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A Steamy Night with Michael Pt. 1 of 2

Hey this is Alonna, and I just came up with this short dialogue for a story. I'm still continuing to write the Me and Michael's Love Story series, but I just came up with this idea for a short story. I hope you guys enjoy!

Hi, my name is Bianica and I want to tell you a story about a hot, steamy evening I had with a certain gentleman named 
Mr. Michael Jackson.

The year was 1989 and it was a warm summer night. I got invited to private party being held at the Four Seasons in Las Vegas, Nevada, through a friend that knew somebody that had certain connections.

The party started at 10, but I didn't get there until around 11, when the real party started. So I walked in with this old 65 year old producer with a stomach that looked like he was 6 months pregnant and a bad receeding hairline. He had on a bad polyester suit that looked like the 70s threw up on him. I was around 23 at the time, so it was obvious that he just wanted to walk in with a trophy in his arm. I didn't really care; its not like I had to leave with him.

So I'm wearing a tight black leather dress that went to my knees, with a square, low-cut collar line, and my shoes were short black leather boots. I did my hair all curly, and had a piece hanging in the front on my right side.

So we walk in and he introduces me to a few of his A-lister friends. I noticed a few of the married ones being a little too friendly with me when their wives weren't looking. So while he's old talking with few of his friends. I'm looking around the party, seeing who's there. Anybody who was anybody was there.

So my old wrinkled date offered to get me a drink. I said sure; just to get him off my tail for a few minutes. While he goes and gets the drinks, I walk off and mingle with a few of the people there. While I was chatting with Beverly Johnson, I noticed everybody started crowding around the entrance of the party.

I look to see what's going on, and Beverly says "Oh Michael's finally here". By this time it was about 11:45. I look to see who it was, and it was Michael Jackson the man himself. He was wearing a nice black jacket with a red armband on the right arm, pants with a wide red strip going down the side, and belt buckles going around the waist. He looked so hot and sexy with those curls.

So he walks in and shakes a few hands, then sits at a private booth in the corner. Unfortunately, my date finally found me, but this time he made sure he knew exactly where I was. While he was doing the usual old talk again with his buddies, I was kind of looking at Michael. Then I began to see Michael kind of looking at me back. So one time I gave him a wink and he bit his lip and looked at me up and down.

I told my date I was going to use the restroom, knowing I wasn't, of course. So I walked to the bar, in a spot where I couldn't be seen by old wrinkle bags. Then a woman comes up to me saying "Mr. Jackson asked me to ask you if you would like a drink" I told her, "Tell him, yes and thank you"

So that's when I see Michael get out of the booth and walk towards me. He sits next to me and says...

Michael: Having a good time?
Me: *smiles* Yeah I'm enjoying myself.
Michael: What kind of drink would you like?
Me: I'll have a Crantini.
Michael: (To bartender) Excuse me, can I have one Crantini please.
Me: *smiles*
Michael: And may I ask what your name is?
Me: Alonna
Michael: Alonna, nice to meet you. You have a very beautiful name.
Me: Thank you. And may I ask what your name is?
Michael: *laughs* My name's Michael.

So we talked and chat and flirted a little. Then he invites me to sit in the booth with him, and that's when all the attention at the party went to me. We still held conversation, but I can tell people were talking about me. They were constantly looking and even pointing a little. And the looks old wrinkle bags is giving me is scaring the crap outta me. I can tell Michael was just as uncomfortable as I was, so he asked if I would like to join him and go somewhere else. I say sure. So we both walked out the party together, with me in his arms.

TO BE CONTINUED...

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