Got back today from a spur of the moment Las Vegas ASSC.  Thanks for 
the idea, ALS!!  I needed a break!

ALS asked me last week if I and a friend might be interested in 
joining him in Las Vegas for an ASSC.  "I'm getting a suite (penthouse 
suite at the Mirage- ALS travels in style).  You won't have to worry 
about food or a place to stay if you come out.  Get friends fly free 
and the ticket will be cheap."  Tempting, real tempting.  I tried to 
talk some of my friends into going, but the notice was so short and 
most people are scrambling for their rent at the end of the month.  I 
don't pay mine until the 15th, so I'm not being very sympathetic.  
Okay, the dancers aren't biting.  I see Bubba on Friday.  "C'mon, 
Bubba.  Please please please.  It'll be soooooo much fun."  Bubba was 
clearly in agony when he explained how swamped he's been at work.  Oh 
well, time to call and harass my friends some more.


I call one of my friends about 5 times on Saturday and once Sunday 
morning.  She gets real close but stays at the edge of the pool.  
She's been reading "Literary Las Vegas" and comes closer than Bubba 
did to tagging along, but...

Fuck it, I say.  I bite the bullet and buy a ticket for myself, 
friends fly free or not!  This will be my last chance for fun for a 
while.  I know I'll be so stressed out in a couple of weeks my 
eyeballs will be hanging from their sockets.  I go to the Chez Paree 
meeting at 2 (more on that some other time), go home, pack a bag, and 
split.  Off we go on yet another adventure.

I get into town and call my answering machine to see if ALS left a 
message.  He did, they're at the Mirage, room x.  I call and get the 
rooms voice mail.  Shit.  They aren't there.  Maybe a friend of mine 
who lives in town is home.  I decide to call him from the hotel.

The shuttle ride to the hotel is full of idiots from Virginia.  I shut 
my eyes and think of cool waterfalls.  I am, of course, the last stop.  

Once at the hotel, I realize ALS and his friend are still not in their 
room.  I get upstairs, ring the bell, and stomp downstairs, muttering 
expletives under my breath the entire time.  I leave an angry message 
on the rooms voice mail and go to find a regular phone.  I hear 
someone call my name- it's ALS.  Relieved and not angry anymore, I 
give him a bug hug.  We find his friend and go to the room.

ALS and (I don't know if it's okay for me to use his name, so I'm just 
going to refer to him as The Bodyguard) Bodyguard have already eaten, 
so I order a sandwich and get ready to go out to see the Cirque du 
Soleil with them.  My friend in town rants and raves about how 
terrible it is, then asks me, with a bit of concern in his voice, if 
I'm paying for it.  I tell him no, he seems a little bit relieved, and 
I go to the show with a deep fear of actually enjoying myself.

Okay, I can see what my friend means, but I manage to actually really 
like some of the acts.  I love circuses and could really sit and watch 
tumblers and trapeze artists for days.  I came to find that my friend 
was only referring to the theme of the show, the music, the costumes, 
and I felt my guilt wash away like grease off a plate.  I digress, 
however.  Strip-clubs, not circuses, right?  Hmm, what about the 
connection between the hootch-girl and the sideshows of the early part 
of this century?  I'll save that for another post.

Later that night I hung out with ALS and checked out the gambling 
tables.  We met some old Playmate, got an autograph for Bubba, and ALS 
proceeded to try to sell me on the evils of gambling.  Since I ended up gambling with some of his money, I was able to bring myself to pull 
a few slots, place a few bets, throw a couple of dice, and play a 
little blackjack.  The blackjack wasn't too bad, but watching people 
gamble their houses away while the casinos convinced them they were 
having fun doing it was the best part.  I lost $15 for ALS, gave him 
back the rest of the chips, and went to the bathroom to wash off my 
hands.  Thanks, ALS, but not for me.  I'm too much of a bad loser to 
enjoy it.

Monday day was spent hanging around with ALS and the Bodyguard.  
Shopping, eating, getting ready to go out again.  My friend, who I 
haven't seen a several months, was supposed to go out ASSCing with us 
after he showed me his new house.  Things got hectic at the office, he 
had to cancel, and I got bummed out.  ALS, the Bodyguard, and two 
glasses of wine perked me right back up, as did the 4x espresso I had 
after dinner.  Zing!!

We met JayJ outside a couple of minutes after nine.  He seemed to be 
in a big rush and didn't want to wait to see if anyone else showed up.  
Apparently he was pretty confident no one else would show and his car 
had to be moved RIGHT THEN.  I hate being rushed like that and was 
miffed that we were being so potentially rude to anyone else who took 
the time to show up.  If anyone did, I'm sorry.  It's Jay J's fault 
(snicker).

Our first stop was Cheetah's.  Since I had heard that Cheetah's has 
more of a variety of women than Olympic Gardens, I went in kind of 
excited.  I got bored after about two minutes.  The majority of the 
women had fake tits (oh, excuse me, I meant to say breast 
augmentations).  The lighting was way too dark.  Jay said the club had 
just switched a lot of the regular lights for black lights.  Whatever.  
I could tell Jay felt bad.  He kept apologizing and explaining that 
his favorites weren't working that night.  I saw one good dancer.  
Maybe there were more, we didn't stick around very long.  I will say 
that many of the women there could do some good pole tricks.  However, 
I like women who don't look like they all came out of the same cookie 
cutter.  Yes, I know that is what most people want.  Most people are 
sheep, though, and believe the media when the media tells them the 
ideal of feminine beauty just stepped out of a Budweiser commercial.  
Damn, I love San Francisco dancers!!!

After Cheetah's we headed over to a nude club, Little Darlings.  Fuck 
that topless bullshit, let's get a little raunchier.  It turned out 
that they were having an amateur night.  Since I was wearing suitable 
lingerie under my clothes I decided it would be fun to do the contest.  
ALS, the Bodyguard, and Jay J went into the club and I waited for the
manager to come get me.

There were 5 other women in the contest.  Two of them had never danced 
before.  One of them had worked at Little Darlings in the past. 
Another worked at Crazy Horse.  I don't know the story on the woman 
who won.  Since I didn't really have to do anything to get ready 
besides pick out my music, I went over to the dj booth.

The dj, Buddha, was pretty friendly, but when I started asking him 
about different kinds of music he gave up and told me to just go ahead 
and look.  Must of the music was not to my liking.  I finally managed 
to find two songs that I felt I could enjoy: Mexican Radio by Wall 
of VooDoo and My Way by Sid Vicious.  I wouldn't be surprised if the 
club asked him to remove the cds from his collection after that night.

I sat backstage and talked to some of the other women.  I was getting 
pretty fucking bored and was contemplating leaving when we finally got 
around to the contest.  By the way, I heard while I was back there 
that the dancers will get fined $500 for cursing in the dressing room.  
You know what I have to say about that?  Fuck off!!  That's one of the 
most ridiculous things I've ever heard.  Talk about castrating people, 
this is stupid.

I was of course the last woman on the list.  Just when I thought my 
last tooth was about to fall out and my last remaining hair had turned 
gray, it was my turn to dance.

I lit my cigar and went out on stage.  I was wearing a full length 
black skirt, an over the hip black vest, a black jacket, a black hat, 
black stockings, a black bra, and a black garter with panties.  I 
don't think I could have been wearing anymore clothes.  I almost 
laughed when I saw the audiences reaction.  I'm sure most of them were 
quite worried that I was going to be a total priss.  Wrong!  I 
stripped out of my jacket, let my hair fall out from under my hat, and 
proceeded to give the  sluttiest, raunchiest show that club has ever 
seen.  I hate gentlemen's clubs with their castrated, phony sexuality.  
I hate being told what I have to look like to be sexy or what I have 
to wear.  I really hate being told how to act.  

A lot of the set is a bit vague in recollection.  I felt so good I got 
kind of a natural high going.  I did the old dollar through the clit 
ring bit, whereupon the crowd proceeded to go apeshit... don't see 
that in Vegas at these "gentlemen's clubs", do you?  I ended the set 
by going over to ALS and giving him a long and sloppy french kiss.  I 
think the management hated me.

At the end of the show the women went out to the stage for the 
applause meter.  They wore bikinis.  I was, with the exception of my 
opened up vest, naked.  Shaved pussy, piercings, slutty as a cat in 
heat.  I didn't win but apparently Jay J asked ALS if I would be 
willing to give him a private show.  Should have asked me, Jay.  You 
snooze, you lose.  And no, Jay, I don't have to have s/m sex ALL the 
time.  I can be normal if I feel like it.

Jay J, ALS and I had to wait around for a while for the Bodyguard to 
finish up his time with his new friend.  Since I had to go to the 
airport in a few hours, we decided to call it a night.  Jay J dropped 
us off.  Good meeting you, sorry we didn't have more time to talk.  I 
was trapped in the curse-free dressing-room-of-the-ultimate-bore.

The Bodyguard hit the sack as soon as we walked in the door.  I made 
sure my things were ready for the morning, laid in bed, and realized I 
was too wound up to sleep.  I ended up talking to ALS until I had to 
leave about the meaning of life, relationships, people, religions, the 
future of the human race, and other light hearted subjects.  We also 
called Bubba and teased him for not showing up.  Gotta joke around 
sometimes or you'll go batty.

I was a wreak today, but it was certainly worth it.  Thanks ALS, 
Bodyguard, and Jay J for helping me have such a fantastic time.