LIV. The Guy Who Sneaked Out To The Treasure Island Hotel

“The thing I love about Vegas is there’s something for any type of mood you’re in and something for any kind of adventure you seek out”

– Christina Tosi –

Oh, Las Vegas. Words can’t begin to describe my conflicting feelings for this concrete oasis. On one hand, some of my most cherished memories with my closest friends happened during our sinful adventures on The Strip. From the blinding lights to the various forms of escapism, Vegas has it all. However, it’s relatively easy to lose any sense of self-control in Vegas once you overindulge in said entertainments. Most people describe going to Vegas as taking a dangerously addictive drug. The moment you taste your first win on the poker table or step into one of those grandiose nightclubs, you’ll feel the sudden rush of dopamine. But just like every drug-related euphoria, you’ll spend the next hours doing whatever it takes to chase the same high. And sometimes, things do not end well

But don’t worry, I’m saving those messy Vegas stories for later chapters. Instead, here’s a story about how I lied to my family to hook up with a stranger!

My family was in town for my college graduation. We decided to go to Vegas to have an intimate celebration for my, according to the typical Asian family standard, mediocre feat. Because I traveled with my family, our agenda was filled with family-friendly activities, like your regular Vegas buffets and Cirque de Soleil shows.  I mean… here’s the thing: my family is not, by no means, prude, but we prefer not to discuss subjects that are considered taboo by society. As the sole member of the family who has no morals, however, you could imagine how bored I was during this trip. So I decided to take matters into my own hand, and with the help of Grindr, I was determined to add some sinful spices to the trip. Mom and dad, if you’re reading this, I’m genuinely sorry.

Don’t remove my name from the will, please?

This thirty-something-year-old guy started messaging me on the app, and it’s apparent that he’s in pressing need to be quenched. I’m not saying this guy’s hideous, but did I think he’s the most attractive guy I could score on The Strip? Absolutely not. However, I was with my family, and excusing myself from the family festivity for a hookup was definitely not an option. Because my parents’ inheritance were at stake, I knew I had to make a smart bet. I knew I couldn’t afford to arrange a booty call only for the other guy to cancel on me fifteen minutes prior. And after weighing in the availability and attractiveness of my options, I believed he was my safest wager with the highest probability of optimal return.

And that, my friend, is what I would call smart gamblingYou’re welcome for the tips

I knew I couldn’t get away from my family unless I had a legitimately convincing reason. So I came up with an extensively elaborative, half-fabricated story about meeting up with some college friends who were also visiting Vegas. My friends were, indeed, visiting, but in reality, I had other priorities in mind. Basically, I went through all these hassles because I was craving for someone to insert their coin in my slot machine. Being a self-proclaimed multitasking ho, I informed my booty call of my availability to perform while I devoured the not-so bottom-friendly buffet foods in front of me. And an hour after we gave our bellies the ultimate Vegas treatment, my family decided to go our separate ways to do our own things. While my dad took his alone time to watch horse racing, my mom and sister decided to do some light shopping.

And suddenly, it hit me. This was my only chance to get dicked down while my family was distracted.

I’m a grower, not a shower

After dealing with some tedious logistic issues, I finally managed to make my grand escape to fulfil my cheap Vegas escort fantasy. My date told me to come to his hotel, Treasure Island. Although the hotel was not my ideal choice, it was sufficient for an afternoon delight situation (follow me on Instagram: @pretentiousbitch69). Don’t get me wrong: Treasure Island is a fabulous hotel with, arguably, the best low stakes Blackjack with the 3:2 rule instead of the bullshit 6:5 rule. However, it’s Las Vegas, and it’s hard not to draw a comparison between each hotel, and Treasure Island seemed to pale in comparison. At the very least, the hotel’s located on The Strip

He informed me to meet him at the pool area to have a quick chat and drink before we went all in. As a big fan of free alcoholic beverages, I happily obliged. I arrived at the massive pool area, and this tall guy in an offensively bright neon orange speedo waved his hand at me. Although I was slightly disappointed by the fashion choice, I was pleasantly surprised by his physique. He had got this toned body, and it’s clear he had frequently utilized the sunbathing area by the pool because his skin looked pretty tanned. I thought, “I could definitely work with this.”

My date asked me to join his alcoholic sunbathing festivity to break the ice. Because I didn’t bring any swimming attire with me, I stripped down to my black Calvin Klein trunk. For once, I was grateful that I was an underpants snob. The alcohol did not take long to influence the flow of our banter as we exchanged flirty touches. As much as I wanted to immediately jump onto him, I realized it would be inappropriate as a few underage kids were present in the pool area. The speedo guy could sense my eagerness, and he suggested to move things into his hotel room. Since I was pressed for time, I didn’t have time to play any game or put a poker face on. So I said, “oui, s’il vous plaît.”

A little gamblin’ is fun when you’re with me

I entered his hotel room on the 19th floor only to find it’s a standard room with two queen beds. Apparently, my date was sharing a room with his “friend” and had a schedule where they took turns to utilize the room privately. But like I said, I had a deadline to complete my mission so I didn’t have time to be disheartened by the lack of luxury available in a presidential suite room. Unlike my poker strategy, I didn’t have time to bluff and went straight for business.

We began the festive occasion with the standard make out and blowjob session. Our french kissing was great; it was passionate but not overly sloppy. The match became increasingly intense as we dropped our undies to the floor and entered the showdown phase. I demonstrated some of my most sought-after techniques, including my passionate nipple licking and my rhythmic handjob-blowjob combo. My Vegas bae threw compliments my way as often as a Vegas DJ shouting, “Put your hands up in the air!” during a set. Preceding my impressive foreplay, he replicated my crafts and performed them on my body as a token of appreciation for my outstanding work. Our opening act was stellar

Then came time for the headliner.

If you’ve been an avid reader of my blog, you know I’m a big fan of passionate sex. And passion did my Vegas bae give me. When our bodies connected, I felt like we were longtime lovers who had been doing this a million times, and the rubber was the only thing separating us. He followed my rhythm like an expert card counter on a Blackjack table, predicting what gave me pleasure with ease. For approximately thirty minutes, he made me forget that I had my family waiting for my return. I was in heaven.

If you’ve been an avid reader of my blog, you also know that I’m one ingenious bitch. Have you seen that scene from Shame where Michael Fassbender fucks a girl against the window? I noticed that my Vegas bae had a similar window overlooking the entirety of Sin City in his room, and I was determined to reenact that racy scene with him. To my surprise, my suggestion was received with enthusiasm. He suddenly lifted me up, laid my back against the window, and gave himself an extreme pelvic and biceps workout. It was total domination of my twinkish body, and I loved every second of it. Like a female escort on a mobile billboard, my naked body was on full display for the whole city to behold. Fortunately, the hotel room’s on the 19th floor, so only birds and perverts with a telescope got to see us doing the deed. He turned me around, and damn, the sensation of being dicked down from behind while enjoying a bird’s-eye view of the city was indescribably wondrous. Like an old Chinese lady at a Baccarat table, I was making a lot of incoherent noises.

How I looked from the outside

I was teleported back to Earth when my Vegas bae’s phone rang, signifying his friend’s return to the hotel room soon-ish. The Michael Fassbender wannabe asked if I wanted to stay for a while and meet his friend, to which I replied with a resounding “NO!”. I excused myself from the situation by saying that I had another Cirque De Soleil show I was in dire need to attend. I put my clothes back on, kissed him goodbye, and made my way back to my family’s hotel room. Fifteen minutes and one long walk of shame later, I made my triumphant return to mi familia. Unexpectedly, they didn’t appear to be suspicious of my flushed skin and irregular panting. I was grateful that I had the scorching Vegas heat to blame because I looked like I just finished a SoulCycle class. I can safely report that I still have my name listed on my parents’ will, so I guess they haven’t found out what truly happened that afternoon.

I guess what happens in Vegas, does indeed stay in Vegas.

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