June 22nd, 2009


The Legend Of The Notorious C.B.J.

When he logged on to check out his bank statement, his heart stopped and he lost his breath. Let's just say he'd slightly misjudged the money spent early Sunday morning. Kinda forgot the exorbitant fees he had to spend on drinks he never drank. Kinda forgot about ordering that extra hour. Kinda lost all of his control until it was too late and he'd finished sobering up.

But by then it was too late. He'd reached that point of no return where he'd do anything and everything to acquire an orgasm. Buyer's Remorse to follow later.

Not one to pass the buck, nevertheless there's plenty of blame for him to spread around. Thick and bitter like Vegemite on a thin saltine cracker foundation. There was the dancer whose name he never fully grasped, taking advantage of a horny, sexless drunk in his hour of bionic intoxication. There was his friend Rondell, who slept through the first go-around and dragged him back - albeit far from kicking and screaming. Then, you've got the absence of a sensible mind to grab all of his credit cards from him. It could've been a very quick night if he'd stuck with the cash.

They showed up late; it's impossible to detect the time in an establishment like that. Especially when you've been drinking everything in sight since dinner. Rondell led them right over to the main stage and there they sat, on the corner. They passed the time fingering dollar bills in hopes of netting a few motorboats. $8 Bud Lights ensured that this wouldn't be a cheap night.

He rejected the first five or six dancers that came his way, still waiting for the one he loved. In his first stint at the club, he spread his lap around to numerous dancers, but he ended up returning to his first. Nitika. Thin, long brown hair, soft Russian accent, and oh lord some of the finest natural breasts they had in the joint. He never did see her again when he went back the second time. Eventually, he settled on the Asian. He suspected she proved to be more free and experimental in her love. He would be proven correct.

You can't really detect how a club's policies on certain acts will affect you until you get inside. Indeed, even when their policies are clear and intact, you never know what you'll be able to arrange if you grease enough palms.

At first, he ordered the $200 for the hour. In the little room with the little booths. It was where he took Nitika for their first time. The scene was chaos. A line to get in; all the booths full of writhing, gyrating stripper zombies. Night of the Living Spread. He and his Asian only had to wait maybe five or ten minutes. Money came first. Shortly after she'd started, at his peak in arousal and intoxication, she mentioned the other room. The $400 an hour room. She could get a lot more done in there, she said. She could do anything. He could use his credit card ...

He'd paid for the two hours and tacked on another one or two more. Tough to say, but it was a long night. He went from hard to soft to hard to soft and they weren't getting anywhere. Finally, in his moment of utmost desperation, he asked her, as discreetly and quietly as possible - as the bouncer's booth was right behind his head - what he had to do to get her to finish him. The Asian had tried pretty much everything, including putting her hand in his pants and taking charge while making it looks like she was just lying there on top of him, but they weren't getting anywhere. He wouldn't be happy without more room - and open air - to operate.

That's when they hatched the plan. The Asian told him that it was his lucky day because so-and-so was bouncing the room tonight. And, with the right amount of paper-encouragement, he could be so kind as to look the other way while the two of them snuck off to a secret back room. Since the secret back room had the ambiance of all the other rooms, only simplified with an oversized seat in a glorified walk-in closet sized space, he couldn't be sure if what they were doing was actually frowned upon by management. But, at the time, the danger and excitement was enough to overlook this minor detail.

By using her mouth to put on the condom, the Notorious C.B.J. was born. It took about 9 days for him to finally climax, but when he did it was worth it. After a brief rest, it was time to pay the piper, sign his receipt, and deal with the credit card people. Seems when you spend over a grand in one place, in Las Vegas no less, fraud and theft come to mind. He confessed to the charges, accepted the owner's business card, and found his good friend Rondell waiting for him. They left the establishment in a free limo in the early morning sun.

The Monday Morning Long-Snapper: Las Vegas Uncensored

I'm not going to do the math, but if you wanted to, you could say I went through ... close to $1300 in cash and then tack on another $1500 in credit (so far; who knows what kind of funny charges will show up in the wake of this seriously obscene weekend).

I can sum up this weekend in one body part: and no, it's not my wang (though it did have more rubbed up against it this weekend than it has in its entire existence on my person). No, the body part would be my mouth.

I'm left with a nasty taste in my mouth that's going to take multiple bouts with the toothbrush to wipe away clean. But, it got like that because I put so much enjoyable shit into it: alcohol, cigarettes, naked stripper boobs, and the most expensive (and one of the most delicious) dinners I've ever had.

Such is this weekend as a whole. I'm super pissed that I let myself drunkenly spend that much money; but at the time, I was having the BEST time while I was there. I don't think I've ever said, unsolicited, "I feel great" more than I have in the first two days I was in Vegas. And that was even through two pretty brutal early-day hangovers!

My weekend gets its start while I was still at work on Friday. Nate had the brilliant idea Friday morning before we left for work to print our boarding passes while at work to save time. So, I hop online at around 9 or 10 and what do I see staring back at me? A $100 First-Class upgrade! Cha-Ching!

See, I was a little concerned about taking such a late flight (5:40pm, arrive in Vegas at 8:07pm) because most of my friends would already be in town by a good 5 hours. They'd have the alcoholic head start of a lifetime and I'd be flailing like a one-armed kid in the oceanic undertow trying to catch up. No way that would've ended well: either me not catching up until it was too late, or drink too fast to catch up and pass out way too early.

But, with the minimal fee (it would've cost me upwards of $800 to buy First Class tickets back when I originally bought my coach ones) I got to have about 5 or 6 cups of red wine, which would've been upwards of $7 each (not including tip).

Needless to say, I had a smile on my face the whole flight down.

We got in the cab line and shuttled on over to the Westin. I'm still not exactly sure where it is in relation to the other hotels. It's just off the strip, but you can see Caesar's Palace. I think it's across from Bally's, close to the Planet Hollywood, and right next to a place called Bill's. Those are really the only destinations you need to know about.

Arrived at the hotel, started drinking (or, rather, continued drinking). Got chastized for smoking in the hotel (non-smoking floor), took the party downstairs (and next door, if I'm not mistaken) for gambling. Got taken to the cleaners at the slots, won a hundo playing roulette, fucked around, drank some more, drank some more, drank some more. Took a lot of shits. Drank some more. Late for breakfast, had to eat toast before bed, crashed around 5am.

Yeah, that Friday got away from me a little bit.

Saturday, was roused at 9am from a phone call from one of our friends. We had three rooms on the 7th floor (with Mark and Mario in a room on the 8th). One - Eric, Colin, Pete - with a bathtub full of liquor and ice. One - Devin, Nate, Sometimes Steven A. Taylor - with two beds and a cot in the middle. One - Kon, Sometimes Steven A. Taylor - was the "Not Having Any Sex" Room. It was supposed to be the Sex Room, but shit happened. Or rather, didn't, to the chagrin of many.

Anyway, I was in the pool by 10am, still drunk I think, and getting a little sun all before noon. Started feeling progressively worse as the hours continued until we all went over to Sbarro to get some pizza. Chowed down on a couple slices, then hit it on back to the hotel. Some people started drinking much earlier than others; I didn't put anything alcoholic in my body until probably 2 or 3pm (didn't really even start drinking in earnest until dinner at 5:30). I followed Kon around for a while as he was getting dumped on by bitchy card dealers, then we went back to the Westin to change for dinner.

Some of us got to the Mesa Grill on time for our 5:15 reservation. Some of us were late and had to cab it there, so they couldn't seat us until then. Shockingly, I'm told we were only 15 minutes late even though it felt considerably longer. I suppose I could've looked at a clock sometime on this trip, but it wasn't to be.

I ordered the 22 ounce rib eye steak. Medium well. I'm not normally a medium well guy, normally I'm a well done guy, but I took a shot and was rewarded wholeheartedly. Best steak I've ever had (and at $46, it had better damn well be). Appetizers were great, margaritas were great, wait staff was great. It was all great. Kon wasn't there 'cause he had a little too much to drink, but we'll catch up with him in Part II of our story. Probably tomorrow