Beautiful, even attractive, young girls are in demand in every job type and all professions regardless whether the girl has any attributes qualifying for the job, other than her good looks. I’m not charting any new ground here by recognizing that female beauty and sexuality sell everything from breakfast cereal to dump trucks.

The media exploit a woman’s sexuality because consumers notice. The sight of a beautiful woman in advertising electrifies the shoppers antennae and the more eyeballs an advertiser can attract, the more sales, more business, and more profits. Frankly, and to the point, it’s the shapely curvature of a woman that makes the advertising world go round.

Any woman exuding sexiness combined with only a measly amount

“Whatever the guy wants, you know, and if I feel comfortable and if I wanna do it and if the price is right then I’ll do it. I know it’s not legal. It’s not legal anywhere in the country but it’s behind closed doors. Also, I don’t give blowjobs because I hate them. And I don’t kiss. I’ve never used a condom. I get tested all the time. I have big concerns.”

Alex

Hometown: Spokane, Washington       Age: 25

Height: 5’6”        Weight: 120

Measurements: Bust: 34, Waist: 25, Hips: 34

In the meantime, I have begun to date Ivy. She is young, still only a teenager, and decades younger than me, but I am totally infatuated with her. Ivy understands that the way to my wallet is through my heart. So, with Ivy’s kiss here and a stroke there it seems like the most natural thing in the world for me to not only to rent a luxurious apartment for her, but to furnish it completely as well; not just the sofas, tables and chairs, but the towels, appliances, and dishes too.

I enjoy spending a quiet evening with Ivy. Her apartment is comfortable and she makes me feel right at home. One night while we’re lounging, watching TV, I notice a heavy object sitting inside the open top drawer of her bedside table. A closer look reveals that she’s packing a pistol. “Hey Ivy,” I ask, “what’s up with the gun?” I don’t remember or didn’t quite decipher her answer but she promises to get rid of the weapon the next day.

About a week later, I drive over to Las Vegas’ McCarran Airport, just a five-minute jaunt from my home, to pick up two of my Los Angeles bankers who are considering lending me some millions of dollars to expand my casino operations. They’re in town to complete their due diligence inspection of my properties and to develop a personal opinion of me and my lifestyle. As bankers and financial people have told me many times, “Money is loaned to a person as much to a business. The honesty and integrity of the individual means as much or more to us as do the financial statements of the business.”

At curbside, the older of the executive lenders, the Senior Vice President, gets into the front and his younger assistant seats himself in the rear of my Mercedes Sedan. While driving them to their rooms at Caesars Palace, the Vice-President in the rear, picks up one of Ivy’s misplaced possessions; her fully loaded 9mm semi-automatic handgun and says to me “Say, Herb, must be one of your kids toys. Sure looks real.”

 “Oh my God,” I scream,

Trouble brews early but I’m not aware of Ivy’s penchant for criminal activity until a couple months after her arrival. Within hours of first planting her feet on my Las Vegas stage, Ivy whisks a high roller into the darkened VIP room and smothers him under her ethereal love, using the capable assistance of a few bottles of Dom Perignon. When the high roller runs out of cash, Ivy persuades her customer to charge some Dancing Dollars, our in-house currency, to his Platinum American Express credit card.

The tipsy and lusting gentleman readily gives Ivy his personal password and the “OK” to charge $2000 to his credit card. Ivy, however, charges $12,000, ten thousand dollars more than her customer authorizes. Then, without her customer’s knowledge, Ivy pockets the entire twelve grand; two thousand he’s gifting to her for whatever favors she’s bestowing on him and the ten thousand dollars she gifting to herself.

A customer’s denial of a particular charge to his credit card

It’a a damn serious business with millions of dollars changing hands every day by those wishing to take part in the pay-for-play game, There’s no shortage of buyers willing to shell out enormous sums to jooin in th ee]sexual hi jinks provided inside my strip clubs in Las Vegas and New Orleans. And there more than enough nubile nymphs willing to stuff their personal kitty with the unending slow of “Benjamins.”

I hurry over to the commotion, which is starting to gather a small crowd. “What’s the trouble?” I ask the Mexican Beach Patrol. “They’re arresting me.” Sunshine cries. “They’re taking me to jail for taking my top off.” I can’t believe it. Sunshine, my weekend companion and sophisticated woman of Las Vegas, decides to expose her breasts in a foreign country with ultra-conservative views of public nudity, all to get an all-over suntan without any shoulder strap lines.Forget what she was thinking. What am I thinking, bringing this lovely lass to Mexico without forewarning her about the no public nudity laws. Nudity is a way of life for some topless entertainers. Anyway, one of the Mexican cops pulls out his handcuffs and moves toward Sunshine. She, in turn, jumps into my arms screaming, “Herbie, help me, I’m not going to jail.” And with this, the second cop takes his handcuffs out and approaches me. All I can imagine is the Mexican Beach Police separating Sunshine and me, discarding us into some Mexican hellhole without us ever seeing the light of day again.Before this scenario escalates