Vegas Part Duex

I've been trying to find ways to kill myself since I was little.

I once got a subscription to Sports Illustrated that ended in collections agency calls to my parents.

Because I was twelve, and gave them my dad's name and a fake credit card number. That whole online credit check thing was a little looser those days.

My dad was almost charged for fraud, and ended up having to pay for a year of my subscription.

I only got it for the swimsuit issue, which he confiscated before I could see.

Online porn was kind of new in those days, too. I literally was more willing to wait for a magazine in the mail than wait for the pictures to load on playboy.com.

Although... I did that too.

I almost didn't make it to my thirteenth birthday.

For me, Vegas also fits into the category of 'possible suicidal tendencies'.

Probably the most responsible thing I did on my last trip was sky diving. And even then, I had to sign a form saying 'I have not consumed alcohol or drugs in the past 8 hours'.

It was more like forty minutes.

I can check off sky diving from my bucket list, though.

It was awesome. And I'd say anyone who hasn't gone should go at least once.

Cousin lost a bet to me, and had to go with me. She's so terrified of heights, I was really proud of her for getting all suited up and into the plane. But, she couldn't get herself out the plane door at 15,000 feet.

The adrenaline rush is crazy. The instructor told us to take it easy on the alcohol that night, because the heightened levels of adrenaline would make it effect us significantly more.

Challenge accepted. So, instead, I bought VIP tickets for a pub crawl, and drank my face off.

The alcohol hit me like a wave of awesome.

By the time we were done at the first night club, I already had a hard buzz going, and probably only downed like three drinks.

Second stop was Tao night club. Which, in retrospect, I think we should have stayed at. Can you say 'free pour'? But we paid the extra money for our tickets, so we were supposed to end up at PURE night club - which is amazing, and which was going to be even more incredible that particular night because of a celebrity appearance.

So we moved on.

Next stop was LAX.

At which point, I was thoroughly hammered.

I don't understand why the fuck-head who designed that night club was like: 'I know, let's put seventy three staircases for no goddamn reason all over the fucking place.'

On the way in, I felt like I'd gotten lost in a maze of hallways. Flashes of Hostel went through my mind, and I was definitely thinking I was headed to my demise. As I started to panic, Cousin had to herd me through the madness until it opened up again in to the actual club.

I've never been there sober, so in all likelihood, that hallway may only be ten feet long.

As soon as we got in, I had to pee, so Cousin helped me find the way to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, I came out surrounded by what appeared to be a gang of Asians, and Cousin was worried I was going to get my ass kicked. For about three seconds, until she realized I had somehow made friends with ALL of them WHILE PISSING, and they were all fist bumping and high-fiving me for reasons I don't recall.

Knowing me, it could've been anything. I may have shown them my penis.

PURE was supposed to be next. We didn't make it there, though. Because the organizers fucked up and put us with the wrong group.

I'm fairly certain it's because they were getting Alzheimer's. Seriously, they looked like something out of a penthouse-for-seniors magazine. Fake tits that pointed off in the wrong directions, blonde out of a bottle, bad plastic surgery and face lifts, lips with too many injections, tans out of a can, and porn star length fake nails.

I decided to point out their flaws.

So, the pub crawl, for me, ended at the twenty four hour MacDonald's in the Luxor hotel.

Still one of the best nights of my life.

And, considering I made out with the hottest Russian blonde I've ever met the night before... in a strip club... where she was working... I'd say that's saying a lot.

I told you: Vegas and me are buddies.

One night for a forty

A friend of mine recently took a road trip to come visit me.

We've kind of started a tradition of going to horror movies. And taking a bottle of rum.

It makes them so much more fun to watch, and the drunk sex afterwards is always crazy.

Yah, I'm that guy laughing at the screen when the creepy fetus-looking motherfucker slowly crawls back into the definitely-not-kosher box.

She got to my place wearing a trench coat.

My first thought was, "WTF?"

It was scorching heat.

My second thought was, "Oh, fuck. Yes."

She undid the jacket and tossed it.

Lingerie. Fucking hot lingerie.

So, supper can wait a couple hours.

We started drinking immediately after.

By the end of the movie, we were both smashed. And thanks to her remote control vibrator, she was ready to pounce.

We waited until everyone was out of the theater and she jumped on top of me. And again as soon as we got in the car.

But, the rum continued to flow into my veins, and by the time we got into my bed, I experienced something for the first time.

Whiskey dick.

I went down on her until my tongue was sore.

Nothing. Nadda.

And my head was spinning from the alcohol.

I gave into my flaccid fate, and laid down.

I couldn't close my eyes. I got that thing where you have to stare at one spot or everything goes yuck. I decided to hop in the shower to sober up a bit, and ended up doing the same thing. I was staring at the tub spout for a good half hour before I finally felt well enough to close my eyes. I crawled back into bed and passed out.

In retrospect, I should have seen what was coming for me the next day. I experienced, let's say, a moderate amount of gastric distress.

The plan was to spend all day fucking the next day before she went home.

Stomach issues, and fucking, don't go so well together.

It's hard to remain erect when you're focused on trying not to shit yourself.

I was useless the whole day.

The rum had destroyed my insides and performed essentially the same function on my intestines as Draino does to the kitchen pipes.

What's worse is that it was the first time I'd shit around this particular friend. So, I was very conscious about making any noise. I tried all kinds of positions to try to have a silent shit. I flushed a couple times before standing up, every time. And, it's one of those toilets where the water level is maybe four inches deep, so I had to scrub the shit streaks off the back of the bowl.

I'd already shit my way into one man's nightmares, I didn't need to permanently damage another person's mental health with my anus shenanigans.

Sure, she'd heard stories about my I.B.S, but with her I'd always managed to get home - or at least a gas station.

On this day, not only was it the first time I shit near her, it was also the sixth.

I'm not positive, but I'm pretty sure that's close to a record for me.

Just the tip

I remember my first time like it was this afternoon. It was clearly before I started drinking.

I'd met the girl on Sunday. At church.

By Tuesday we were parked in her dad's Jeep naked. But, we were both virgins, so I was still fairly new at everything, and didn't get up the nerve to stick it in her.

It so happened that my parents were going to be away, and I'd have the house to myself for a few days the following weekend. So, I invited her over and let her know it'd just be us two.

The next few days leading up to the weekend were a blur. I couldn't think about anything else.

She came over in the evenings, and we would try to sneak away to make out. My dad would always find us and tell us that we weren't allowed in a room by ourselves.

He's such a cock block.

As soon as the weekend came, and they pulled out of the driveway, I called her and told her to come over. I was super nervous, but I had a plan. I'd found some decent skin cream, and told her I wanted to give her a massage.

I know. Super cheesy. But it worked, dammit.

I ended up on my knees, upright, with her legs around me, both of us naked on the floor. I put the tip in a tiny bit and looked at her.

She gave me a nod.

We fucked.

It was awesome. It went on forever. We moved from the floor to the couch, from the couch to the bed, from the bed back to the floor. We did it doggy style, standing, cowgirl, couch cowgirl, missionary, any position I could think of I could remember seeing in any form of porn.

After, we just collapsed in exhaustion. She asked me if I was sure I'd never done that before.

It would be nice if the story ended there.

But, you know me. I always have terrible, terrible luck.

A couple weeks later, she told me she needed to come see me at work.

I thought she wanted to bring me lunch at my shitty summer job.

Nope.

She had taken a pregnancy test, and it was positive.

You know that feeling you get just before you jump off the high dive platform for the first time?

Panic.

I don't remember anything else that happened the rest of the day. I just remember sitting at a desk listening to the ringing in my ears.

My parents were right. I had destroyed my life. By having sex ONE TIME.

I was totally fucked.

But, I had apparently done something right in the universe, and karma decided that this would be a good time to utilize the 2% error rate on the pregnancy tests.

She called me a few nights later from work, "I got it! I'm not pregnant! Oh my god, please tell me you didn't tell your parents, yet!"

I hadn't even figured out how to start that conversation yet. So, luckily, I hadn't told anyone about it.

What an incredible feeling of relief. And freedom.

I swore to myself I'd never make that mistake again.

We celebrated by parking in my dad's car, and fucking each other senseless in the back seat.

Seemed appropriate.