Feynman's advice is clear and concise, and only three steps long. Before you buy them anything, first you ask them. That alone is the hardest part of the whole technique. If you keep waiting for the right moment, before you realize it you've already bought them something with no promises in return. Do that, and you've already lost. They have to say "Yes". If they say anything else and you still spend money on them, you're the fool. You have to believe they mean it. How much simpler could it be? - - - Part 2 - - - I had the perfect view of Vicky's lovely eyes. As what I said sank in, her pupils got wider and wider, until her eyes were almost black. Her nostrils flared as she found herself trying to catch her breath when it seemed as though all the air had just been sucked out of the room. Her hand was lightly resting on mine, which was still on my pile of chips. It was my pile of chips until I gave it to her. Time seemed stuck in molasses while her mind raced faster than it may have ever done before. Her grip tightened on my hand without her realizing it. She bit her lower lip, showing even white teeth in the process. I would have seen panic if it was present. In panic the pupils rapidly change size in frantic leaps. And you can smell panic, even in a smoky casino. Vicky had only three choices: Get up and leave. Slap me, get up and leave. None of the above. In a moment the tableau had to break. The dealer would be asking me if I was playing the next hand since my money was on the table, but my attention wasn't. Suddenly Vicky's grip relaxed. Her nostrils flared once more as she released the breath she held. Her eyes relaxed a bit, and her body slumped a tiny amount as the tension holding her upright in the chair drained away. She moistened her red lips with her tongue before almost whispering, "Yes." - - - I turned my attention to the table just long enough to take one card. I had a nineteen, and the dealer turned a queen for a twenty. "Let's do that first then," I commented as calmly as possible, turning back to her as I said it. "What?" she jumped, momentary panic now showing, although she quickly got herself back under control. "You've already said yes to me," I informed her. "And since I completely intend to carry through on my part of our agreement, I see no reason not to take a break now and play afterwards for the rest of the night. I'm willing to believe your 'Yes'. Are you equally willing to believe mine now?" Vicky lowered her eyes a tiny fraction and started to bite at her lip again. Then, as if realizing what she was doing, she stopped herself. A moment later she looked back up at me and nodded silently twice. I turned and pushed all my table chips in to the dealer. The ones in my pocket stayed out of sight. "Color me up please," I requested. "Checks coming in!" the dealer announced, converting my existing chips into the highest denominations at the table. This is a courtesy were the player doesn't have to handle too many chips, and the table doesn't have to keep restocking lower values as players walk away with them. Of course, they also get an easy read of your current stack in the process. "I'll be back," I promised Grace as I stood up. To my surprise - and pleasure - Vicky immediately took my arm. I looked at her and smiled, letting her know that I approved. "Do you need to tell your friends?" I asked, wanting her to feel as safe as possible with me now. She looked around without seeing them. "They'll be okay," she decided. "Then let's go find my room," I said lightly back to her. - - - As we walked to the elevators Vicky asked, "You don't know where your room is?" "They moved me," I told her. "I hoping they've given me a better one in the process." That got her to smile. I quickly decided it must be a pretty good room, because the elevator wouldn't even go to that floor until I inserted my cardkey next to the floor button. A short walk down the hall, Vicky's dress swishing next to me, and we arrived at the door. A moment later we were inside. Instead of immediately grabbing my prize, I looked around the room. It was big, with floor to ceiling windows on the far side. I didn't see my bags yet, but wasn't worried about that. When I stepped forward and out of Vicky's grip I reached back to take her hand and lead her across the floor. I could already tell she was very impressed that I had this room. "Look at that view!" I proclaimed. It was a full Strip view. Even though the sun behind us wasn't down yet and most of the lights were yet to come on, it was magnificent. I squeezed Vicky's hand and looked over to her. She was catching my infectious enthusiasm. The infectious enthusiasm I never let myself show at the tables. "Let's explore," I said, realizing she was with me now and I wasn't dragging her off to anything that didn't interest her as much as me. While certainly not a true high-roller suite - those, I'm told can take half a floor - it was impressive all the same. Two private bedrooms, each with a huge Roman bath. Grabbed some mouthwash while I was passing through. Red wine is not the best for good oral hygiene. Giant king-sized beds too. Full bar in the main room, along with the most modern television and entertainment setup I've ever seen. Three large couches did nothing to make the room seem cramped. And as for my luggage, which they'd moved up here automatically for me, they'd also unpacked it completely and had everything in its place. The only thing finer in this room was Vicky herself. - - - I finally walked over to her now that she had a chance to realize that there was more to me than just jumping her bones. I touched her bare arm gently, causing her to turn towards me. Her eyes were bright with excitement. This was already beyond the adventure she'd hoped to find today. I have no intention of giving her any second chances to back out now. What idiot would do that? I'm not playing Catch & Release here. It's like my table winnings. Once I've got it I intend to hold onto it. Instead I reached up to cup her face as gently in my hands as I could while saying as softly as possible, "You're beautiful." I felt her slump again as the tension seemed to drain out of her. Then using touch less than the lightest feather, I gently - and very slowly - guided us together. Someone watching us might have wondered if we'd ever actually meet. Vicky leaned forward ever so gradually in her heels, and I matched it equally slowly. As she moved closer her eyes slowly closed as well. We tipped towards each other, making sure we were unerringly on course, until her eyes finished closing just as I brushed her lips with mine. That hypothetical observer would have died of boredom no doubt as I held us precisely in this position of just brushing her lips and inhaling her fragrance for long minutes. We inhaled each other breaths. Somewhere along the way Vicky put her own arms loosely around my neck - not to pull me any closer yet, but to keep me from getting any further away. My blood pounded through my veins. I felt the flush of her own skin warming itself under my touch. This heat changed her fragrance. After what seemed an endless interval I realized her lips were pressing the tiniest bit more firmly against my own. Little by little she pulled us closer together until just our lips were mashed tightly together. I opened my mouth a bit to find the tip of her tongue waiting for me. We were gentle, tentative, but all the same intimate. Then she took a step forward, and it was our whole bodies in contact now. I stroked her bare back, playing with all she gave me back there. I felt her shiver and sway for a moment. I held her firmly in my grip. She needn't worry about falling while I'm around. I kissed her neck and ears as she rubbed my back through my shirt. Again her fragrance changed. She smelled a bit musky now. It was only when I couldn't wait any longer that I pushed her away to arms length, holding on so that she couldn't get any further away. I stroked her lush hair, taking a piece of it to tickle her neck. She tried to suppress a giggle without success. I reached around to the back of her neck to feel for the release of her dress. There wasn't one. Instead, after one last instant of introspection she took another half step back, and bowed forward to pull it over her head. Again an expression of unmistakable anguish flashed over her face for an instant before she got it under control. Then she let the top fall freely down to where her flaring hips held up the rest of the dress. After that she stood there to let me admire what she'd had just revealed to me alone. - - - As I had surmised, there was no bra - or anything else - underneath that dress, except for Vicky herself! It's unavoidable to have noticed anything else before Vicky's bare breasts. They're quite large - full D-cups at least - and the most perfect teardrops one can imagine. Large breasts come with large nipples, and Vicky's are no exception. And they were not only perfectly placed, but also proudly erect. And somewhere in the back of my mind I was also aware that there wasn't a tan line to be seen on that body. But that wasn't all there was to see. Her navel could only be described as perfect, and her waist looked especially narrow above a pair of flaring hips. Vicky let me fully appreciate it all. If she was shy before, she sure didn't seem that way now. She was into it. While looking is nice, I didn't come here just to look. I stepped forward exactly as much as she had stepped back and reached out to gently cup the bottoms of those breasts in my hands. They were warm, heavy, and hung completely free. If they weren't real then I'll never know the difference. Unlike some women where only their nipples and areolae are sensitive, Vicky's entire breast seemed sensitive to my touch. I traced around the outline of each one with my fingers, touching her as lightly here as my lips had first brushed hers. Eventually I brushed over her nipple and the crinkly areola around it. I immediately felt them harden and push out further. Somehow without moving her feet she managed to push them more into my hands. Once I was fully satisfied that I'd taken possession of those breasts, my fingers trailed down to brush across her navel, and from there to trace her waist along the boundary of her skirt and skin. I stopped my explorations a moment to look at her face. She had a faint smile, and her eyes weren't focused on anything in particular. She did focus on me as she became aware of the pause in my tactile examination, but lost it again the moment I started moving my fingertips again. Finally she moved when my hands traced her dress around to the small of her back. She brushed my hands aside as she reached back to release a hidden clasp. The dress fell to her feet. All she wore now were pantyhose, which was no surprise. In a dress and situation like this, it had to feel secure to be zipped up tightly where it counted. I find nylons very sexy, and stepped back to first admire, then run my hands over her legs. Seeing hers now, I was right to forget about Holly. Wow is the only word that properly comes to mind. I brushed my fingers lightly over those curves, becoming aware that my own manhood was responding quite strongly now. I finally inserted my fingers and ran my hands around just inside the stretch band at the top. When she didn't protest, I carefully start working the stretchy nylon over her hips until I'm easily sliding down her smooth legs. Vicky waited until I reach her shoes before stepping out of them to let me remove her last piece of clothing. All that's left was Vicky herself. Somehow I get out of my clothes without seeming too rushed or awkward. Vicky serenely waits for me. Any concerns she may have had prior to this moment have vanished. This really is going to happen. I walk forward and pull her into my arms - our warm bare flesh fully against each other now. "You smell wonderful," she tells me. I thought I smelled like casino cigarette smoke, but I'm not one to argue with the lady. We hold each other tightly. I can feel her breasts and nipples tight against my chest, and her wiry pubic hair against my groin. While I'd noticed the clean edges of her pubic triangle, what's left is lush. I run my fingertips over the light sheen of sweat on her back, and down over her well-rounded ass. She is clearly sensitive there as well and this causes her to jump a bit in my arms, but I don't stop. We kiss again, and then I move just far enough away to be able to slip a finger between her legs. I give her lots of warning on this. From the bottom of her back I come slowly around and over her well-fleshed hips. From there I cross the expanse of her waxed, but untrimmed bush, finally sliding past her urethra and down to lay across and press against her vaginal lips. Vicky is already moist here. Her eyes are still closed. Her lower lips part on my first gentle stroke, as does her mouth. I kiss her mouth gently as my finger finds warm inviting wetness inside her most intimate area. Only when my finger is completely wet and slick do I bring it forward to gently find her clitoris. That is something never to be approached when dry. Vicky's clit is easily located, causing her to jump more strongly as I make contact, then push her groin back towards me. I run the full length of my finger gently over it for a couple strokes, then press it inside her to see how deep I can reach. Vicky is bottomless as far as I can tell. I can smell the final aroma of her complete arousal now. I might have continued taking it slowly, feeling she still needed time to come to terms with all this, but apparently she had something different in mind. Vicky suddenly stepped back a single step and tugged me towards the bed. It was so unexpected that I lost my balance and tumbled both of us onto the turned down sheets. Although I couldn't help but laugh - as she did as well - it did nothing to spoil the mood. Vicky pulled me tightly against her while wrapping those incredible legs around me. Apparently she was now determined to prove that she was a fully grown and capable woman in this kind of situation. Only one last consideration. I reached to the side of the bed...and found condoms were exactly where I expected them to be. They weren't mine. Just a hotel that knows how to treat its guests right. "Protecting both of us today," I commented as I tore one open. Vicky smiled in return at my consideration. It was not something she'd demanded of me. - - - This moment together was not some exhibition of the Kama Sutra. I wasn't out to prove that I knew every form of sexual pleasure yet invented, and able to perform them all in under thirty minutes. This was fucking, plain, simple, loving, intimate. Vicky voiced no objection as I positioned her underneath me, and seemed to be waiting for me to get myself inside her. I obliged as quickly as possible. Although she was initially a snug fit, she easily accommodated me. And wet as she already was I was happy for the condom. It let me go at her longer than I could have ever managed bare. Have I mentioned that Vicky is a very sexy woman? I gave her everything I had to give, moving my own sexual organ around inside her, doing my best to reach every sensitive spot. Vicky, to my surprise given her previous reticence, proved to be quite expressive now - moaning and pulling me tighter against her - while having at least three dick-clenching pelvis-thrusting muscles-straining grunting and explosively exhaling orgasms, to the two exceptionally satisfying ones I managed for myself. And when I thought we were through and finally relaxed, she suddenly twisted and managed to roll me over under her. She immediately spread her thighs wider and straddled my still mostly hard erection and pumped one more orgasm out of both of us. Even that didn't seem enough for her as, after a moment to catch her breath she started going after one more. That was one more than I could stand at the moment. Even with the ribbed condom protecting my most private parts, there's a point where you're so sensitive that you really can't stand one more bit of stimulation. I reached up and pulled her down so tightly against me that she couldn't move an inch. And I held her there until I got it through to her that there can be such a thing as too much too quickly. I released her again the moment I felt her relax from striving for that one last time, and a moment later she rolled over to lay beside me, pulling my onto my side facing her since I was still inside her. I hated having to stop her. Not because I wanted more sex. I was fully sated for the moment. But when she'd been bucking on top of me I'd been enjoying the amazing swing and sway of her very natural breasts. That's a sight to inspire any man. Now as the manic energy of a few minutes ran out of me leaving just a warm, happy feeling behind, the same seemed to be happening for her. Still in my arms, Vicky curled up close next to me. I felt her breathing drop down to slow, even breaths in just a couple minutes. I closed my eyes soon afterwards. The next thing I knew, the room had grown dim and two hours had passed. - - - When Vicky got out of bed, it was to come over and join me at the big windows. The lights of Vegas were coming on now, and the view was worth the price. We stood together there naked, high above Las Vegas Boulevard. For someone who had seemed so shy in the casino, the transformation of her into someone this comfortable completely naked - and next to a completely naked man - was nothing short of amazing. Like Dorothy's house arriving in the Land of Oz, Vicky had entered the Special World of her own adventure. A place where the rules are very different from the world she'd left behind. And she seemed to be embracing this adventure now, and accepting whatever was happening next. "What if someone sees us?" she questioned. "If anyone is willing to climb up this far they deserve a look," I commented back, not concerned at all about our nakedness. Vicky snuggled up against me in agreement. I reached around to pull her in tighter, cupping one breast in the process. She put her hand over mine in affirmation of my hand's right to be there. For this shining moment at least, we were one with each other. My plan had been to get a quick shower, some food, and then back to the gaming tables. But holding Vicky like this made me want to extend the moment. While Vicky seemed to agree with being held, she finally stirred and apologized for needing to go to the bathroom. When she returned, however, she wormed her way back into exactly the position she'd left, pulling my hand back onto her breast. I wondered how many boys and young men have fervently wished to be exactly where I am right now. Many, I'm sure. Finally the lure of Blackjack hands yet to be won raised its siren song and I turned towards the bathroom myself. Halfway there I realized I wasn't going to make it, and pulled a surprised, but willing Vicky back down onto the bed. Getting another condom out and on only took a moment, and I took Vicky again there quickly and passionately. She'd obviously had the same idea, because her vagina was hot, wet, and waiting for me, and she was pulling me into her faster than I was managing just on my own. After that we did make it to the showers - and I do mean showers plural. Our oversized bathroom came with a pair of them - a tub shower and a stall shower. And while I'm not adverse to showering together, I fear if we started with that we wouldn't get out of here at all tonight. Vicky looked disappointed when I didn't follow her into it after escorting her over and turning the water. I kissed her sexy lips lightly before asking, "Didn't you want to play some Blackjack too?" Hearing that she dove in like an aquatic mammal (Vicky is clearly a very warm blooded mammal), while I took the other one to myself. By the way, the showers in the best suites are all clear glass. - - - When she came out toweling her hair dry I was already on the telephone to the Concierge about where to have dinner. He suggested that the Bradley Ogden, or the new Restaurant Guy Savoy, were the best restaurants in the hotel. I had to trust his recommendations since he'd already greeted me by name when he picked up the phone. The man was clearly well informed. "Would you like to invite your two friends to have dinner with us?" I asked over my shoulder. "Why, yes!" she replied beaming at my thoughtful suggestion. It was unlikely they would be eating this well otherwise. "I'm on hold while the Concierge is checking availability," I told her. There's a second line on the phone on your side of the bed if you'd like to try reaching them now." Vicky picked up the other phone, one of several we'd found scattered throughout the suite, including one in the bathroom right where you most wouldn't want to leave to answer a call otherwise. The Concierge got back to me saying he could get me into either restaurant, but that he felt Restaurant Guy Savoy would prove the better experience. I asked him if he could do it for four people, although two of them might not make it. He replied with an Australian accent, "No worries." By the time we were set for a half hour from now and I'd gotten a couple other questions answered Vicky turned to inform me, "I can't get through to them. I've tried both their cell phones, and the room phone, without an answer. So I left messages for them to just meet us there if they get them in time. Faster than I would have thought Vicky was ready to go, lipstick perfect once again, and every hair in place. Of course she didn't have to worry about which dress to wear. She still only had the red one. - - - Let me be the first to recommend Restaurant Guy Savoy. The service, the food, the atmosphere - however much it cost, we got our money's worth. And I don't know how much it did cost because they never brought me a bill. Lose just one hand at Blackjack at the rate I was last playing for, however, and the meal would be paid for. Vicky's friends never showed up, which turned out to be a good thing. We had some terse discussions about what was coming next. Then we got up together and sauntered over to the Blackjack pit. There were two seats available at the table I wanted to continue playing at, but they weren't together. And neither was the Hot Seat. Before I could even decide what to do next, Vicky casually walked over to the man in the Hot Seat, put her hand gently on his arm, and said sweetly, "This is my lucky seat. Would it be too much trouble to ask if I could have it again?" Now this is something I will never in the world get away with. Not even once. But Vicky had barely finished speaking before he was getting up and sliding his chips over to the empty spot next to him. But Vicky didn't stop there. She got this man, and the man next to him to move yet another seat over "So that my boyfriend and I can play together." And she said it as if all of them were especially great friends who would do anything for each other if only asked. "Thank you," I was saying sincerely to both the men as I sat down next to Vicky in the vacated seat. Learn to say Thank You - and mean it - when someone does you a favor. "Your lucky seat?" I turned and mouthed to her as soon as I was seated myself. "Of course," she replied in her normal voice, not worried about being overheard. "It's where I met you, isn't it?" - - - Courtesy says new players should only enter at the start of a new shoe. I asked the table if we should wait and they replied to just get in on the next hand. I pushed over four black chips and asked for Quarters (twenty-five dollar chips) for Vicky, giving her that stack. "I'll help you out with this," I said loudly enough for the whole table to hear. "Whatever," she replied equally clearly. Things appeared to be unchanged since I'd left. My Edge was still in gear for this table and these decks. I started where I'd left off with three black chips, while Vicky bet the table minimum of twenty-five dollars. Grace was still on duty and noted that I'd returned. She also noted that I picked up my play exactly where I'd left off. She cast a glance at Vicky, and I shrugged my shoulders with a wry smile, receiving one from her in return. - - - Vicky started off with an incredible run of beginner's luck. She seemed to be winning at least two out of every three hands - doing better even than I was. She started out listening to my advice pretty carefully, but she didn't always take it. In particular, sometimes I told her she needed to hit again and she refused, not wanting to bust too easily. Fortunately on most of those hands the card she didn't take often busted the dealer, winning those hands for her. Other times she hit when I warned her not to, often getting just what she needed to win. Not knowing any better she split tens against a dealer up two, and won both halves of her bet when the dealer turned over a king, and drew another ten. A few hands later she insisted on splitting fours against a dealer up jack. She said it "Felt like the right thing to do," slightly emphasizing the world "felt". She managed to not bust either hand, even doubling down on one of them, but only won when the dealer turned over a six and busted himself on the next hand. By now the rest of the table was staring at her more for her play than her looks - and that's pretty amazing. Vicky soon was matching me by playing three chips of her own, although her bets were only seventy-five dollars against my three hundred. And when I added a fourth chip to my own bets, she did as well. Several times I tried to talk her out of doing something truly foolish. Once she doubled down on an ace-nine against a dealer up nine, and won twice as much when she got a ten while the dealer turned over a ten of his own. The next time I tried to stop her from doing something similar I was lectured primly that "I'm winning playing just the way I am, thank you." The rest of the people at the table who weren't doing nearly as well as Vicky was despite all the dealer busts, could only shake their heads in amazement. One even confided to me, "She obviously has the intuition for the game, and all you're going to do is screw her up if you don't let her play this her way. Besides, she's not the one I'd want to get in a fight with, if you know what I mean." I wisely held my silence at this sage advice. On her next hand Vicky hit the Mother-in-Law Hand against a dealer up nine, and received a three for her efforts, beating the dealer once again when he turned over the expected ten card. Holly came by asking if anyone wanted drinks, and noted I now had a companion. Because she was officially out of the running - given that she'd ever wanted to be in it - I tipped her a black chip just for looking nice, and ask for some Frangelico - my favorite after dinner liqueur. She also brought me some water without even being asked. Then, just as Cathi came by for what must her last round of the evening, Vicky saw her friends a few tables away. "I'll be back in a moment," Vicky proclaimed, jumping up and giving me a kiss on the cheek before running off. Cathi gave me a questioning glance that I could read as easily as I'd read Vicky's anguish earlier. "While you were still looking for a reason to say no," I told her, "someone else came along and said yes." A few moments later I was being introduced to Ashley and Brianna, who were both shorter, blonde (one obviously out of a bottle) and certainly pretty enough - especially dressed as they were for their evening here. Neither of them, however, would I have traded Vicky for. Heck, I wouldn't have traded her for both of them together. Ashley in particular had this "hard" - some might more charitably say cynical - aspect to her that said she'd probably been taking advantage of men since she'd first gotten her boobs. Brianna seemed still salvageable, but it wasn't a job I intended taking on. The new girls staring goggle-eyed at Vicky's now impressive pile of chips - as well as the black chips I still had on the table in front of me. Even if Vicky was new enough to this to not yet relate colored discs of plastic to real money accurately, her friends sure did. "You want us to help you play that?" Brianna asked, perhaps before she could stop herself. "Should we?" Vicky asked, looking directly at me with a twinkle in her big doe eyes. "Are they sleeping with either of us?" I questioned her back. "No," she replied with a secret smile. "And what does that mean?" I teased, testing to see if she'd learned the lesson being taught here tonight. "It means," Vicky said with a big smile as she turned to her friends, "that you need to go play your own chips." Actually neither of them seemed all that disappointed at Vicky's and my refusal. They may have felt Vicky needed to refuse in order to keep me happy and in the mood of giving Vicky more stuff. They both knew they would have done the same if the situation had been reversed, and probably didn't yet realize that the chips they saw were Vicky's own winnings. Then Vicky told them about the dinner they'd missed, but promised to include them on an equally good one tomorrow. Hearing that they actually seemed happy for us. Then one of them saw some man giving them the high sign and they scampered off back to him. I was certain enough to bet money, if anyone would take it, that he wouldn't be sleeping with either of them tonight. We settled down and kept playing. And against all my good advice of proper basic strategy, Vicky kept breaking the rules. Although I was quietly winning substantially more money, she was very flashily winning all the attention. And the more she won, the bubblier she became. She was toking the dealers the same way I was, and all the seats at our table stayed full now, while others stood waiting for any vacancy. Even while the other players were losing money no one wanted to leave. Vicky loved all the attention. She'd unconsciously toss her head, or even shimmy her chest just enough to leave her beautiful breasts swaying underneath the concealing fabric. Her presence was making our table the place to be. And she continued to win. What nobody else realized is that, under the table and under her fancy red dress, I had my left hand resting high up on her nylon covered warm thigh. Even if they had realized it, they would have just considered me an awfully lucky guy for being allowed to hold her there. I was under the dress because she had told me several hours of a sweaty palm on that lovely dress might stain it. She'd suggested that I hold her in this much more intimate way. And everything we were saying to each other - my verbal advice of what to do next, and her ignoring it with snappy comebacks that she was doing just fine without me - was entirely for show. Only my hand signals mattered. That, and Vicky's intense interest in making this work for both of us. And in this, she was proving smart, creative - and artful! I don't think she ever repeated herself a second time on anything! - - - "Do you want to play - or do you want to win?" I'd asked her this while we were sitting in the restaurant together. I refused to even broach the subject until we left the suite. While it seems inconceivable that the hotel would actually bug any of their rooms, given the unbelievably intense surveillance on the casino floor itself I could believe anything was possible. Even in the restaurant I leaned forward and spoke as low as I could when talking to her. "Win," she said immediately, convincing me that instant she was more than just a pretty face - and stunning body. "Then here's what we're going to do..." Without telling her anything about my own Edge, we worked out a simple set of signals. One squeeze meant take a hit. Two quick squeezes meant double down. A long squeeze meant split the hand. And a side-to-side motion meant wave off any more cards. As we played now I could tell how much she was enjoying this. Even in the smoky casino I could faintly smell her arousal. And everyone looking at her could see her large nipples pressing out against her dress. - - - We continued to play until I finally called time at midnight. I didn't intend to kill myself at this game, and had until the end of the weekend available. Vicky would have kept going all night, but she saw that I meant it. Overdo it tonight and pay for it tomorrow. Grace and Cathi were long gone themselves, and I hadn't seen Holly for the last three hours. There was an actual groan at the table as I pushed my chips in to Color Up, and Vicky followed suit, pushing her pile towards mine. I put out my arm - the arm that I needed to flex a few times since it had been in the same happy place for the last few hours - and said firmly, "No. Those are yours. Keep them separate." At that moment Vicky realized this wasn't just a night of amazing fun that might never be repeated. That in the same way she'd kept to every particular of her own bargain with me, I was now keeping to every part of mine with her. She'd turned her original four hundred into nearly seven thousand, and I'd just told her it was all hers. "All of it?" she questioned, her eyes bright. "Well, if you want to give me back my original four hundred..." She immediately pushed the requisite chips into my pile, keeping the rest in front of her. Vicky has more class than any twenty-four-year-old woman should possess. She kept her decorum until we were alone in the elevator, before threw herself onto me peppering me with kisses that I could barely respond to fast enough. "We'll keep doing this until I leave on Sunday, if you'd like?" I told her. That got me a hug that almost cut me in half, and left me breathless in more ways than one. We were at the door to my suite when Vicky suddenly remembered that her luggage was still down in the room she was sharing with Ashley and Brianna. She was about to run down for it when I told that it wasn't necessary. We went inside and I got her on the line with the Concierge. In under a minute there was a discreet ring of our doorbell. Vicky answered and handed over her old room key, along with a brief description. The only way I can explain this level of service is that the hotel's Concierge service must have a station on our floor that I haven't seen yet. For that matter, I'd bet calls from our floor are routed to directly to it. Less than ten minutes later there was another quiet ring. Vicky, in a bathrobe now, accepted her luggage while politely declining the offer to have it unpacked for her. They even brought her a second key for this room. Instead she gave them her red dress for cleaning. They promised to have it back by eight in the morning. - - - Despite all the excitement we were both exhausted. This time we showered together, but quickly. We both went to bed damp. But we weren't so exhausted that there wasn't a bit of tender lovemaking first. Vicky was so into it that she rather forced it on me - not that I was complaining. Then we lay together in each other's arms as comfortably as though we'd been friends and lovers for years. A couple times during the night I awoke, the room clearly lit by the lights from the Strip far below. Each time I couldn't stop myself from again reaching over and caressing one of Vicky's beautiful breasts. Although it never seemed to wake her, each time she pulled herself closer into me again before we both fell back to the deepest sleep. It was a night I'll never forget.