My Girl Imogen
Chapter Seven
by Mattew Penn
To purchase a marriage license in Las Vegas, Mike and Imogen had to drive to the Clark County Building. It sat in a large empty area just west of Glitter Gulch that had been, when Mike had last been to Vegas, a large switching yard for the railroad. Nothing seemed to stay the same for very long in Vegas. They arrived at just before ten a.m. It didn’t take very long to get the license. It was simply a matter of taking their names and looking at their identification and typing it into the computer. Mike was once again glad for all the bells and whistles that his own living doll had arrived with, including appropriate I.D. They paid their fifty five dollar fee and were on their way with the precious document.
They were not the only ones dressed up in their wedding outfits. Though most people arriving at the licensing bureau wore everyday clothes, Mike counted three other couples in wedding finery. Mike had worn a grey suit that Imogen had purchased for him on their last trip to the mall. It had a matching vest, and he wore a blue tie. Imogen had purchased a wedding dress at one of the shops in the Palms hotel. Mike thought it was a shame that she wouldn’t get the chance to show it off more than she was. It was of course, long, with a short train that dragged along the ground in beck, but was high enough in front to reveal the tops of her feet. It was also smooth as satin and unadorned by beads or lace. This left every part of Imogen’s body, especially her pierced nipples, revealed to anyone who looked. And they would look. And they did look. The dress was sleeveless and was held on by straps which gathered over her bust, wrapped around her neck and dropped down the sides of her back. It was completely backless, all the way down to the crack of her perfect ass.
Imogen had chosen the “Little White Chapel” for the matrimonial ceremony, and it was just a couple of miles away from county building– as the crow flies. There was no street that followed the proverbial crow flight however, and Mike got lost trying to find his way between the one way streets and the closed streets that surrounded downtown Las Vegas and its central monument, the Fremont Street Experience. At last however, they found the chapel situated on a corner amid the large hotels and parking garages of the area. It looked as though it might once have been convenience store, painted white and festooned with a fake steeple and arched front door, with a white fence thrown around it for good measure. The plethora of cherubs reminded everyone that it was wives and not cigarettes and beer that were available here.
Once there, Mike and Imogen didn’t even need to get out of the car. Mike steered his Chevy into the “drive thru” lane and up to the window, which slid open to reveal a middle aged woman with frosted frame glasses and purple lipstick.
“It will be a few minutes while we finish up in here,” the woman said, then closed the window and disappeared inside.
“That is one hot dress,” said Mike to Imogen, appraisingly.
“I’m finding it slightly chilly, sir,” Imogen replied.
“Do you want me to turn on the heater?”
“No sir,” she replied. “I think my erect nipples add to the look.”
It took a couple of moments for Mike to realize that he was staring open-mouthed at her. Then he burst out laughing. He was going to look forward to a life filled with Imogen saying things like that. And he wasn’t going to mind. He closed his mouth and leaned over to kiss her deeply on the lips.
Looking around to see if the woman had returned, Mike noticed a framed document just to the left of the window. On the document was printed a poem by William Blake.
Tyger! Tyger! burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeCould frame thy fearful symmetry?In what distant deeps or skiesBurnt the fire of thine eyes?On what wings dare he aspire?What the hand dare sieze the fire?And what shoulder, & what art.Could twist the sinews of thy heart?And when thy heart began to beat,What dread hand? & what dread feet?What the hammer? what the chain?In what furnace was thy brain?What the anvil? what dread graspDare its deadly terrors clasp?When the stars threw down their spears,And watered heaven with their tears,Did he smile his work to see?Did he who made the Lamb make thee?Tyger! Tyger! burning brightIn the forests of the night,What immortal hand or eyeDare frame thy fearful symmetry?
“What the hell is that about?” wondered Mike. “That doesn’t have anything to do with weddings.”
Imogen nodded.
At that moment the window slid open and a balding man with half-moon glasses stuck his body half way out.
“You two ready to go?”
“Sure,” said Mike.
“Alright. Let me have the license.” Mike handed the requested document over. The man peered at it through his glasses.
“That will be forty dollars,” Mike handed him two twenties.
“What are your names?”
“Mike and Imogen.”
“Imogene?” he said, rhyming it with machine.
“No, Imogen,” corrected Mike. “Like Imagine, but with the accent on the middle syllable.”
“All right. Mike, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in heath, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, so long as you both shall live?”
“I will,” said Mike.
“And Imogen. Imogen? Imogen, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, so long as you both shall live?”
“I am for him,” said Imogen.
“Then by the power vested in me by the State of Nevada, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Mike turned and kissed Imogen deeply as she leaned into him.
“Here’s your copy of the license,” said the man, “and your marriage certificate. And here is a bouquet for the lady.”
Mike drove out the drive-thru exit and turned away from downtown and headed toward the strip.
“Are we going home now, sir?” asked Imogen.
“Soon,” replied Mike. “First though, we have to go to the Hilton. There is no way that I’m coming to Vegas and not stopping at the Star Trek Experience.”
Imogen looked at him without comprehension.
“You do know what Star Trek is?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I’m such a nerd,” though Mike, as he began to recount the entire history of Captains Kirk, Picard, Janeway, Sisco, and Archer.
By the time the Chevy pulled into the parking lot of the Las Vegas Hilton, Imogen knew as much of the pseudo-history of the twenty second, twenty third, and twenty fourth centuries as Mike did– at least off the top of his head. They parked and locked the car, and then they headed inside. They got plenty of looks, especially Imogen, as they strolled though the casino in their wedding clothes.
The Star Trek experience was located at the end of one space themed section of the casino. As they approached, Mike pointed out to Imogen the twelve foot long models of the Enterprise-D and Voyager hanging from the ceiling. Just to the right of the entrance was the ticket booth. They were able to step right up. There was no one waiting in line. The clerk behind the counter was not dressed as a Star Trek character, but was wearing a Star Trek Experience jacket.
“Two, please,” said Mike.
“That will be seventy, sixty-one.”
“What?” said Mike. “Seventy dollars?”
“Yes, but that includes both rides and the museum tour.”
“Shit. No wonder the Federation stopped using money. They were probably all broke.”
Mike payed for the tickets and he and Imogen walked in. The museum tour was more of a fancy queue line into the ride than a real museum. It wound around in a circle following a time line of the pseudo-history of the future. Opposite the time line were displays of hundred of props and re-creations of props, including uniforms, communicators, phasers, and much more. Mike happily pointed out the events that he most vividly remembered from the shows as he led Imogen along.
Then suddenly he stopped. Right there on the time line, on the year 2256, were pictures of the two men in his dreams. Right there was the man in the silver suit, and standing right next to him was the man, who looked a lot like him but wasn’t him, in the blue suit. Unlike most of the pictures on the museum display, there was no caption explaining the events surrounding these two figures or telling which episodes that they came from. Just the year 2256.
“Hmm.” said Mike. “That would be before the original series, but way after Enterprise. It must be some bit of back story. I must have subconsciously remembered it from the original series and inserted it into my dreams. God, I am such a nerd.”
“You dreamt about these two men, sir?” asked Imogen.
“Yes, I did,” said Mike. “A couple of times.”
“I think I did too,” said Imogen.
Mike looked at her. “You dream?”
She nodded.
“Of course you do. That was a stupid question. What do you dream about?”
“I don’t really remember any of my dreams, sir. I just know that I have them.”
“Huh.” Mike thought for a moment.
“Do you know a song called “Cagaran Gaolach?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You do?”
“Yes, sir. It’s the thirty third song on your bedtime play list. It’s on your MP3 player. Enya sings it.”
Mike had the charging dock for his MP3 player sitting on his bedside table, connected to a set of Creative computer speakers, so that he could use it at night like a home stereo system. That explained why that particular song was in his dreams, and the appearance of the mysterious men could be explained by his having seen them on television. Why though had Imogen dreamed of them? Or had she? She said she couldn’t remember her dreams. Did she really have dreams, or did she just want to? Hell, she only slept about a half hour now.
The museum led to a room showcasing all the props from the Klingon episodes. This led into the “Klingon Encounter” ride. This ride simulated being teleported onto the Starship Enterprise and then a ride on a shuttle craft back to Las Vegas. Mike thought it was quite well done. Then he and Imogen continued on through the room dedicated to the Borg.
“Who are they?” asked Imogen warily, looking at the mannequins dressed up as Borg.
“They are the Borg, evil half-human, half-machines out to assimilate everyone in the galaxy.”
“I don’t like them.”
“It’s okay, Immie. It’s just a t.v. show.”
“I don’t want to go on this ride!”
“Alright,” said Mike, becoming alarmed at Imogen’s unusual display of agitation. “You can wait for me at the exit.”
“I don’t want you to go on it either!”
Mike looked at Imogen. She was panting and her eyes were dilating open and closed. Her body was bent slightly, as if she were about to take off running. He then realized that the ubiquitous “sir” was absent from the words she had just spoken.
“Alright, Immie,” said Mike, taking the slow steady voice he reserved for mad dogs and crazy people. “We won’t ride this ride. We’re going to leave here and go down to the promenade, where there won’t be any Borg.”
Imogen nodded her head in understanding, but she didn’t relax. Mike took his new bride’s hand and led her back out the way they had come in, taking a right as they exited to step into the life-sized replica of Deep Space Nine’s promenade deck, filled with gift shops and Quark’s bar. Once there, Mike pulled Imogen to the side of the hallway next to a replicator replica.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,”
“You don’t look alright.”
Imogen visibly relaxed. Mike could almost see the wave of relaxation flow down her body from her neck.
“You’re okay now?”
Imogen nodded.
“What was that all about?”
“I don’t like those Borgs.”
“I guess not.
“Why don’t we go have something to eat?” said Mike, eyeing the entrance to Quark’s bar.
Imogen nodded again.
They entered and were seated by a very short man dressed as a Farengi.
“Enjoy your meal, Hoo-mahn,” he said, handing each of them a menu.
“Thanks,” said Mike.
Mike looked at the menu with one eye and at Imogen with the other. She was looking around with wide eyes. Mike didn’t know if that was because of the interesting things to look at, of which there were many, or an impending recurrence of her anxiety attack. For his part, Mike was realizing that he was pretty hungry and he thought he could really go for a burger. He always enjoyed a good diner burger and he had been eschewing fast food during the past two weeks as he tried to lose weight. Then he noticed the names of the food. He ended up ordering a chicken quesadilla called a “saucer section” and an order of Holy (onion) Rings of Betazed. Under the circumstances, there was no way he was going to order a cheeseBorger.
As Mike was enjoying his meal, a Klingon came by.
“Greetings human!” said the Klingon. “It is a good day to die!”
“If you say so,” replied Mike. He was still carefully watching Imogen, who had not said anything the entire time they had been in the restaurant.
Mike had finished eating and was paying his check when the Farengi came back by.
“You ridiculous hoo-mahns, clothing your women!”
“He keeps me naked at home,” said Imogen.
“I bet he does,” said the man in the Farengi costume, looking up appreciatively from his vantage point just below her magnificent breasts.
“Hey, stay in character,” said Mike.
“Uh, good luck at the tables,” said the Farengi.
Mike and Imogen spent a few minutes looking around the gift shops. Mike spent fifty dollars on a toy communicator just like the one Captain Kirk used. There were quite a few other nifty items that he would have liked, but he had already dropped two hundred dollars in the universe that Gene Roddenberry built.
“How are you feeling, Immie?” he asked, pulling her aside, wrapping his arms around her waist, and looking into her unusual eyes.
“I’m fine, sir,” she said in her usual tone.
“Good. I’m glad. And I have a job for you.”
“A blow job, sir?”
“Precisely,” said Mike. “I don’t care how big of a nerd this makes me. I want to get blown on Deep Space Nine.”
Mike had spotted an alcove in the back of the promenade where nobody seemed to be going. He led Imogen over to the spot and she wasted no time dropping to her knees, unzipping his pants, and pulling out his rapidly expanding cock. Each time Imogen gave Mike a blow job, it was a little bit different– something Mike only vaguely recognized– but it was always extremely satisfying. This time she swallowed the entire shaft, sliding it in and then back out of her mouth. Then she clamped her lips around it about half way down the shaft and began tickling then underside with her tongue. This additional stimulation made Mike as rock-hard as he had ever been. Imogen wrapped her hand around the base of his cock and began stroking it as she sucked on the head.
“I must be getting bigger, if she can do that,” this thought drove Mike right over the brink and he began shooting cum into Imogen’s open mouth and then, as she pulled back, onto her face.
She stood up and wiped a gob of cum from her cheek and licked it from her finger.
“How was that, sir?”
“Pretty damn good. If you had had spots, it would have been perfect.”
Just then a doorway opened right beside them and a line of people filed past. They were standing right at the exit of the Borg ride. Mike stepped calmly out of the way and pulled Imogen along with him. She stood watching the people pass, unconcerned that there was still a small blob of semen running down her cheek.
After leaving the Star Trek Experience, Mike and Imogen walked to the very front of the casino and followed the signs hanging from the ceiling to the monorail station. It was a large station, looking very much like one would expect a train station to look. Clean and modern. And crowded. Mike purchased two way passes from a vending machine which dispensed gold dollar coins as change. Then they sat down to wait for the monorail train. It arrived seven minutes later.
The monorail was cool and futuristic and painted black. It stopped and the doors slid open. Mike and Imogen stepped inside. There were a few seats along the sides of the train, but the center was completely open, with handrails above to allow for standing passengers. Mike chose to stand and Imogen stood next to him. As the train began to move, Mike braced himself on the handrail. Imogen wrapped her arms around his neck.
The train moved what seemed like only a few feet, before stopping again. This time it was at the Las Vegas Convention Center. The convention center had a train station not too much different from the one at the Hilton. As the doors opened, several dozen people moved in and out of the car. Then it started on its way again. This leg of the monorail track was longer as it led from Paradise Blvd., where the Hilton and convention center were located, toward the strip. From the track scores of feet above the roadways below, there was a great view of the Wynn Golf Course, a truly huge expanse of green in an otherwise grey surrounding.
As the train approached the next stop at Harrah’s, they passed another monorail going in the opposite direction. It too was painted black, but had a gigantic Borg painted on the side of the first and last car. Mike glanced at Imogen to see if she had noticed it, and by her tight-lipped expression, she had. They continued past stops at Harrah’s, the Flamingo, and Bally’s, and finally got off at the last stop on the line, at the MGM.
Mike led Imogen through the station and the extensive mall-like structure that connected the station with the MGM’s casino. They browsed the store windows, looking at things that Mike thought would take him a lifetime to pay for, if they were something that he would actually want to buy. Imogen seemed fascinated with the clothing and the shoes. But there was no way that Mike would have been able to let her go on a spending spree here. So they returned to the monorail station and took the train, this time a yellow one, back to the Hilton. The round trip had taken them about an hour and a half. Still in their wedding clothes, they returned to their car and prepared to leave.
As Mike up the on-ramp that led from Flamingo Blvd. to I-15, his mind went over the extraordinary events of the past week. Who would have imagined that it was possible to meet someone, get to know someone, and then marry someone in just ten days? But then, he hadn’t really met Imogen. She’s just popped into his living room. He hadn’t really gotten to know her either. He still didn’t know much about her. Where did she come from? Why was she with him? But they were most definitely married now.
“I love you, Immie,” he said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“I love you too, sir,” she said.
She had said it before. She had said it many times. This was the first time that he had told her ‘I love you’ though. Those three words so casually tossed off so often by so many. But he realized now that they were true. How could that be? How could you love someone who not even a real person? What did that mean? What was a real person? How could you not love someone who was so devoted to you? Mike didn’t have the answers to any of these questions, but he decided that he wouldn’t worry about that. He loved her.
Mike steered into the travel lane of Interstate 15.
“Well, this was the most interesting trip to Vegas I’ve ever made.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay another day, sir?”
“I’m pretty sure. I don’t think we could get a room if we did. Tomorrow is New Years Eve. Why? Do you want to stay?”
“I want to do whatever you want to do,” said Imogen.
Less than forty miles south of Vegas, Mike turned off in Primm. Primm, which used to be known as Stateline for the obvious reason, consisted essentially of three hotels and the associated restaurants, gas stations, and recreational activities that went along with big resorts. One of these casino add-ons was the Primm Fashion Outlet Mall. Mike wanted to give Imogen a chance to buy something for herself, since she hadn’t at the MGM.
The mall consisted mostly of stores that Mike had never heard of. Almost all of them were for women who liked clothes, though. They stopped at one store called Elie Tahari, and Imogen selected a sexy little dress with a scooped neckline the sales clerk called a Marcy dress, and at the Neiman Marcus Last Call store she bought a pair of chocolate and gold Gucci high-heeled sandals which were seventy percent off, but still cost $157.50. Mike thought that, if given half a chance, Imogen could develop into quite the shoe whore.
Imogen seemed to have developed that feature that many people had, including Mike himself, of finding satisfaction in buying something for themselves. If it could be considered a religious experience, and one could certainly make that argument, at least Imogen left the great temple with her spirits raised. She never mentioned her agitation at the Star Trek Experience, and after a while Mike forgot about it as well. At least until he was reminded of it some months later.
The rest of the trip home was uneventful. Imogen drove and Mike slept, with his head wedged between the back of the seat and the car window. He woke up long enough to visit the restroom at the same Chevron station that they had stopped at on the way to Vegas, then snoozed away again until they reached the driveway of his... their house. Imogen parked the car and the both climbed out.
Sitting on the doorstep was a large pile of brown packages, with UPS delivery labels on them. Some were large enough to hold a good sized television. Some were small enough to barely hold a tennis ball. Most were square or rectangular, though a few were flat. There must have been twenty or twenty five packages there. Mike picked one of the smaller ones up and read the label.
Imogenc/o Mr. Mike Anderson11 North WillowSpringdale, California 82803
“What the hell is all this?” wondered Mike.
“They’re mine, sir,” said Imogen.
“Well, what are they?”
“Things I purchased on ebay,” she said. “I’ve been selling your old books and comic books on ebay, and while I was looking around I found some great bargains that I intend to resell for a profit.”
“You think you can make money that way?”
“I have complete knowledge of every successful business model available, sir,” she said.
“And you give world class blow jobs. What more could a man want?” Mike said.
Imogen smiled, then they fell into a passionate embrace that lasted until Mike pulled away.
“Come on you,” he said. “I’ll help you carry your packages to the garage, and then I’m going to sit down and relax in front of the t.v. till bedtime. I’ve got three more days before I have to go back to school and I intend to make the most of them. Oh! But first I have to carry you across the threshold!”