Getting Lucky At A Trump Convention Shagging a stranger while Trump talks success in politics & business. By Tx Tall Tales. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. I was a little delayed getting to the Convention Hall where he was going to speak, but my red VIP badge got me past the “velvet rope” down to the front 10 rows, which were looking pretty full. The hall was split up into a bunch of sections during the day, with low pipe & drape curtain panels used to separate the VIP purchase area from the hoi-poloi, and to make virtual rooms to one side and the other, as well as to create a backstage area. It was a business & leadership conference with speakers like Tony Robbins, Donald Trump, and a long list of others. One of the ushers waved me over, pointing to one of the few open seats left. I “excuse-me"d down to the spot, and wedged myself in between two attractive women, a blonde on my left and a brunette on my right. Because we were sitting in the rightmost section of the seats, the main podium was over to my left as well. As such you tended to sit turned in your seat a bit, for a more natural view, which placed the brunette "behind” me and the blonde in “front” of me. Now I’m not a little guy. Not huge, but my shoulders are a good bit wider than most. And at 220 lbs, I’m mostly muscle, though a good way from having ‘abs of steel’. The biggest problem is I’m wide. W-I-D-E. Really wide in the shoulders with a 48 inch chest. My Hawaiian heritage. It makes for uncomfortable seating in coach-class on airplanes, and in places like this, where the chairs are locked together, and they’re all made for 118 lb. weaklings, and little things, like the size 2 women on either side of me. A speaker was just finishing up, and when he went into pitch mode, I asked the blonde “How was he?” “I don’t know, I just got here a minute ago too. I’m here for Trump.” Let me get this out up front. I’m a horn-dog, with an addiction to women. I love blondes. “What are you here for? At the Motivational Expo, I mean,” I asked her, surreptitiously taking in her pretty face, turned up nose, cute eyeglasses, and pinned up blonde hair. Her hands were free of any rings. “Mostly just hanging out,” she told me. I thought it seemed kind of odd. It cost a couple of hundred bucks to 'hang-out’ in the VIP section, less if you signed up early and were on the right mailing list. Maybe a $100. But still pricey for “hanging out.” Even stranger was the way she was sitting. There was another pretty big black guy sitting on the other side of her, and he had all his materials from the day on the floor between his legs, forcing him to sit with his legs open. As soon as I sat down, she moved away from him, leaving a couple of inches gap, and scooted up right next to me, her side pressed against mine. Then she turned away and watched the stage. We were quiet for a bit, and I tried to start a conversation again. A glutton for punishment, I do this a lot. I like people. I like to talk to people. I guess I’m a bit of an extrovert sometimes. And in a setting like this, anybody could be a great networking contact. “What do you do?” I asked. She spoke softly, and I had to bend down to hear her. Damn, she smelled good too. “I own my own business, how about you?” she answered. “Some real-estate investment, some writing, a real-life job I wouldn’t mind ditching. I’m thinking of getting into a gig like this - professional speaking.” I told her. She patted me on the leg, a pretty friendly thing to do, I thought, then said, “Will you save my seat for me while I go take a smoke break?” “Absolutely. I wouldn’t dream of letting anyone else sit next to me.” I told her with my most charming boyish smile, which seldom works, but you can’t fault a guy for trying. She patted me on the arm again, giving it a little squeeze, and then eased her way past me and out the row. She left her tote bag with all her materials, so I didn’t think she was just blowing me off nicely. As she walked by, I took th