Am I a whore? Nah, but I suppose some of my victims might be able to twist my actions into that description, but I'm not. That is, if they even know they are victims. I am a manipulator and an opportunist. I just happen to have some features that make this easier for me. Features, I suppose I should describe those. Perky C-cups, lightly tanned skin, a few freckles, hazel eyes, straight mid back length light auburn hair, on a five-seven body.
But I suppose it's not quite enough, right? Okay, let's give you a bit about me then. Currently, twenty-three years old, a bean pole through ninth grade, but then started to flesh out so to speak. Ninth grade and the subsequent years were good for me.
I never took the cheerleader route, but I really enjoyed the extra-curricular, especially after I got my driver's license at sixteen (February birthday, by the way). Dance, gymnastics, one-acts, and track & field were all areas that were fun, got me out of the house, and I made some good friends. Yes, I attended both proms, and yes, I lost my virginity after one of them. Well, both of them, if you ask my boyfriends at the time.
Academically though, if I wasn't doing extracurricular activities, I had my nose in the books. Now don't get me wrong, I was no straight-A student or anything. But when I walked to the podium for my High School Diploma, I had forty of the sixty credits to finish my Associate and finished those over the Summer and went straight after my bachelor's degree in business and done by the time I turned twenty-one.
My job search. Well, I used a few different apps to hunt down a job that I could enjoy, but it was my father that gave me some of the best advice. He told me to research a job and a location, because the dollar amounts are not the key. The annual salary dollars in Maryland look better than those in Kentucky, but what does that income get you in lifestyles? Three thousand dollars a month gets you a decent two-bedroom apartment in New York City, but that same price is a mortgage payment for a three or four bedroom home in rural areas of Wyoming. The other thing he mentioned is to look for "hungry" employers. The pool of talent in NYC is saturated, but dry in Ely Nevada, so a wage negotiation can be more friendly. Especially if the business is growing, salary increases can also be better. So where am I? Northern Nevada, small town along the interstate working for the Bureau of Land Management in Payroll position for a Lithium Mine.
Sorry, I'm derailing here. Let's back to me and this day. I suppose it's important to some readers to know how I got here, but at the start of the story here I am on barstool and baby-sipping a Mohito as I watch the blackjack tables.
"You gonna drink that today, Chrissy?" came a deep voice behind me. I rotate the barstool to look at the bartender, Derek Wulph. A grizzled, heavy set, army vet in his early sixties that had poured many drinks for me on my way to my first, legal, inebriation as well as a few after that.
"Working on it Wolfy." I said with a smile. "You know I always start slow."
Derek huffed out a scoff. "Yep. It's starting to slow down. They'll cut it to two tables soon."
I nodded, set a dollar token on the bar and then stood and began to move my way to blackjack table two, but not yet sitting to play. Instead, I casually watched the two others at the table. One was a local, betting smart, but just to play.
How do I know you ask? Easy. The table is a two dollar minimum, which is exactly what he's betting. I can promise you, he's spending twenty, maybe forty dollars to sit at a table, have some human interaction and a few free drinks. The dealer swiped out the green card from the four-deck shoe, which meant last hand and time to shuffle. I watched as the local man won his hand and then walked towards the cashiers' cage, finished for the night, but finishing close to even I assume. The other guy at the table, betting bigger money, told the dealer to hold his spot and made his way towards the restroom.
I sat in the last chair at the table known commonly as 'third base', set my drink on the table, and smiled at the dealer, "Hey Jace, how goes it?"
Jace smiled, a smile that was only half reflected in his eyes, "You know, another day another dime."
"And yet here I am, about to squander those dollars." I smirked and put a pair of twenties on the table as I watched him shuffle the four decks of cards together. "All silver, when you're finished."
"Sure thing." he said in a simple response before going back to finishing the shuffle.
As Jace finished the shuffle and then pushed four stacks of silver metal coins at me, Big Money returned to the table. He nodded politely in my direction, but his gaze did not linger at all. I'm not gonna lie, that mildly surprised me. I'm not gorgeous, but despite moderate attire, I intentionally choose clothes that draw attention. An a-line floor length burgundy dress with a corset waist and a lace back. No bra (like I said, they're perky) and modest two-inch heels. I passively watched as Big Money pulled a couple of handfuls of twenty-five-dollar green chips out of his hoodie pockets, set them on the table, then without a word put a green chip in the bet field.
I put two, dollar tokens in the bet field and a single coin just above the bet. Card dealt, and the hands played and there was no chance with the dealer getting blackjack. Second hand dealt, same bets. This time though, Big Money is showing a four, I'm showing a seven with a Jack under, and the dealer showing a six. I stand, but big money hits and I let out a sigh as he gets a queen, pushing him over and busting. The Dealer flips his bottom card now having a six and a three. Dealer hits, getting a nine for a total of total and winning the hand.
Two hands later and it's set up almost identical. I watch Big Money and I can see he's going to hit so I just say softly, but loud enough to be heard, "Don't."
Big Money pauses, give me a look, then asks "Why not?"
"He's gonna break if you let him."
He raises an eyebrow, then continues "You don't know that."
I shrugged, "Not one hundred percent, you're right."
So, he hits, gets a four to set up nicely at twenty and looks at me smugly, but then frowns when the end of the hand is both of us lose when the dealer takes three cards and wins with twenty-one. I return the favor with my own smug look. Oof, he did not like that. The situation comes up again in three hands when I'm starting to run low on tokens. After the cards are dealt, but before we play the hands, Big Money asks, "What's up with the extra token?"
"It's the dealer's bet." I answer. "Like a tip, but rather than just taking the tip, it gives them a chance to double up if I win. They have no control over it really, but I feel better if they get a big tip rather than the small one."
Jace chuckled but Big Money quietly made the joke, "That's what she said."
I joined in the mirth, "Damn right."
"Okay, Bit Tip, what am I doing this hand?"
I quickly glanced at the current cards, then responded, "Stand, and Big Tip, really?"
The dealer busted, leaving both of us winners, so I asked Jace if he wanted to it to ride, which he agreed and only put the one dollar won into the tip bucket and left the bet on the table.
"What else do I call you?" Big Money asked as the next hand was dealt.
I smirked and glance at the diminished pile of silver tokens in front of me, "It works, since I've only got a few hands left before my night's over."
