This week’s Studio Thirty Plus writing prompt is “Las Vegas”, so I decided to give it a whirl.
Living in Southern California my whole life gives me a pretty sweet advantage to visiting this amazing city, and it seems like every visit I have ever taken has not disappointed. This whole week when thinking about this post I was going to make a list of my five favorite Vegas moments, but the first story is so funny that I decided to tell you all about that one instead.
When I was three months away from turning 21 in the summer of 2001, my family, my ex and I spent the weekend in Vegas as a part of our bowling league (I LOVE BOWLING!). The day of our tournament I kicked ass and brought in about $180 in prize money. Since I was 20 and my boyfriend at the time was 18, we only had a few options in the city of sin. We chose to spend the cash on our first ever nudie bar visit.
Just in case you’re not familiar with the schematics, most “titty” bars are over 21 because they serve alcohol. Most fully nude clubs are 18 and over because they don’t. We go to this dinky place called Little Darlings off the Strip, and I make us sit in the back. Now, I don’t know if this is a girl thing or just me, but I wasn’t really looking at all the nekkid. I was thinking how does she walk in those shoes? Ooh, I love her hair color-is that a weave? What exercises does she do do be able to bend like that After a while we decide to move up to the front of the stage, and that’s when the fun started.
At first I was really timid, letting my bf do all the tipping, but when I saw the first girl with bonafide breast implants I whispered to my bf, “I’m gonna touch her boob! I wanna know what it feels like!” So when she did the “put your money between my boobs” thing, I slid some cash in between and casually did my best to stick one finger out and poke!
After that, I had a blast. I was makin’ it rain up in that bitch.
Then…something magical happened. This Cherokee princess with jet black hair and covered in tattoos walked out on stage wearing nothing but the old USSR flag. “Du Hast” by Rammstein started to play. My mouth was agape at her awesomeness. She was able to maneuver the pole all the while wearing this flag like a bath towel and every so often giving the crowd peeks of the goods. “She’s my favorite!”, I tell my bf.
About halfway through her routine she must have noticed the exasperated look on my face because she started to saunter towards me. Then, all of a sudden, she opens up her flag, puts her cavern of shattered dreams IN MY FACE, and wraps the flag around the two of us.
In the blur of the three seconds that this was happening, all I can remember was the crowd erupting in cheers, the smell of Jean Naté perfume, and her pubes tickling my nose. As she unwrapped me, I saw my boyfriend cracking up and a whole lot of men raising their juice cups to me as a sort of “hats off!” salute.
When she finished, she did her circuit of cleavage tips, until she got to me. I think I actually gave her a $20. I could only manage to squeak out “you’re the prettiest one here!” to which she replied, “thanks, hun”.