The pit crew guy shushed Marco and said to me, “Of course – but he’s not allowed to hold the chips himself – house rules. Put whatever you think is right into this envelope (which he handed to me), and then give it to me when you’re done, and we’ll give him a voucher also.”

I asked Marco, “Could you get me another drink, please?” and handed him my glass. I said to the pit crew guy, “Am I allowed to buy Marco a drink, at least?”

The pit crew guy shook his head, “Sorry – not while he’s on duty.”

“Oh – ok. I didn’t think of that. Sorry.” I said and turned back to my machine, and to the handle, which now more than ever, seemed to resemble a nice, hard cock. As I slid my hand down from around the head, and gently down the shaft, until I feel that the moment had come, at first I was thinking that it was Tom’s dick I was playing with, although the handle was somewhat larger than Tom’s rather meager equipment. More and more, however, I started thinking what Marco’s Mediterranean schlong might feel like – and just as that thought occurred to me, I would pull, and hit again – three shooting stars, this time. The omens were piling up…

I played that machine for hours, and hit at least four times an hour. Now there was a huge crowd behind me, and people standing there were betting among themselves whether I would hit each time I pulled the handle. It seemed like I hit most often when I got a mental image of Marco – his sweet, dimpled smile, his dancing blue eyes, his big shoulders and the full, deep chest that stretched his polo shirt, with the Casino logo on it, in all the right places, his taut bubble butt below the narrow waist – and then pulled at just the moment when the image was clearest in my mind. Marco stayed right with me, and kept scooping up the chips and asking for a pit crew guy periodically, and keeping fresh glasses of Long Island Iced Tea at my elbow.

The sensuality of all this, the heft of the slot machine handle, so like an engorged cock, the heady power trip of winning, and of winning so much, and the steady stream of Iced Teas was beginning to take its toll on me. My hand and arm were beginning to hurt from the repetitive motion, and the final, hard push I gave the handle at the moment. I also had to seriously pee! I asked Marco, “Can I take a bathroom break and have you hold the machine for me until I come back?”

For the first time that tonight he looked disappointed. “No, I’m sorry – if you get up to leave it’s open season – anyone can take your seat, and none of the staff can play the machine for you.”

Since I didn’t have my watch on, I asked Marco what time it was –