elroycohen
Steampunk Psycho
~BBW, Eating, Erotica – One of the many exploits of a Vegas singer.
Whenever I tell people Vegas is my home town, even before I get into what I do, they act like I’m stating the obvious. “Of course you’re from here. There’s no other place you could be from,” they’ll often reply. And while I can’t really argue with them I always contend that if I had been born somewhere else, like say Iowa, I probably would have grown up to be a hog farmer or whatever type of farmer lives out there, dressing in overalls and chewing tobacco (I know it’s probably horribly stereotypical, but I’ve never been anywhere near the Midwest). But I wasn’t, I was born In Vegas to a stripper and a blackjack dealer (it’d probably trip you out if I told which was dad and which was my mom), so naturally I grew up to be a singer modeled after guys like Dean Martin and Harry Connick Jr. who makes a living getting booked at casinos for a few hours in lounges and piano bars.
I got the whole Frank Sinatra thing going with the band I’m with now. Even adopted the name Frankie Crooner, even though it’s really Tyler Layton. Probably sounds like I’m full of myself to come out and compare myself to the Chairman of the Board, but that’s just the vibe I’ve kind of adopted. The tuxes, the hats, even cigars. I’ve always admired the guy then in high school I discovered I wasn’t a bad singer. It sure seemed better then working for a living and it doesn’t hurt that in this town they’ll always be room for a guy who can sing worth a lick and give off the old school Vegas vibe even when the look’s not in vogue. And when it is mind you my phone nearly rings off the hook.
Lately it hasn’t been as popular. Places are trying book garage bands for their trendy nightclubs, but like I said in this town if you’re good you can always find work covering old Blue Eyes. And I’m not bad, some might even say I’m better looking even if I can’t hold candle to him in the voice department, hard as I may try. Good enough to have a regular gig at the Horseshoe and manage to finagle a few other things on the side now and again. Some of them even on the strip.
Now, singing Sinatra around Vegas, you probably think I have ladies falling all over me every night, and you’re not wrong. But I’m a little different then your average cat. I don’t get into the whole stick thin, plastic looking mannequin thing that it seems like a lot of women strive for nowadays. Not even the athletic ones really do anything for me. Don’t get me wrong I’ll appreciate beauty in all its forms, but to turn my head it helps to have a bit more jiggle and a much bigger appetite then your average chick.
You’re probably saying, man, you’re in the wrong town for that attitude. And while in Vegas we have plenty of the dieted-down-to-nothing-only-to-have-enough-saline-stuck-in-their-chest-to-tip-them-over type ladies with their faces all sculpted and skin all spray tanned to eerie similarity (or at least they all look the same to me after a few martinis), there are quite a few that aren’t. Especially tourists from out of town with their doughy physiques and pasty complexions.
And don’t think I’m just some cad who beds tourist after tourist. Well, I guess you can think that, but don’t think it’s just because that’s all I want. I’d actually be quite content if I found the woman of my dreams tomorrow and settled down with a nice soft beauty. But until that happens I’m not opposed to having a little fun. And lest you think I’m out breaking girls’ hearts left and right let me tell you this story:
I met a real knockout last week during a set at the MGM. I was feeling pretty good even before she caught my eye, because that is a pretty sweet paying gig. It wasn’t in an auditorium on a weekend or anything, just a few hours in one of their open lounges at 7pm on a weeknight, but still it was MGM and the place was pretty happening for a weeknight. Plus it was close to that lion thing they have, so it stayed pretty steady.
The set was going good, I was just into “All I Need is the Girl” when I noticed a pair of obvious tourists get a table a few rows back from the stage. They were a little sweaty even in their shorts and tanks from not being used to the heat and one had a pretty deep pink hue from lack of proper sun protection. Despite being fish out of water there was one that was definitely my type; a blonde with a cute round face looking about forty pounds overweight and carrying about thirty-nine and a half of those pounds in her legs. Her shorts did not quite fit her shape, making her thighs look even fuller as they dug deep into her flesh. Her legs were thick all the way down to the ankle where she had a tattoo of a pair of ballet slippers; maybe suggesting those legs at one time had been more muscular.
The blonde’s ill fitting shorts even gave away a little belly once she sat down. Her Coyote Ugly tank top with the creases still in it from probably having just bought the thing showcased her soft upper arms.
In between sipping some massive, colorful drink through a straw that looped twice before it got to her mouth the blonde stared up at me with big brown eyes and I was smitten. I started singing almost right to her. I tried to be subtle, but sure enough after a couple songs smiling right at my new crush her friend elbowed her and winked.
By the time I got to “Crazy Love” I was in the audience standing right next her. I checked back up at the stage and Ace, the drummer, was giving me the “that’s enough” sign with his hand, so I finished the song and left, but not before giving her a pat on her hand and looking deeply into her eyes.
During our first break I hung around to see if my blonde was going to take off on me or if I had made enough of a connection for her to stick around and talk. Not something I usually do. I try and let them come to me, but something about this larger-legged beauty had me scanning the crowd.
I must have been on that night, because I saw her standing sheepishly up by the stage with her friend prodding her. I could read her lips as she said, “go on, there he is.”
I figured I’d make things easy for her and stepped off the stage. I got ambushed by a group of old ladies who did the whole, “You know who you remind me of?” thing, with each one of them naming off a different member of the rat pack. I was able to wiggle past them quickly enough and step right over to a now blushing, pudgy blonde.
“Sorry if I embarrassed you out there,” I started. “Sometimes it just helps for me to focus on a beautiful lady when I sing that song.”
She blushed even more as her friend giggled. “Oh that’s okay. It’s just that I have never had anyone do that before. It was very sweet. Thanks.”
“Oh please, you and you’re pretty friend there probably have guys tripping all over themselves for you around here. Don’t try to give me that modesty stuff, I have eyes.”
The chubby-thighed blonde tried to compose herself. “Oh no, we’ve been here four days now and I had one guy try to hit on me, and I think it was because he wanted to sell me a time share.”
“Oh is that what there doing? Well if that’s the case I get hit on an awful lot by guys.” I quipped.
More giggling. “It’s just that hanging out at the pool I don’t really look like the other girls around here in my swimsuit. It’s kind of intimidating for a girl who doesn’t get out of Wisconsin very much.”
I gave a dismissive but friendly wave of my hand and touched her forearm. “Everyone thinks that, even the girls that don’t get out of Vegas very much. Hell I still haven’t broke out my Speedo this summer.” I paused to let the girls chuckle. “Seriously though, you just need to find the right group of people.” I handed her a card with a room number on it. “After our set here the guys and are a having a little after party. You and your friend should come up. Hell, bring that swimsuit if you want, I’d love to give you feedback on what I think you look like in it.” Just as she was reaching out for the card I snapped it back. “First though I have to get your name, because when I’m up at the party I’m sure I won’t have much luck asking around if anyone’s seen the cute blonde.”
It was another thing I usually don’t do; invite random women to the band’s after parties. Not because there’s anything really exclusive about them. They tend to be just our close friends and few fans drinking wherever we can find the space. But once again the striking looks of my sudden infatuation had me handing out invites and asking for a name.
She blushed again. “I’m Nancy, and I’ll try and make sure you don’t have to look too hard for me.” She batted her eyes at me and waved as I hopped back up on stage for the next set. I honestly can’t tell you if it got packed for the last stretch of songs or not. There might as well have just been me and Nancy in the place for all I cared.
The party was pretty low key. Like I said, mostly friends of the band who we had told we were doing MGM. Ace had managed to get a suite since he knew a guy at the desk and it was a pretty slow week. That’s really all it was; just our drunk friends hanging out drinking and dancing in a place that most of us could not ever afford on a regular night.
Nancy was already up there when I got in. She and her friend were hanging in a corner looking out of place. I grabbed Brutus, the bass player by the sleeve of his jacket and whispered, “Wing man,” to him as I made my way over.
“It’s the-“ I started explaining but he knew me better.
“The tubby blonde is yours. I’ll make nice with the sunburned brunette.”
Ten minutes later Brutus and the brunette wandered over to get drinks as he explained the meaning behind one of his many tattoos to her as she followed mesmerized by the tall dark and handsome guitar player.
“I think you just got ditched,” I said.
“Figures,” Nancy shrugged. “She always gets the guys. “Usually I’m not as lucky as tonight. Most times I’m standing here by myself.”
“Who says you’re getting lucky?” I joked.
Nancy playfully slapped my hand. “You know what I meant. Usually the fat friend doesn’t get any attention.”
“Maybe it’s cause she thinks of herself as the fat friend instead of the curvy vixen she is?”
“Oh please, these legs aren’t curvy. They’re bumpy from all the cellulite.” Nancy turned and true enough dimples ran from where her thighs bulged from the shorts down to the backs of her knees. “But listen to me. You must think I’m some neurotic mess. I’ve had way too much to drink to have turned the conversation to cellulite. Sooo not attractive.”
I leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I think you’re adorable, and there is nothing to be neurotic about your legs. Most guys don’t like the toothpicks in nylons look.” I tried to be careful. Whenever the conversation goes this way it’s hard not to go to far and fawn all over a fuller lady when she starts to get down on herself. I’ve learned over time though blurting out the fact that I appreciate a little meat on a chick’s bones doesn’t do anything to change a lady’s body image. No one’s ever said to me, “oh you like fat, well what have I been thinking all these years? All of a sudden I love that my tummy bulges over my skirt.”
Besides, there is no real need to get into specifics. Just the fact that I’m focusing attention on a woman is enough for them to get that I’m into them and the fact that she’s doing the same is enough for me to understand she’s not put off by me.
“I certainly don’t have toothpicks,” Nancy chuckled, “but a guy like you could be with any of these women here that look like they have enough willpower to turn down chocolate.”
I looked around at the suite full of ladies who were for the most part slimmer then Nancy. “You know that’s the first time I noticed there were other women here. Besides, there’s something very sensual about a woman eating chocolate, or eating anything that matter, food can be very sexy. Makes me wish I had a candy bar with me to give you.”
Nancy was starting to move closer to me. I had been leaning back against the wall, trying to gauge her comfort level with me. As her breast brushed my hand holding my drink it was clear she was loosening up. And it was not just her body language, what she said was letting me know she was letting her self-consciousness fade away. “Oh gosh, you should have been with me since I’ve got to Vegas if you thick eating is sensual. With all the buffets around here I’ve eaten at Julie will have to roll me back to the airport at the end of the week.”
“Aww, now you’re just teasing me,” I said, gently pulling her closer to me with my free hand. She was happy to oblige, a little too much so, as she pressed her boobs up against me she sandwiched my drink hand between our bodies, splashing a good portion of my scotch on our shirts.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I’m such a clutz,” she cried, pulling away.
“Don’t sweat it, babe. I pulled her back to me. “Nothing wrong with smelling like good scotch…This cheap stuff I got for the party isn’t terrible either I guess.”
She giggled as I leaned in and kissed her, and soon I was able to tell what Nancy had been drinking all night; the fruity taste of her cocktails mixed with a beer aftertaste. Not my kind of drinks, but coming from her it tasted like candy.
For all Nancy’s neurotic rambling she was quite aggressive once we got going, grinding her wide hips into my crotch as her hands slid around my waist. “So are you going to ask me if I want to get out of here or not?” she said after a few minutes of tongue wrestling.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I smiled.
“Where are you going to take me?” she asked teasingly.
“All this talk about you and chocolate makes me want to stop by this ice cream joint I know that’s open all night before we go somewhere a little more private.”
“Gosh you weren’t kidding about the food thing, huh? Well like I said, I don’t have much willpower, both for the ice cream and for you all to myself.”
Frankie Crooner
By elroycohen
By elroycohen
Whenever I tell people Vegas is my home town, even before I get into what I do, they act like I’m stating the obvious. “Of course you’re from here. There’s no other place you could be from,” they’ll often reply. And while I can’t really argue with them I always contend that if I had been born somewhere else, like say Iowa, I probably would have grown up to be a hog farmer or whatever type of farmer lives out there, dressing in overalls and chewing tobacco (I know it’s probably horribly stereotypical, but I’ve never been anywhere near the Midwest). But I wasn’t, I was born In Vegas to a stripper and a blackjack dealer (it’d probably trip you out if I told which was dad and which was my mom), so naturally I grew up to be a singer modeled after guys like Dean Martin and Harry Connick Jr. who makes a living getting booked at casinos for a few hours in lounges and piano bars.
I got the whole Frank Sinatra thing going with the band I’m with now. Even adopted the name Frankie Crooner, even though it’s really Tyler Layton. Probably sounds like I’m full of myself to come out and compare myself to the Chairman of the Board, but that’s just the vibe I’ve kind of adopted. The tuxes, the hats, even cigars. I’ve always admired the guy then in high school I discovered I wasn’t a bad singer. It sure seemed better then working for a living and it doesn’t hurt that in this town they’ll always be room for a guy who can sing worth a lick and give off the old school Vegas vibe even when the look’s not in vogue. And when it is mind you my phone nearly rings off the hook.
Lately it hasn’t been as popular. Places are trying book garage bands for their trendy nightclubs, but like I said in this town if you’re good you can always find work covering old Blue Eyes. And I’m not bad, some might even say I’m better looking even if I can’t hold candle to him in the voice department, hard as I may try. Good enough to have a regular gig at the Horseshoe and manage to finagle a few other things on the side now and again. Some of them even on the strip.
Now, singing Sinatra around Vegas, you probably think I have ladies falling all over me every night, and you’re not wrong. But I’m a little different then your average cat. I don’t get into the whole stick thin, plastic looking mannequin thing that it seems like a lot of women strive for nowadays. Not even the athletic ones really do anything for me. Don’t get me wrong I’ll appreciate beauty in all its forms, but to turn my head it helps to have a bit more jiggle and a much bigger appetite then your average chick.
You’re probably saying, man, you’re in the wrong town for that attitude. And while in Vegas we have plenty of the dieted-down-to-nothing-only-to-have-enough-saline-stuck-in-their-chest-to-tip-them-over type ladies with their faces all sculpted and skin all spray tanned to eerie similarity (or at least they all look the same to me after a few martinis), there are quite a few that aren’t. Especially tourists from out of town with their doughy physiques and pasty complexions.
And don’t think I’m just some cad who beds tourist after tourist. Well, I guess you can think that, but don’t think it’s just because that’s all I want. I’d actually be quite content if I found the woman of my dreams tomorrow and settled down with a nice soft beauty. But until that happens I’m not opposed to having a little fun. And lest you think I’m out breaking girls’ hearts left and right let me tell you this story:
I met a real knockout last week during a set at the MGM. I was feeling pretty good even before she caught my eye, because that is a pretty sweet paying gig. It wasn’t in an auditorium on a weekend or anything, just a few hours in one of their open lounges at 7pm on a weeknight, but still it was MGM and the place was pretty happening for a weeknight. Plus it was close to that lion thing they have, so it stayed pretty steady.
The set was going good, I was just into “All I Need is the Girl” when I noticed a pair of obvious tourists get a table a few rows back from the stage. They were a little sweaty even in their shorts and tanks from not being used to the heat and one had a pretty deep pink hue from lack of proper sun protection. Despite being fish out of water there was one that was definitely my type; a blonde with a cute round face looking about forty pounds overweight and carrying about thirty-nine and a half of those pounds in her legs. Her shorts did not quite fit her shape, making her thighs look even fuller as they dug deep into her flesh. Her legs were thick all the way down to the ankle where she had a tattoo of a pair of ballet slippers; maybe suggesting those legs at one time had been more muscular.
The blonde’s ill fitting shorts even gave away a little belly once she sat down. Her Coyote Ugly tank top with the creases still in it from probably having just bought the thing showcased her soft upper arms.
In between sipping some massive, colorful drink through a straw that looped twice before it got to her mouth the blonde stared up at me with big brown eyes and I was smitten. I started singing almost right to her. I tried to be subtle, but sure enough after a couple songs smiling right at my new crush her friend elbowed her and winked.
By the time I got to “Crazy Love” I was in the audience standing right next her. I checked back up at the stage and Ace, the drummer, was giving me the “that’s enough” sign with his hand, so I finished the song and left, but not before giving her a pat on her hand and looking deeply into her eyes.
During our first break I hung around to see if my blonde was going to take off on me or if I had made enough of a connection for her to stick around and talk. Not something I usually do. I try and let them come to me, but something about this larger-legged beauty had me scanning the crowd.
I must have been on that night, because I saw her standing sheepishly up by the stage with her friend prodding her. I could read her lips as she said, “go on, there he is.”
I figured I’d make things easy for her and stepped off the stage. I got ambushed by a group of old ladies who did the whole, “You know who you remind me of?” thing, with each one of them naming off a different member of the rat pack. I was able to wiggle past them quickly enough and step right over to a now blushing, pudgy blonde.
“Sorry if I embarrassed you out there,” I started. “Sometimes it just helps for me to focus on a beautiful lady when I sing that song.”
She blushed even more as her friend giggled. “Oh that’s okay. It’s just that I have never had anyone do that before. It was very sweet. Thanks.”
“Oh please, you and you’re pretty friend there probably have guys tripping all over themselves for you around here. Don’t try to give me that modesty stuff, I have eyes.”
The chubby-thighed blonde tried to compose herself. “Oh no, we’ve been here four days now and I had one guy try to hit on me, and I think it was because he wanted to sell me a time share.”
“Oh is that what there doing? Well if that’s the case I get hit on an awful lot by guys.” I quipped.
More giggling. “It’s just that hanging out at the pool I don’t really look like the other girls around here in my swimsuit. It’s kind of intimidating for a girl who doesn’t get out of Wisconsin very much.”
I gave a dismissive but friendly wave of my hand and touched her forearm. “Everyone thinks that, even the girls that don’t get out of Vegas very much. Hell I still haven’t broke out my Speedo this summer.” I paused to let the girls chuckle. “Seriously though, you just need to find the right group of people.” I handed her a card with a room number on it. “After our set here the guys and are a having a little after party. You and your friend should come up. Hell, bring that swimsuit if you want, I’d love to give you feedback on what I think you look like in it.” Just as she was reaching out for the card I snapped it back. “First though I have to get your name, because when I’m up at the party I’m sure I won’t have much luck asking around if anyone’s seen the cute blonde.”
It was another thing I usually don’t do; invite random women to the band’s after parties. Not because there’s anything really exclusive about them. They tend to be just our close friends and few fans drinking wherever we can find the space. But once again the striking looks of my sudden infatuation had me handing out invites and asking for a name.
She blushed again. “I’m Nancy, and I’ll try and make sure you don’t have to look too hard for me.” She batted her eyes at me and waved as I hopped back up on stage for the next set. I honestly can’t tell you if it got packed for the last stretch of songs or not. There might as well have just been me and Nancy in the place for all I cared.
The party was pretty low key. Like I said, mostly friends of the band who we had told we were doing MGM. Ace had managed to get a suite since he knew a guy at the desk and it was a pretty slow week. That’s really all it was; just our drunk friends hanging out drinking and dancing in a place that most of us could not ever afford on a regular night.
Nancy was already up there when I got in. She and her friend were hanging in a corner looking out of place. I grabbed Brutus, the bass player by the sleeve of his jacket and whispered, “Wing man,” to him as I made my way over.
“It’s the-“ I started explaining but he knew me better.
“The tubby blonde is yours. I’ll make nice with the sunburned brunette.”
Ten minutes later Brutus and the brunette wandered over to get drinks as he explained the meaning behind one of his many tattoos to her as she followed mesmerized by the tall dark and handsome guitar player.
“I think you just got ditched,” I said.
“Figures,” Nancy shrugged. “She always gets the guys. “Usually I’m not as lucky as tonight. Most times I’m standing here by myself.”
“Who says you’re getting lucky?” I joked.
Nancy playfully slapped my hand. “You know what I meant. Usually the fat friend doesn’t get any attention.”
“Maybe it’s cause she thinks of herself as the fat friend instead of the curvy vixen she is?”
“Oh please, these legs aren’t curvy. They’re bumpy from all the cellulite.” Nancy turned and true enough dimples ran from where her thighs bulged from the shorts down to the backs of her knees. “But listen to me. You must think I’m some neurotic mess. I’ve had way too much to drink to have turned the conversation to cellulite. Sooo not attractive.”
I leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I think you’re adorable, and there is nothing to be neurotic about your legs. Most guys don’t like the toothpicks in nylons look.” I tried to be careful. Whenever the conversation goes this way it’s hard not to go to far and fawn all over a fuller lady when she starts to get down on herself. I’ve learned over time though blurting out the fact that I appreciate a little meat on a chick’s bones doesn’t do anything to change a lady’s body image. No one’s ever said to me, “oh you like fat, well what have I been thinking all these years? All of a sudden I love that my tummy bulges over my skirt.”
Besides, there is no real need to get into specifics. Just the fact that I’m focusing attention on a woman is enough for them to get that I’m into them and the fact that she’s doing the same is enough for me to understand she’s not put off by me.
“I certainly don’t have toothpicks,” Nancy chuckled, “but a guy like you could be with any of these women here that look like they have enough willpower to turn down chocolate.”
I looked around at the suite full of ladies who were for the most part slimmer then Nancy. “You know that’s the first time I noticed there were other women here. Besides, there’s something very sensual about a woman eating chocolate, or eating anything that matter, food can be very sexy. Makes me wish I had a candy bar with me to give you.”
Nancy was starting to move closer to me. I had been leaning back against the wall, trying to gauge her comfort level with me. As her breast brushed my hand holding my drink it was clear she was loosening up. And it was not just her body language, what she said was letting me know she was letting her self-consciousness fade away. “Oh gosh, you should have been with me since I’ve got to Vegas if you thick eating is sensual. With all the buffets around here I’ve eaten at Julie will have to roll me back to the airport at the end of the week.”
“Aww, now you’re just teasing me,” I said, gently pulling her closer to me with my free hand. She was happy to oblige, a little too much so, as she pressed her boobs up against me she sandwiched my drink hand between our bodies, splashing a good portion of my scotch on our shirts.
“Oh I’m so sorry. I’m such a clutz,” she cried, pulling away.
“Don’t sweat it, babe. I pulled her back to me. “Nothing wrong with smelling like good scotch…This cheap stuff I got for the party isn’t terrible either I guess.”
She giggled as I leaned in and kissed her, and soon I was able to tell what Nancy had been drinking all night; the fruity taste of her cocktails mixed with a beer aftertaste. Not my kind of drinks, but coming from her it tasted like candy.
For all Nancy’s neurotic rambling she was quite aggressive once we got going, grinding her wide hips into my crotch as her hands slid around my waist. “So are you going to ask me if I want to get out of here or not?” she said after a few minutes of tongue wrestling.
“Do you want to get out of here?” I smiled.
“Where are you going to take me?” she asked teasingly.
“All this talk about you and chocolate makes me want to stop by this ice cream joint I know that’s open all night before we go somewhere a little more private.”
“Gosh you weren’t kidding about the food thing, huh? Well like I said, I don’t have much willpower, both for the ice cream and for you all to myself.”
