It was totally out of control, but she just had a very intense and unexpected orgasm right there on the dance floor. As her body and senses returned to normal, she looked at me somewhat embarrassed as she touched the lower part of her dress and realized it was very wet and sticky. I couldn’t believe what had just happened and could only imagine the discomfort she was now experiencing. Society frowns upon acts like this, but even on the verge of potentially serious alcohol poisoning, I was proud of myself for playing a pivotal role in guiding her to such a high level of arousal. I looked over and caught a glimpse of Ben who appeared to be fixated on my situation. He looked at me strangely and mouthed, “What the fuck?” I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled like a creep who gives girls orgasms on crowded dance floors, because that’s what I was now. This type of erotic intimacy was usually reserved for the bedroom, but I thought I showed tremendous sexual versatility by adapting to our unique setting. Most level headed people would consider me to be a real pervert, and I couldn’t disagree.
The line was thin and not always easy to define, but it had definitely been crossed. It wasn’t the first time during this trip and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. Allow me to explain…
I went to Vegas a year earlier with a group of friends but didn’t accomplish half of what I wanted to, partially due to a conflict of interest within the group, but mainly due to the absentmindedness that comes with doing large amounts of cocaine while drinking unprecedented quantities of hard liquor. I created many memories on that first trip, it’s just too bad I can’t remember most of them. The trip was a total blur, and I hadn’t even seen one naked woman, with the exception of a high quality amateur pornography film that I watched in the hotel room, but that doesn’t count. Many would question my decision to watch pornography while vacationing, but what I do during my leisure time is no one’s business but mine. Besides, society often forgets that pornography is an educational art form, whose brave performers deserve to be applauded, not ostracized. Either way, I returned home with feelings of regret for not accomplishing most of what I had wanted.
The one important thing I came away with was that this city was awesome and did live up to the hype, but Vegas needs to be done right. Going to Vegas without properly preparing is like paying lots of money to have blindfolded sex with a total stranger. It might be a great memory to cherish, or it could be a very sloppy, shameful experience, but either way, it’s going to be expensive.
The idea of going back was loosely floated around amongst my group of friends, but as the months went by, people lost interest. If it was up to me, I’d go every weekend, but travelling to the other side of the continent can be expensive. I had recently incurred a fine for an incident that left one man in a partial coma and a deceased man’s tombstone partially destroyed. It was my opinion that I was only partially responsible, but I just wanted to get the matter behind me, so I accepted my punishment accordingly. I was currently working as somewhat of a freelance entrepreneur, doing chores and odd jobs for several senior citizens and an intellectually disabled gentleman in my neighborhood. The money wasn’t fantastic, but the hours were flexible and it added some versatile work experience to my resume. Plus, if an odd job request was simply too odd, I’d politely turn it down, and not have to deal with any repercussions; a perk that my friends in the corporate world aren’t accustom to. Due to my financial handicap, going to Vegas again should have been the furthest thing from my mind, but it wasn’t. I obsessively thought about it on a daily basis. It was pathetic that something could occupy my thoughts like this.
A return anytime soon didn’t seem like a realistic possibility. It would negatively impact my financial future, plus there appeared to be very little interest from my group of friends who went the previous year, with the exception of one person. My friend Ben, a soon-to-be child psychiatrist in his last year of school, who was now living in Vancouver, wanted to put a trip together. Ben was a wannabe swinger with an impressive credit rating, so Vegas was a city tailor made for him. He was obsessed with fitness and nutrition, and was likely the most well traveled of any of my friends. He claims to have done everything from smoking hash in Helsinki, to having anal sex in Angola. He always had an interesting story to tell, many of which seemed exaggerated and farfetched. His entertaining form of narcissism wasn’t well received by all, but to those who know him well, he’s very disturbed in a fun kind of way. He realistically shouldn’t be in the position to give anyone advice on the way they function mentally and emotionally, especially children, but he made his way through the Canadian University system and passed all the tests, so I suppose it was within his rights. I knew I wanted to go, but told him I wasn’t interested for financial reasons. As the weeks went on, he slowly chipped away until I agreed to join him.
Due to the fine I had incurred, I didn’t have much money saved, so I smartly convinced the people at Visa into giving me a credit limit increase. I thanked them profusely for taking a chance on me, knowing damn well that I might not be able to pay them back at the agreed upon date. I immediately checked online to see if the Spearmint Rhino strip club accepted Visa. They did, and things were off to a good start. The financial situations of Ben and I couldn’t have been more different. He was going to be a rich doctor soon, and here I was planning to do the trip almost purely on credit. I soon came up with a simple and convenient excuse to avoid any regrets and insecurities about the upcoming trip – “Fuck it, it’s Vegas.” I try not to swear unless totally necessary, even in my thoughts, but decided it was appropriate in this situation. This is an excuse that couldn’t work in any other city in the world. You can’t exactly say, “Fuck it, I’m in Bangor, Maine.” It doesn’t work in that scenario, and if you try to pull it off you’ll more than likely end up in a very uncompromising position.
A two man trip to Vegas probably isn’t the best idea, unless of course you’re a homosexual couple, which neither of us were, but I guess you’ll never know for sure what goes on in the mind of another human. I didn’t suspect Ben of being gay, nor would it offend he if he was, as I considered myself to be a gay-friendly heterosexual, but we both knew it would be best to invite a few others along on our adventure to the southwest. An obvious candidate would be my cousin Charles, who also came on the trip the year before. Charles was a classic over achiever, and like me, was a total sports fanatic. In addition to this, he had a preference for strong flavored tobacco and bizarre pornography. People often mistook him as a dimwitted simpleton because of his very carefree demeanor and his lifelong habit of speaking before thinking, but he was actually a bit of a whiz when it came to numbers, leading him to a career as an accountant with an insurance company. I liked the idea of traveling with an accountant. If a problem should arise with the people at Visa, he might be able to intervene on my behalf. Like myself, Charles had an obsession with the city and would jump at the chance to return. Unlike myself, however, he had a buzz cut and apparently didn’t mind paying for sex. After pulling some strings at work to get time off, he was in. “Time off for good behavior,” he joked. I didn’t laugh, but knew we’d have lots of laughs ahead of us in Sin City.
So we had a trio, but like a good game of golf, we desired to have a foursome. Enter Virgil, a television salesman at a local electronics store who Ben and I grew up with. Virgil was raised in the lap of luxury, having almost anything he ever wanted. During his youth, he was a provincial level archer with a promising future, but after the untimely death of his father, he had the silver spoon yanked from his spoiled little mouth. Thanks to tax fraud and the gambling debts of his father, his family’s wealth had vanished almost overnight, dramatically changing his outlook on life. This led him to become a bitter and selfish person, with an ‘I don’t give a fuck’ negative attitude. Most were turned off by his defiance, but some women tended to find it mysterious and charming. Like myself, Virgil had no business going on a trip to Vegas, but for completely different reasons. He recently had a child out of wedlock and was choosing the route of irresponsibility. To make matters more complicated for Virgil, the child was of mixed race, which he explains made it difficult for him to relate to it, even though it was only five weeks old. He took the stance of being financially responsible for the child, but bluntly asserted that he didn’t care for a relationship with the kid. Virgil clearly cared more for his freedom than he did for human life. He also claimed the child’s mother was a “fucking bitch” on several occasions, which didn’t help matters. I decided to stay out of it and not judge him for a situation that many individuals would declare as dishonorable. Due to his new financial obligation to the child and his falling out with the child’s mother, Virgil had become depressed and was living in a one-room apartment. Had I been in his position, I’d likely be on the verge of a mental breakdown. This trip is just what he needed to shake him out of his self-inflicted depression.
We were all set. I hoped this trip would be a great bonding experience for my friends and I, but I also had some personal desires I wanted to fulfill. I had big ambitions for Vegas this time around, and things were falling into place. Our foursome was intact and dreams of a booze and drug fueled sex romp would soon be a reality.