Well, when I left New Orleans for my 2 day bus ride back to Vegas I wasn’t expecting anything too much apart from catching up on sleep. And catching up on sleep I did do. It was fabulous. I also got to experience Route 66 – from the front of a bus.
In Albuquerque they lost my luggage, so I pulled into Vegas having been in the same clothes for 2 days and without my luggage. Not impressed? You betcha. I was advised that my suitcase should arrive by the next morning. I so did not want to spend my last week and a half in the States with no clothes. Thankfully I had my wallet with me so I figured it was a great reason to go shopping.
While shopping I got asked to have a coffee with a lovely gentleman and his fiance that afternoon, let’s call him Barney and her Betty – they met me at a dive bar that I had no idea existed. It was about a 15 minute walk from downtown Vegas where I was staying in the Queens. A quick trot up the road in my new dress and lippy. A few cocktails later they were inviting me to do this thing called the Santa Rampage the following evening.
It’s apparently an annual July event. They all get dressed up as various Santa’s and go on a pub crawl through Downtown Vegas. Now, I figured I couldn’t say no to this, being that as an Australian I have a drinking quota to uphold. So I enthusiastically agreed. A quick chat with them to advise that my luggage was lost and I didn’t have any santa outfits meant that we went for a quick drive to find me something to wear. Betty offered me use of her tutu – however because we couldn’t find anything Santa related I went as the easter bunny. Betty had the ears, tail and bow tie so it worked well. To be “in the spirit” I had mistletoe on my bunny ear. We agreed we’d meet the following evening at the event at the certain time and they dropped me back off to my hotel with my loot.
That evening I tucked myself into bed after some dancing in the Fremont Experience with my bucket of margarita and ice truckers when I started chatting to a guy who I really clicked with. Now I wasn’t in the mood to actually get out of bed. I’d had my hot shower, my tequila was hitting the right spot and ice truckers was keeping me entertained. Plus I had a huge night planned the following night so wanted to get some rest. We chatted a while via text and he wanted me to go see him, he was willing to come to me, but had popped some vicodin and wasn’t fit to drive. I pondered how much fun a high guy could be and decided I wouldn’t. An hour later at 1am, I was dressed and looking for a cab with his address written on a scrap of paper. What can I say, he was really persuasive. And he promised to have me back before my huge night so I didn’t turn into a pumpkin.
I made him stay on the phone as I got in the cab and handed my slip of paper over to the cab driver. The cab driver asked me where it was. I told him I don’t know, he might want to use his GPS. Instead I was directed by the lush on the other end of the phone. We got there eventually and I jumped out of the cab as he opened the door and he grinned and I knew it would be ok so I let the cabbie leave. You know that calm you get off people? He was like that. I went in, we chatted a bit and giggled a bit and chatted a bit more before we started making out. He said he needed a shower and asked if I wanted to join him. His shower was huge, like huge! Ensuite of win. It fit 2 people and had like a little seating platform at one end and before I knew it there was naked making out and underwater muff diving happening. Never really got that frisky in a shower before and it was divine. I could have happily stayed in there all night. Why do not all showers have these seat things? Not only is it good for shower sexing, I’m sure it would be handy for leg hoist during shaving, etc.
The night was filled with lots of pretty awesome sex, he had me nearly crying at one point and that was pretty unheard of for a first time get together. Being the sweet man that he was, he drove me back to my hotel while I showed him what I was going to be heading out in that night and he asked me for my passport.
Er what? Passport, he says. Give it to me. I look at him and say, why? He says I’m not allowed to leave the country and I must stay. If only it was that easy… I laugh and hug him and kick him out of my hotel room. I’m going to name him Scotty* – *not his real name.
I spent the rest of the day getting myself ready for the Santa Rampage. I shaved, showered, primped and preened. Eventually I was ready.
Let the partying commence. And when I went downstairs it did. Oh my, I was faced with a sea of santas. It was amazing. Men dressed up in a santa coat with fishnets and suspenders underneath. Woman dressed as impish elves, dirty santa’s, prim santa’s, goth santa’s… There was merry singing of ho’s… there was so much drinking. I think I might have bought about 3 drinks, my hosts and their friends wouldn’t have a bar of it. There were rounds of shots for someone’s birthday and before I knew it I had found a little elf that was the cutest thing I ever did see. She mentioned she had a husband. I walked over and asked if I could borrow his missus for a while, he laughed and said I was welcome to. We might have spent the rest of the night latched together dancing, grinding, making out… I remember there was a strip joint, I don’t remember any of the strippers because I was too busy snogging her. I vaguely remember skipping down Fremont experience together hand in hand. Santa’s elf and the easter bunny. Things start to get very hazy at this point and I had to piece together the rest of the night from photo’s on Facebook.
I remember dancing on a bar, I remember not which bar, but I remember being helped down off the bar after my bump and grind up there. I remember asking for water and drinking loads of that. I remember falling asleep on a table outside one of the pubs. I remember sort of getting to my hotel door, how I got there I have no idea. I remember stepping out of my tutu and blissfully lying down.
I woke up the next morning and I thought I was dying.
The sunlight was too bright. My head hurt like crazy and the longer I kept my eyes open the more I wanted to throw up. I might have gone back to sleep without moving for fear of hurling all over the bed and myself. And my cheek hurt. Uh, cheek? What the hell? I slowly move my hand under my head and I come away with a packet of cigarettes. Who? I try to think back, I don’t remember buying these… no recollection of smoking them either. I frown and figure I must have started smoking again. Bad.
I woke up again a bit later with the urgent need to go to the bathroom and wanting desperately not to move because as soon as I move I knew it was going to be the end of me and I’d possibly spend the rest of the day hugging the toilet bowl. But I had to. So I slowly rolled my legs out of bed, groaning in utter despair. This wasn’t going to be pretty because as soon as I started moving, the world started lurching and my stomach was doing that twisty thing. I stood up, and promptly fell back down again. I thought maybe I was going to have to crawl to the bathroom.
Then I looked up as I was eye level to the bed and found that there was someone else in my bed. In his singlet and pants still, his santa jacket was hanging off one of his wrists as he lay on top of the blankets.
I squinted and rubbed my eyes. No, he was still there. Who the ever-loving fuck?
As I sat there I totally forgot about how wretch I was feeling and started to have that deep bile inducing moment, did I fuck this strange man? I grabbed the edge of the bed and crawled up the side to poke him. Thankfully he moaned so I knew he was alive. Last thing I needed was to wake up a with corpse of someone I didn’t know in a santa outfit. At which point my stomach decided it wanted to empty whatever I didn’t have in there because it couldn’t take anymore as I got up and raced to the bathroom I noticed I was in my g-string only. Awkward. I’m pretty much naked in bed and have drunk amnesia with santa. Why do these things happen to me?
After I spent a very long time in the bathroom wishing that I could die I made it back out into the room. Found my singlet and threw it on as I couldn’t face walking around in just my g-string with a strange santa in my bed. I couldn’t find my pj bottoms and I was feeling too sick to give two shits about it as I crawled back into the bed and laid back groaning miserably.
He woke up at this point and looked at me. Oh man. Why couldn’t it have been one of the pretty santa’s?
I look at him trying to hide my disgust that he’d puked into the bin on his side of the bed and there was some dried puke on the bed sheets on his side. So gross.
Instead I say … “Uhhh hullo. Who are you? Why are you in my room and bed? Did we fuck?” That last question was really really important for me to find out since I didn’t remember anything.
He blinks at me and proceeds to tell me that he helped me to my room last night, he’s a friend of Barney’s and that no we didn’t fuck but after he helped me to the room he started to feel really sick so he thought he’d lie down for a minute and he must have passed out.
Oh I say, Oh good. I’m going back to sleep because I feel like shit. Ok he says, do you mind if I sleep a bit more to try to get over the hangover? Whatever, I say, just don’t make the bed move or I’ll puke on you. I woke up intermittently through the day and into the night to vomit more, I vomited soooo much I swore I’d never drink again. At about 9pm I had the presence of mind to check my phone and I had a million messages. From Barney, checking if I was ok and if his friend was with me because he wasn’t answering his phone, one from Scotty asking me how my night had been and how I was keeping. Obviously because I’d been too busy dying I hadn’t replied so they both got more frantic as the day wore on and I went between throwing up and sleeping. I messaged Barney back that his friend was indeed with me, passed out and hung over but alive. And that I was really really sick and couldn’t get out of bed. I sent the same to Scotty. Scotty immediately calls me and asks me if he should bring me dinner at 10pm and if I needed anything. I whispered through the conversation that I’m ok, I am really hungry but can’t eat because I’m going to throw it up and I might need to sleep some more. He clucks his tongue at me and tells me I’m naughty for not drinking water and getting to that point. I tell him I know…
At some point during the night, the random santa decided to wake me up by shaking the bed. I crack my eyes open and growl at the pain it causes. I look at him and he’s furiously masturbating.
UUUUhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. What. The. Fuck.
He sees I’ve woken up and asks me if I can help him out.
Yeah, about that man, no. No I can’t. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop shaking the bed. It’s making me want to throw up. But he says, it’s my fault he has a hard on.
Wait, what? Excuse me? He looks a bit flustered and says that it’s because I’m so hot and he can’t help himself. I look at him and tell him it’s never going to happen and it’s not my fault he has no self-control because all I’ve done is sleep because I’m so sick and he needs to stop or if he needs to finish himself off he can go into the bathroom or better yet, leave. He alternates between showering me with compliments and trying to guilt me into sucking his penis, or wanking him, or anything he can…
I’m lying there, I haven’t brushed my teeth since the morning before, I smell of stale alcohol and have vomit breath, my hair is pretty much a bird’s nest and I couldn’t care less how many hours it was going to take to brush out all the knots. I’m pretty sure I smell like a brewery and all I can think of is how much I need to still throw up and he keeps at me about his fucking penis, he’s moved onto whining now.
At which point I lost my shit…
By the time I finished my rant I had to run to the bathroom to throw up again and as I crawled back to bed after the 500th vomit session he softly apologises and says he will leave in the morning. Good I say and go back to sleep wrapped around a blanket literally on the edge of the bed. I’d taken to ignoring him at this point and hoping he’d go away, kinda like the boogeyman, yanno?
I wake up at the crack of dawn the next morning, feeling like I’d been reborn but with the worlds nastiest headache and shake him awake. He smells, bad. He wakes up, I tell him it’s 6am and he needs to go now. He looks at me and says ok. As he gathers his shit I grab a towel and head into the bathroom and start getting the place ready so I can shower. I notice that he’s also vomited all over the floor too and feel horrible for the hotel staff that will be coming in to do my room because I’m sure it just smells of alcohol and puke. I wait for him to leave before I jump in the shower and as I just finish getting dressed and packing up the room a bit, room service comes around. I apologise for the state of the room and run away while they clean to go get coffee. I’m still a bit scared of food at this point.
I come back and the room is spotless. I celebrate by lying down on the bed and wonder if my headache will ever subside. A guy I’d met a few nights before at the Santa Rampage messages me and asks if I want to do breakfast. I couldn’t face trying to eat with company so I say no, I’m sorry I feel really horrible again and he says he’ll bring me some headache tablets. Married men, they are so sweet. I tell him my hotel and room number and within 30 minutes I have a delivery of Advil and drinks to replenish my water stores. We chat for a bit and then he says he needs to get to work and asks if I would have dinner with him that night instead as his wife is away on business and he’d be bored otherwise. Sure I say, he seems nice enough and above all else, he’s in an open relationship with his wife so it wasn’t something I had to worry about.
I take the tablets and decide that I am going to spend the day in bed, with room service and hopefully I feel a bit more human for dinner…
And I might stop now…. Vegas gets hot and bothered to be told later.