Kailey was a tatted up 21-year-old blonde from Huntington Beach. We met in the VIP section in Body English at the Hard Rock. That night I made two runs to the bathroom to poop. The first was a 15-wiper. The second was a 16-wiper. When we got back to our room, she wanted to go down on me. I gave it a 95% chance, however, that the combined 31-wiper at the club had honored my middle area with an unpleasant aroma. We had sex instead.

I left Tryst, a club at the Wynn, before midnight with a 34-year old local named Taryn. She had the nicest fake breasts I had ever seen. Unfortunately, I had begun drinking early that day and the whiskey dick was upon me after a whopping four minutes of sex. I never finished. It frustrated her. The next morning, she mysteriously wasn't attracted to me anymore and made up a story that she had "shit to do." She dropped me off at the Venetian--my hotel--at 9 AM. I had a severe urge to unleash myself so I walked into the public bathroom, found one of the three empty stalls, and whacked off. A massive load. I couldn't figure out how to flush the fucking toilet, so I just left it there. I exited the stall to find a three-person line. The guy in the front of the line was a large burly man with a bold beard. His facial features revealed that he probably hadn't done much smiling in his life. I power walked out of there. Quickly.

I met Mara the very next night at Tao, a club at the Venetian. She gave me her undivided attention after she found out I was a high school math teacher. The music was too loud for us to talk comfortably, so I suggested we party in my room. She happily agreed despite the fact that her friend was still at the club. We hooked up on the bed, but ten minutes later KayGee brought up her friend, and they started going at it on the adjacent bed. Mara wasn't wearing any panties and more activities ensued. She gave me a secret blowjob underneath the covers; then she rolled the condom on my dick; and then we had secret sex underneath the covers. We had to look over at the other bed occasionally to see if they were preoccupied. The sex was lousy--slow, rhythmless, and suppressed. Unless it's a full on orgy, sex with other people in the room never really amounts to much.

I met Jamie at Tao when I asked her, "Why is your hair straight there, but curly there?" Her friend pulled her away from me immediately. Two and a half hours later, she found me and asked," Weren't you the guy that made fun of my hair?" We talked for five minutes. We made out for 25 minutes. We stumbled out of the club, drunk, and with no room to retreat to. Our entourage of five plus one--Baba, who lives in Vegas--was leaving uneconomically that night. Her room was too far. I had one option: Baba's SUV. I got his keys, we went to the car, didn't turn on the air conditioning, and had the sweatiest sex of all-time. During the end part of the session, my friends walked by and waited impatiently for us to finish. The windows were tinted, and the car was rocking back and forth. When this car's a'rockin, don't come a'knockin. Unfortunately, the sex was too cramped for me to ever cum, and she didn't want to suck me off. We finished prematurely, and Baba drove her back to Circus Circus. On the car ride home, he discovered that she had a boyfriend, and she was angry that I didn't take her home. Baba later reported to everyone that the SUV smelled like "fish tacos that were three days old festering in a bucket of Dave's ass juice." He febreezed his car the following day. When I walked back to my friend's car, they told me I was sitting bitch, and then Meyer said in disgust, "Take a bath." The condom was still on my dick. I didn't take it off until we stopped for gas an hour later.

These were the results of four of my six nights that spanned over three trips in my Vegas trips from 2007 (The other two nights I went a combined 0 for 56). I was hoping 2008 would bring similar results. All three of those trips were considered "fun" to all who went. And not just because some of us got laid. We were just a bunch of single guys functioning in pre-girlfriend/marital status.

Things have changed since then. KayGee and Punchline had steady girlfriends. This left all the "sleazing" up to Meyer, Ron, Tiger, and I. Aside from the obvious "hanging out with our friends" thing, single men mostly go to Vegas to fuck. After hanging out, that is first on our list. Next comes partying/adventure. Next comes lounging/partying at a pool. Next comes gambling (This can be switched with the pool priority depending on the guy, as some guys gamble more than others. Some don't at all). I can't think of any other priority but am sure there are others. Oh yeah, and guys with girlfriends can cross off the first two priorities having to do with "fucking" and "adventure" and possibly replace them with "shows" and "buffets." 

The trip had more question marks than Super Mario Brothers when I learned that we were going there to accompany a bachelorette party. It sounded like the biggest oxymoron of 2008. But my friends insisted it would be cool, so I went along. Meyer, Punchline, and I drove. KayGee, Ron, and Tiger flew. Judging by previous failed efforts to get into clubs by waiting in line, we ordered tickets to some new club at Planet Hollywood called "Prive" beforehand from some website for $55.

I called up my buddy McBride, who lives in Vegas, but has a girlfriend and hates clubs. I told him about our plans and gave him a 21% chance of actually coming out. He surprised everyone by ordering his ticket within 30 minutes. Problem was, he had a mysterious "2-hour softball game" from 8-10, and the ticket said it was void after 11PM. So he had to come from his softball game unshowered, which was apparently ok with him.

We left the Venetian at 10pm, and the original five-man entourage arrived at the club at 10:30 to find a slight mob around a semicircle of six or seven bouncers separated by a rope. KayGee slithered through the mob and began communications with the bouncers. Time was running out. On top of the time obstacle, Tiger's flight was inexplicably arriving at 10:45, so we had to "work out a deal" so he could get in a little late. To top this off, McBride's softball game not only went 20 minutes over, but he left his shoes at home and had two options: flip flops or cleats. He called me up and asked for my advice. He said he should wear flip flops, get his hand stamped, drive 25 minutes home, put on "real shoes," drive 25 minutes back, and rejoin us. I told him to wear his cleats, try and get in, and if the bouncers didn't let him in, at least tell them his story so they might sympathize. He went with my advice.

After getting stuck for 20 minutes in the Valet line, he found our group literally eight seconds before we made it past the ropes. He handed the bouncers his ticket printout and walked tightly between two of us hoping no one would notice his cleats. He succeeded triumphantly and got on the escalator with us. He had officially completed the most miraculous entrance in recent Vegas history. It is people like this, that I am proud to call my friend.

To some of our dismay, the bachelorette party was rendezvousing with us at the club around midnight. We used this hour of "free time" to get shitfaced and talk to girls. McBride walked proudly in his cleats, and had he not had a girlfriend, probably would have hooked up just because of the sheer danger his cleats emitted.

When the twelve girls arrived, I knew my time with my friends was on its decline, so I began my trek through the club. I was far too hammered to remember many of the lines I used, but overall I went about 0 for 27. This included two 0-fers with "dancers" and two undercover 0-fers with hookers. Damn hookers. Both of them told me, "Let's get out of here," within the first four minutes of conversation. The first one, however, killed it when she asked, "How much you got?" At first I was surprised, but then I gave her a disgusted look and said, "Later." I will NEVER pay for sex.

I should have known better with the second hooker. I had given up on the club and left to play craps with McBride. I turned around and noticed a tattooed blonde playing video poker by herself. I walked up to her and asked about her tattoo on her shoulder, "Is that a snake or a serpent?" It got the conversation started and within five minutes, the topic of "getting out of here" surfaced. We walked out of there, but then it hit me like a high school kid waking up from a fantastic wet dream because his alarm went off and he had to catch the bus. She had to be a fucking hooker. I forgot I was in Vegas, not Orange County. I asked her, "Waaaait a minute, you're not one of those girls that like…. charges…are you?" She stopped in her tracks, smiled at me, and didn't say a word. I gave her a disappointed look, didn't say a word, and turned and walked back to my craps table. What a waste.

I met this other girl at the craps table and invested two stupid hours of hanging out with her and her cockblocking friend, before her friend won the contest and took her home. It was so stupid that I will officially make this the smallest paragraph in the story.

Meanwhile, back at the Venetian, Ron met and invited a hooker up to the room because he told her, "My friend Meyer is looking to invite someone to his 'pants party.'" The girl arrived at the room, to get turned away immediately. In her disappointment, she exclaimed, "I don't even know why I came here." This is what happens when you don't do your homework in high school. You could wind up like these chicks.

Here are the results from the night: Me 0 for 27; Meyer 0 for 5; Ron 0 for 15; Tiger 0 for 3; McBride 0 for 0 (girlfriend default status); KayGee 0 for 16 (in that first hour, and on purpose, since he has a girlfriend). And apparently Punchline went 0 for 1 with his own girlfriend. That is a combined 0 for 67. When I got back to my room, I was down money from the tables, I didn't have a girl with me, and there were no girls sleeping in any of my friends' beds. While that first hour at the club was grand, the night hadn't progressed the way we had hoped. I took off my shoes, then my pants, and finally my shirt. When the shirt came off, I violently threw it on the ground in frustration, probably the same way Dennis Eckersley threw his glove in the dugout after Kirk Gibson homered off him in the 88' World Series. End of night.

Ron was the first to wake up and get ready. The pool was beckoning him. He had his boardshorts and sunscreen on before anyone even got out of bed. He began dancing to imaginary music and tried to herd everyone down to the pool. Two hours later, we got out of bed.

The pool was a colossal disappointment. Or maybe we were just spoiled from partying at the Hard Rock pool so many times. Everyone was laying out, no one was drinking, and the deluxe part of the pool, "Tao Beach," had an irritating line to get in. Desperate for adventure, we waited for 15 minutes in line. When we got to the front, a short dorky guy with bleached tips and a fading South African accent looked at the six of us and said, "Sorry guys, ya need guls with ya. Cawn't let ya een. If you guoys con step out hea….(he opened the rope to let us out)…Sorry." Fuck that. I mean we are pretty good looking guys. We're not some nerds from a Warcraft Tournament looking for an escapade. It didn't make any sense. We concluded it must have sucked anyway if they were that desperate for girls. We assimilated with the third class pool-goers and laid out like homos. Punchline and I went up to the room to take a nap.

It took us two hours to rotate bathroom usage to finally get ready. Ultimately, we left the room at 10:45 to meet up with the bachelorette party at Pure in Caesars Palace. They arrived at 11:25, said hi to us, handed us "free passes," and told us to follow them. Before I get into what happened next, let me take a moment to describe the scene at this place.

Stretching around a neverending wall was a neverending line that zig-zagged like the log ride line at Magic Mountain. All guys. We followed the line to what appeared to be a mob of bodies bigger than a celestial event at the center of the galaxy. It was a semicircle with a diameter of over half a basketball court. Off to the left was an ear of more people. Then there was a line of only chicks that stretched out into the distance. If someone were to rip off the roof, and drive by in a helicopter and look down at the scene, the entire shape of this chaos would have looked like a bold outline of Mickey Mouse's head, with whiskers. After careful observation of the "chick line," we were able to ascertain that all the chicks in line were "7s or below." The bouncers had only let in the hot girls from the mob, and then they dumped all the leftovers off to the side as backups for when they needed to distribute more chicks into the club, like an ice cream sundae with a side of extra fudge.

We had been already waiting close to an hour for the bachelorette party to arrive. So when the chicks finally arrived, they handed us the passes and somehow led us to the front. The bouncer opened up the rope for them; they all walked in. When it got to us, he closed the rope and said, "No guys. If you guys can just step off to the side." It didn't matter that we were "with the girls." Fuck, did any guys ever make it in this place? The "free passes" were about as useful as an expired lunch pass from elementary school. We walked out of there like losers, having accomplished nothing except accumulating a furious case of swamp ass from all the standing around. 

We took a cab over to the Hard Rock to make an attempt at getting into Body English. The mob was fractionally less, but the wait was just as long. Since it was highly unlikely the bouncer would let in six dudes, we broke off into two groups of three. I was in the second group. After the first group got in, KayGee, Punchline, and I waited for nearly an hour despite being at the front of the line. My ass was so sweaty by this time, that I had a bead of sweat dripping down my leg--swamp ass to the maximum. Rimjobs would not be had on this night. 

We finally got in, paid the $30 cover, and drank a few. 40 minutes into our stay, Ron got suckered into agreeing to take a limo over to see the chicks at a strip club called "Seamless." We idiotically went along with the plan and left the club after waiting a combined two and a half hours in club lines. My stay at Body English came out to 75 cents a minute. I only went 0 for 4.

We arrived at Seamless and paid another $30 to get in. I have never been a fan of strip clubs. Hooking up is always a mirage at these places. It's like going to a Chuck E' Cheese with no tokens. Sight, smell, and touch just don't excite me (unless I'm jerking off, in which case I would hope there is no smell) like it does some guys. I need to taste and feel. Also, I got my first lap dance when I was 19, and the stripper had bad breath. Maybe it traumatized me, or maybe looking at strippers doesn't do much for me. Substanceless blanks with nothing to offer but shell. After paying the cover, I asked the bouncer guy, "Are there actually chicks in there?" He knew what I meant and said, "Oh yeah, man." I didn't believe him.

The stripclub was a cesspool of nerds, dorks, and sleazebags. Professional male masturbators had girls swarming around them like flies on shit. I hit on maybe the one girl in the place who wasn't a stripper but was turned away by a tough guy she had come with who told me to "scram."  

As if things could get any worse, the girls had gotten a VIP table but didn't have a credit card, so they immediately hunted down Ron and put him in a situation where he couldn't say no. He handed them his card reluctantly and was charged $730. He had two drinks and sat at the table for half an hour. As we speak, Ron is writing an email to the girls so he can get his money back. I stayed and watched some boobies but had no tokens, so I took a cab back to the Venetian by myself after staying in the cesspool for only 25 minutes. Maybe I was being a baby, or maybe we should have just stayed at Body English. 

I awoke the next day to find KayGee, Ron, and Tiger gone due to early morning flights. Meyer and Punchline packed up and used the bathroom. I'm pretty sure one of them jerked off in the toilet. I could sense it. We checked out and made our way down to the valet line. I decided to make a return to my favorite public bathroom to give it a whirl again. I found my favorite jerk-off stall from last year and embarked on a feverish five-minute session. I finished and was able to find the flush button this time. I pushed the button hard and flushed it down. Down the fucking toilet.