The Pass Line

When Matthew's hot spell at a Las Vegas craps table wins $34,000 for a Texan, the grateful man shells out $1,000 for a top-of-the-line hooker as a thank-you.

Part One

In June 1986 I, Matthew Bellows, should not have been in Las Vegas at all. My friend (Devon Garrett) and I had originally planned to be in Mexico for a week to watch three matches at the World Cup soccer tournament. However, fortune was against us: The Toronto-based travel agency we had booked our tour with unexpectedly went bankrupt. (At least it was unexpected for us.) Luckily, a recently passed law in the Canadian province of Ontario guaranteed us full refunds in case such a catastrophic thing happened. Therefore, we were not out any of the money we had paid in advance for our ill-fated Mexico trip, but all of a sudden both of us had a week booked off work and no place to go.

Devon suggested an alternative vacation spot. “Hey, Matthew!” he said, “I say we ought to still head toward Mexico, but stop a little bit north of it. Let’s take a trip to Las Vegas!” At age 22, neither one of us had ever been there before, but we were both sports fans and the idea of being allowed to legally wager on baseball games and the World Cup matches greatly enticed us. Therefore, I concurred and left it to Devon to book our trip. We got a package deal at a considerably reduced rate because we were last-minute passengers to fill airplane seats on just two days’ notice. Off we went on our merry way in the first week of June to the Holiday Inn Resort Hotel in Sin City.

Located on the strip, the Holiday Inn Resort was definitely one of the lesser lights when it came to big-name hotels in Las Vegas. The hotel had a cheesy riverboat theme to it, so much of its staff wore nautical-style uniforms. Devon and I didn’t care about that in the slightest. We had gotten a bargain rate. Food was cheap and plentiful at all the nearby restaurants. Our hotel had a huge outdoor swimming pool to deal with the scorching heat. We were a content duo.

It was the first time I had ever been in a casino in my life. I knew how slot machines worked, and I understood the rules of roulette, but the rest of it was all new and exciting to me. After Devon and I downed sizeable and inexpensive breakfasts, I meandered through the casino while Devon headed for the pool.

I noticed a sign that said “Free Gaming Lessons” along with a schedule for them. The first tutorial of the day would start precisely at 10 a.m. at that very spot. I looked at my watch—I quickly learned it is rare to see a clock in a casino—and saw it was 9:52 a.m. Within a couple of minutes, I was joined by a married couple who appeared to be in their fifties and two other males slightly older than I was. At 9:58, a man in a sailor suit calling himself Captain Casino approached the five of us, greeted us politely, and told us he would be our instructor. When no one else arrived by 10 a.m. he began his assignment. He asked us our names and where we were from. I was impressed that he remembered all our first names whenever he addressed us personally over the next hour.

“The first rule I want to stress,” Captain Casino said, “is there’s no such thing as a stupid question. You may ask me anything you like about any of the casino games we'll visit, and I promise not to laugh at you.”

“That’s great!” said the lone woman in our group of five students. “My husband and I are both utterly clueless about casino games.”

“There’s no problem with that at all. In fact, that just means you have no bad habits to unlearn,” our genial leader said to her with a smile. I sensed this was going to be a fun an educational hour with Captain Casino.

He kept his promise by answering everyone’s questions both politely and cheerfully. I had a few. Two members of the group stayed completely silent, while one male named Gavin seemed to be overflowing with queries, most of which were excellent.

The first game we were shown was baccarat. The only thing I knew about it was that James Bond like to play it. “This game intimidates some people,” Captain Casino noted. “It shouldn’t, though. It requires no skill. Two hands are dealt. All you have to decide is which one to bet on in advance. The better hand wins.” I immediately liked it, but it terribly confused our female pupil who didn’t seem to grasp that the total value of the cards excluded anything above nine, thus a seven and a six had a value of three, not 13. I could tell I wouldn’t be seeing her standing beside me at a baccarat table this week.

Captain Casino next taught us the rules of blackjack. (I understood its basics from watching movies.) Then we moved to the roulette wheel where I learned about how to bet on clusters of numbers and that you were allowed to place a bet on zero and double zero, if you wished. I had wrongly thought they were off-limits to bettors.

Finally, we concluded with a long lesson at the craps table. This game had long puzzled me whenever I saw it portrayed on TV shows or movies. I had been flummoxed that rolling a seven sometimes meant you won, but at other times it meant you lost. After a brief lecture from Captain Casino, I understood why. He also said, “This game looks very complicated—but it’s only as complicated as you make it. You can bet on numerous things or you can keep it simple. I’ll use Matthew as an example.” He handed me a stack of fake chips, told me to take two of the five dice he offered me, and instructed me to place a $5 bet on the pass line—and explained what that meant. I rolled a seven. I won. I rolled an 11. I won a second time. I rolled another seven. I won again.

“It’s too bad these chips have no real value, Matthew,” Captain Casino reminded me. “You are doing quite well.” On my fourth roll, I rolled an eight which allowed our patient teacher to explain that I had to roll another eight before I rolled a seven in order to win my pass line bet. If a seven came up first, I lost. Aah! Now I got it. The side bets were complicated, but at least I now knew the basics.

The visit to the craps table concluded our hour of lessons. We were each handed a book of casino vouchers as “a graduation gift” for having completed the tour. I thanked Captain Casino for his excellent teaching. I was excited to put my newfound knowledge to the test.

Part Two

I immediately went to an active baccarat table. I placed $10 on the player hand and won. I placed $10 on the player hand each of the next dozen games—and won eleven times. Wow, the bottom line was a profit of $110! Considering that I had budgeted only $500 for an entire week’s gambling, I considered that to be a fantastic result.

Next, I moved to a craps table where there were only three people there—excluding the staff members in their sailor outfits who were running the game. One of the players was a large, jovial Texan, perhaps 50 years old, who seemed to be straight out of central casting. He was an absolute caricature of a Texas millionaire. He had a huge cowboy hat, boots that had to be size 12 at least, and a bigger-than-life, overly friendly personality. He also had a wad of hundred-dollar bills that would choke a Texas steer. I just watched a few rolls of the dice from a distance. When I was asked by a staff member if I was interested in playing, I replied, “Probably. I just learned this game from Captain Casino less than an hour ago, so I’m not exactly sure I’d do things properly. I don’t want to look foolish.”

“Ah, there’s nothing to it, my friend,” the Texan gleefully told me. He pointed to the staff members, “These people are here to help you place your bets and answer all your questions. They’re a friendly bunch. Give it a try.”
I agreed and became the shooter quickly. I bet $10 on the pass line. I rolled a nine and then a seven—which meant I lost. The next time I was the shooter, I rolled a ten and then a seven, so I lost a second time. The third time, I rolled a four then a seven. I was now 0-for-3 and down $30. On my fourth attempt, I immediately lost by rolling a two. I threw my hands into the air in exasperation. My baccarat winnings were depleting.

The Texan said, “Nobody can be that unlucky five times in a row,” he announced. “I have faith in you. The next time you are the shooter I’m going to place a lot of money around the table.”

“Thanks for the misplaced confidence!” I told him. However, he seemed to have made a wise prediction. I rolled a four. The Texan then put a considerable amount of money on the four, five, six, eight, nine and ten. This meant if any on those numbers came up before I rolled a seven, he was a winner. I rolled an eight. He won. I rolled a four. We both won. I rolled a ten, then a six, then a four, then a nine…and on it went. I was winning peanuts, but the lucky son of the Lone Star State was raking in hundreds of dollars—and sometime more—from every roll I made.

After about 20 successful rolls, he asked me where I was from and if I wanted a drink. I said I was from Canada and I didn’t drink. “Well, that means I’m going to call you Canada Dry!” I thought that was clever and funny. After about my 30th consecutive roll without a seven, I noticed I had attracted a crowd of curious spectators, largely because my new buddy was hollering with every outcome and bragging on me. “This young fellow has the Midas touch!” he exclaimed.

I finally rolled a seven on my 48th roll. I apologized to him. “Huh! Canada Dry is apologizing! My friend, look at how much money I made from your excellent shooting!” Indeed, the amount of black hundred-dollar chips he had raked in was staggering. He had another, smaller pile of green $50 chips which was half the size of the black ones. In contrast, because of my modest betting choices, I had merely made back the $40 I had earlier lost when I rolled mostly sevens.

My lucky streak for the Texan had lasted nearly an hour. My right arm was tired from being the shooter for so long. I was content to walk away from the table at that point, having made a fortune for a complete stranger. When the Texan saw me leaving, he told me to come back. “Canada Dry, I’m going to play for about 10 more minutes to se if my luck holds out. Then I want to give you a reward.” I could tell he was not going to take no for an answer, so I just said, “Sure. That’s very nice of you, but totally unnecessary.”

The Texan made a few more bucks off someone else’s rolls and then asked the staff for some help in carrying his mountain of $100 and $50 chips to the cashier. A man in a sharply-tailored suit came by with a huge and heavy basket that was typically used for holding quarters from slot machine jackpots. He and the Texan shoved his winnings into it and walked to the cashier’s wicket. Their value was carefully tallied—and the Texan was paid $34,700 in cash.

“Hey, that’s not bad for an hour’s work, my friend!” he told me. “That was all thanks to your deft skill at avoiding sevens.”

“You’re welcome,” I told him. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t know his name—and that my real name was Matthew.

“Call me Big Phil. Everybody else does,” he told me as he patted me on the shoulder. “Whenever I have a huge win on somebody else’s shooting, I make it a policy to give him a generous bonus for a job well done. It’s sort of a superstition of mine.”

I was expecting for perhaps $50. Instead, he gave me a $100 chip that he had deliberately not cashed in. I was flabbergasted. I thanked him profusely. He waved his hand and said that it “was only peanuts. Cash it to buy a fancy meal here sometime during your stay. I have a non-monetary reward for you, too.”

He led me off to the side of the cashier’s wickets where no one else was standing. He said in a soft voice, “Canada Dry, I come to Las Vegas as often as I can for two things—gambling and fucking. I enjoy both of those activities very much. I’m fairly successful with my first hobby, so it often pays for my second. My friend, I’m going to treat you to a world-class hooker from my craps winnings. You do like women, don’t you, Canada Dry? You’re not one of those sissy queers, are you?”

I told him I was straight as an arrow and “I liked screwing females as much as the next guy.”

“Attaboy, Canada Dry. I thought you were okay from the moment I saw you. I just wanted to be sure before I wasted $1,000 on you. Can you imagine any male not wanting to fuck an attractive woman? It boggles the mind.”

“Did you say $1,000?” I asked him. “This is my first time in Las Vegas. Is that how much a hooker costs here?”

“That’s how much a very good one costs, but you get her unlimited services for eight fabulous hours if you get her from the agency I use. What type of girl do you like, Canada Dry?”

That was a dream come true, but I didn’t want to rush anything. I thought for a moment, and then I said, “Well, if I had my choice…”

“You do!” Big Phil interjected.

“I’d like one about my age, that’s 22, or maybe a smidgen younger. My preference would be a girl who is a bit exotic. Perhaps an Asian. Of course, she has to have lovely firm tits for me to enjoy. I just love fondling girls’ tits!” I had deliberately made it sound like I was some sort of playboy. Actually, by June 1986, I’d only had three sexual encounters in my whole life, but that was my little secret.

Big Phil pulled out a business card from his wallet and said, “Canada Dry, without knowing it, you perfectly described one of the girls employed by this agency. I use their hookers all the time. They’re marvelous. Let me make a phone call and arrange a romp for you with her.”

There was literally an entire room of nothing but public telephones at the Holiday Inn Resort. (Mobile phones were not yet a thing in 1986.) I accompanied big Phil there. He inserted a quarter into one of them, phoned the number, spoke to the manager who seemed to be a personal friend of his, and swiftly arranged for a specific 21-year-old Filipina named Amber to come to my hotel room from 7 p.m. to 3 a.m. that night to give me a highly pleasurable experience. Phil described her as “a real stunner. Canada Dry, you’ll likely get an erection five seconds after she walks through the doorway. That’s the effect she has on me, anyway. I’m more than twice your age, though, so it takes me 10 or 15 seconds to get it completely up for Amber.”

I attempted to thank Big Phil for his excessive kindness and generosity, but he wouldn’t hear of it. “Think nothing of it,” he insisted. “The 34 grand I won at the craps table was thanks enough, my Canadian friend. Of course, it’s down to just a bit more than $33,000 once I pay for Amber’s services for you. Have fun! If you don’t have fun, there’s something seriously wrong with you! Anyway, here’s one of the hooker service’s business cards in case there’s a problem tonight. There won’t be, though—or they’ll have to deal with me!”

Part Three

I had about seven hours to kill before Amber was scheduled to arrive at 7 p.m. I wandered to the sports book area where they had half a dozen TVs operating without sound. One was showing a World Cup game live. I was seemingly the only person interested in that. Purely for fun, I placed five $2 bets on various games that day to make things interesting. I had no idea what had become of Devon. Under normal circumstances, I might me worried, but I was so engrossed by the treat I’d be getting from Big Phil at 7 o’clock, that I didn’t think of Devon at all in the interim.

At about 4 p.m. I had a huge plate of spaghetti and meatballs at the diner located across the street. Then I went to my room I was sharing with Devon. He was not there. I turned on the room’s TV and dropped off to sleep due to jetlag; I was still adjusting to the three-hour time difference between my home and Las Vegas. It was 6:45 p.m. when I woke up. Amber would arrive in just fifteen minutes! I had never been visited by a hooker before, so I didn’t know how to prepare for her, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to shower, shave, and brush my teeth to look presentable to her. I had just set my toothbrush down when there was a loud knock at my door. The time was two minutes to seven.

I opened the door and there stood a petite and thoroughly gorgeous Asian girl. A burly male accompanied her. He said, “Are you expecting a girl courtesy of Big Phil from Texas?”

I replied that I certainly was.

“Here she is! Someone will show up at 3 a.m. to pick her up,” he said and then departed. Amber entered my room. Phil had been right. My dick immediately sprung to high alert. She was that good looking!
Because she was obviously Asian in origin, I wanted to know if she spoke English well. When I asked her, she laughed and said, “I was born in Dayton, Ohio 21 years ago. I’ve lived in the Las Vegas area since the age of eight. I’ve got a high school diploma. Yeah, I think I can speak English well enough for you to understand me and vice versa.”

I was embarrassed, but she was the one who was contrite.

“Hey, I was just having some fun with you,” Amber declared. “Don’t be embarrassed for asking that question. I get it frequently. I didn’t mean to insult you. Whenever I have Asian customers, I have to apologize to them for not speaking any language other than English!”

“Thanks. I’m new at this,” I told her without being asked. “You are a gift to me from a guy who wanted to reward me for his big win in the casino. I’ve never done anything like this in my life.”

“Good to know,” Amber replied. “Now let’s get out of our clothes and fuck like crazy for eight hours. You seem like a super nice guy. I think it will be fun.”

Amber was perhaps 5’1” but she was extremely well put together. I was a foot taller than she was, but that was great. I always liked small-statured girls ahead of lanky ones—the bustier the better. The moment she dropped her bra and panties to the floor I was fully erect.

“You’re exactly as advertised!” I told her. “Big Phil said you always give him an erection within ten seconds. When I saw you at my doorstep, mine started in two seconds. Now look at me!” My penis was fully pointing skyward. “By the way, my name is Matthew. Glad to know you.”

“Thanks! I take that as a compliment!” Amber said. “You didn’t have to tell me your name, though, Matthew.”

“Yes, you should take that as a compliment. I’ve never been more sincere—or hard—in all my life!” I stated.

I laid on my back in the middle of my large, comfy bed. Amber crawled on top of me and started to grind her shaved pussy against my steel-hard penis and rub her luscious tits against my chest. It was the most fabulous 30 second of my life—so far. “I think I’m going to enjoy this!” I told Amber.
“If you don’t, I’m not doing my job well!” she replied.

I began to caress her tits. They were by far the best pair I had ever groped in my life. They were firm yet very pliable and had nipples that got hard quickly. Amber instinctively knew what was on my mind, so she slithered up my body further so I could give her ample jugs a thorough sucking.

“My nipples were made for you to suck on, Matthew!” Amber cooed sexily. “Enjoy yourself.”

I did! When I was temporarily finished with her beautiful boobs, Amber said, “You have something I want to suck on, too, Matthew. Ah, here is it is! She slithered back down my body and gave me what could only be described as a heavenly blowjob. The highlight was when Amber sucked on my testicles while gently jerking on my shaft. How I managed not to come is one of history’s great mysteries.

I was so thrilled by that sex act that I impulsively lifted Amber to the level of my face so I could passionately kiss her. I wondered if kissing a prostitute was actually allowed, so I stopped for a moment to ask her.

“Matthew, for the $1,000 your friend paid for my services, you can shove your penis into any part of my body, and you can fondle and lick every inch of me. Do you really think that kissing me would be a no-no?”

I was embarrassed again. “Well, since you put it that way, Amber, I guess it really was a silly question.”
“I’m sorry again, too,” Amber apologized. “I’ve got to stop being sarcastic with my customers—especially with the sweet ones like you. Kiss me all you like, Matthew. I like you a lot. In fact, I want to kiss you. You’re adorable.”

Amber then put me in a lip lock that was magnificent. We smooched for at least five minutes, barely breaking contact for more than a second or two. I kept my hands occupied by fondling Amber’s bum—a totally underrated part of her anatomy.

“I think it’s time for a fuck, Matthew, don’t you think?” Amber suggested. I quickly agreed. Amber scampered out of bed for a moment-which puzzled me. She had gone to get a condom from her purse. “This is one rule I absolutely follow, Matthew. Fucking me requires the guy to put on a rubber—always.”

I was slightly disappointed. I wanted to shove my dick into Amber’s pussy without any impediments, but rules are rules. Really, how could I possibly complain? This was easily the best night I’d ever had in my life, I was enjoying it thoroughly, and we had barely begun our eight hours together.

With that precaution taken, Amber climbed on top of me in a different, much better way, and began to do all sorts of wonderful things: gyrating, bouncing, grinding. I knew small girls like her were often referred to as “spinners,” but I don’t actually think that was physically possible for her to do. About three minutes of this world-class coitus put me over the edge. I filled my condom with three spurts of cum and I contentedly moaned my satisfaction.

“What a shame I couldn’t launch my load into your pussy without a condom!” I told Amber. “I think we’d make a beautiful baby together. Don’t you think so, too?”

“Beautiful or not, I’d rather not think about that potential outcome, Matthew,” Amber said while still on top of me. “But you can fantasize about anything as long as you please.”

I few minutes afterward, while Amber was sexily lying on top of me and stroking my penis sensually, I could hear the hotel room’s door being unlocked.

“Oh, damn! That’s my roommate Devon. I completely forgot all about him,” I blurted to Amber. “I must have been preoccupied with something—or someone.”

Devon walked on without paying too much attention to what was occurring on my bed. He shouted, “Hi, Matthew…and friend! Oops! This is embarrassing. I’d better leave.”

“This is your room, too, Devon,” I told him. “I’ll explain the whole thing to you tomorrow. For some reason I forgot about you. I hadn’t seen you since breakfast.” I asked Amber if Devon could stay and watch us purely for his entertainment.

“Sure,” she said, “but I’m here until 3 a.m.”

Devon did watch us for a while with fascination and jealousy, but sleep overtook him quickly. Jetlag was affecting him too. Even my having three noisy orgasms with Amber failed to wake Devon from his slumber. My penis had had a major workout and was spent. Therefore, I spent the last hour with Amber sucking on her great tits and kissing her beautiful face. With one tremendous effort I managed a fourth ejaculation, which was a few dribbles of semen that I deftly fired onto her breasts. It was 2:50 a.m. I collapsed on my bed totally exhausted but immensely happy and satisfied. I vaguely remember a knock on my door. It must have been Amber’s ride. Then I fell asleep for seven hours.

Part Four

When I woke up at about 10 a.m., Devon was up and gone. I had breakfast at the hotel’s coffee shop and strolled into the casino. There I saw big Phil at the same craps table where he had won in excess of $34,000 the previous day. He saw me and waved me over.

“So, Canada Dry, how was your bedmate?”

“Amber was beyond fantastic—and what a sweetheart she was too,” I noted. “Heck, if she wasn’t a hooker, I’d marry her tomorrow and happily spend the rest of my life knocking her up just to make babies with her.”

Big Phil chuckled and affectionately patted me on the back. “I’m glad to hear you enjoyed my $1,000 hooker, Canada Dry. Hey, do you feel lucky at craps again today? I want your help again!”

I opened my wallet and bought $100 worth of chips. When I became the shooter, out of the corner of my eye I saw Big Phil make a large wager. I rolled a nine. Then I rolled a seven. I had lost my $10 pass line bet very quickly. I wasn’t sure how much Phil had lost, but then he let out an excited yelp. “Attaboy, Canada Dry! Good job!”

I was confused for a moment, but then I saw that Phil had bet on the don’t pass line. He was betting against the shooter—and he had profited $15,000 on a single seven that I rolled. “I knew you couldn’t be that lucky two days in a row,” he explained.

He handed me $1,000 worth of black chips and said, “Canada Dry, my friend, cash these to pay for another romp with Amber on me—once your dick has recovered from last night.”