Winning In Vegas


Ahhhh Las Vegas. Party central, hook-up heaven…and hangover hell. Never, I repeat, never book an early flight to leave Vegas. You will suffer from major anxiety, you will smell like booze and you will count every sorry minute till you get back to the comfort of your little apartment and away from the bright lights of the Vegas Strip.

I was there the summer of 2011 with ten other girls celebrating the up-and-coming wedding of a dear friend and where better to do a bachelorette party? We flew in from all over the country, the fashionable New Yorkers (that what I was back then!) joined the laid-back Cali girls, the Denver girls left their dogs at home and our bestie group was together again.

cocktail We booked two adjoining suites at the Palms Place hotel, checked-in early evening and cracked open some beers before our luggage was delivered to our rooms. OK, what’s the game plan for night one? You could smell the excitement even through the sprays, lotions and potions and copious amounts of fake-tan. As it turns out, it’s really hard to get eleven women to agree on something, so after hours of procrastination and numerous outfit changes we went to a diner in the lobby for eats and cocktails and hopped the ropes (we are crazy) by the pool to sit and chat into the wee hours on the cabana day beds. It ended up being a brilliant start to our mini-vacay and a lovely time to catch-up.

Vegas day two was another story all together. We hit the pool at the ridiculous time of 10am after the Maid of Honor woke us all up singing Katy Perry’s ‘Waking up in Vegas’- no really. We put on the cute bathing suits we’d spent weeks scoping out on Pinterest, filled our hand-made party cups (the Maid of Honor really was on her game) with mimosas and away we went. It was looking like a pretty chill day at first then slowly but surely the groups of muscly men and girls in teeny bikinis started arriving, the music got louder and we all got a little sloppier. One of our girls peaked early and was cut-off at 1pm after one too many dirty martinis and one-by-one we had to call it a day and head up for a disco nap.

I picked out my favorite tiny, skin tight, only-wearing-in-Vegas dress, whacked on some silly heels + a Kris Jenner smoky eye and after a celebratory dinner at Tao we hit the strip in search of a dance party and some strobe lights. My tiny, weeny, inappropriate dress was incredibly hard to dance in (shocker) so I threw down the towel and tottered over to the bar to get myself a tasty adult beverage. Boy did I pick the right time to head over… there stands a tall, handsome stranger leaning over to order a drink and now that I’m a few cocktails in I’m feeling pretty clever and pretty ballsy.

sailor-vector-“Hey sailor”, I said (see told you, clever), he stands up and he’s HUGE! Basketball player, manly man, huge-biceps-huge and all I can say is, “Jesus, you’re huge” (just getting smarter by the minute here). We introduced ourselves properly, ordered some shots and got chatting. The night flew by while we were flirting and drinking and kissing and drinking and, well, you get it.

So giant man, the sailor, knows it’s a done deal with this slutty, drunk Brit so he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and marches to the elevators and we head to his room. Clothes off, condom on and away we go! What a fun night, yeah I’m in Vegas, I’m wild wahooooo, rolling around and trying every position we can think of while laughing and kissing and then I’m flipped onto all-fours, alrighty then, arch back and…WOAH…wait a second, out of nowhere (well I was on my hands and knees) I get a digit in my bottom! I was taken completely by surprise and had no control over the loud squeal that came out of my mouth. No worries, I think, relax, let him enjoy it for a sec, turn around and smile, wink, try and look sexy and like I’m enjoying it, OK enough now, push his hand away and carry on till we pass out and it’s the harsh reality of the morning.

Yowzers do I look awful the next day! Talk about taking a 10 to bed and waking up with a 2! (If I’m honest I’m probs a 6.5 at best with all my slap on and I was a cool 0.5 that morning ha)…so I did what any normal girl trying to retain at least a smidge of dignity would have done…. I scribbled my number on a piece of paper by the bed and ran out the door. The girls were waiting at brunch for me, the MOH had called to check I was alright and on my way and all I had to do was run through the lobby of my hotel, past the hotel staff and boys we’d met at the pool and get to the bottomless margaritas all in last night’s dress and JBF hair. Nice.

thumbs-upNow, if you’ve ever woken up after a wild night and not quite sure if you’re hungover or still drunk you’ll know that there is no filter on your mouth and you don’t really care what you look like, especially if you’re with your girls. We’re eating and drinking, I’m trying not to vomit on the table as I sip on my marg and one of the dolls asks about Big Guy. “Kitty, how was last night?” she says, winking to the other girls as they all lean in a little closer to hear the juicy details. I take a sip of my drink and say, “Yeah it was fun, he flipped me on to all-fours and shoved a thumb in my ass” and I carry on eating my breakfast burrito. There are no words from the put-together girls around the table, my bests are stunned into silence for moment or two, mouths open, did she really just say that?! Yes she did. And yes he did.

Now what I wonder is, and what the girls and I talked about for the rest of the day, do I look like the kind of girl who wants a surprise thumb in there or is this just what single people are doing these days? Had I been out of the dating game so long that ass-play was cool now? Or was it just because it was Vegas and most likely a one-night special? Maybe that was Big Guy’s signature move, maybe he was with a wild one before me and she liked it? Who knows? All I know is if you go home with a tall, stranger, in Vegas it’s gonna be a gamble, at least I made back in time for brunch.


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