Gambling's Bad, Mmmkay?

I haven't been lazy, just responsible. I have an important exam next month, so there will probably be some light posting days between now and then. But just like a woman's period, there could be some heavy flow days. And my vagina is ALWAYS wide-set.





I'll just share a story for now.


The Casino Debacle

It started as a normal night for Rex and me. We hung out at a local bar for a while, but we didn't really want to end the night when it closed. We went to a late-night bar that was open until 4 a.m. Let me tell you my look for the evening. The important components were my shirt and scarf. There were tight jeans, but forget about them. I was wearing a brown button-up long sleeve shirt with embroidered pockets on the titties in a western style. My scarf was silk with a multitude of colors in a zebra pattern on a navy background [read: GAAAAAAAAAAAAY]. I had it tied Boy Scout style. Rex kept asking the waitress if I looked like a gay cowboy or a gay boy scout. I would have accepted either answer. We met a funny guy in business attire whom I thought was named Kingston, but he kept correcting me. He was from Hong Kong and had an awesome accent, but I never did catch his real first name, although his last name was Kok, so that was cool. We "made friends" with about 4 random people and some douchebag who was following all of us. He kept talking about how rich he was. I disliked him instantly, and he proved throughout the next few hours that he had no redeeming qualities.

Four a.m. rolled around sooner than we thought, and we found ourselves out on the sidewalk chatting with our new friends. Someone commented that we should go to a casino. Okay. What? Before I could even process everything, we were in a cab heading to East Chicago (although I think it's technically Indiana). I hate gambling, but I figured we'd have fun anyway. That douchebag Richie Rich was not invited, but he decided he really wanted to gamble too, so he hopped in another cab with the two guys who didn't fit in ours. Rex and this girl were groping in the backseat with me right next to them, and I was over it already. Dude in the front seat was on the phone with his friends who got stuck with Richie. Apparently Richie had vomited out the window and was now trying to lie down across the backseat. We were a rather motley crew.

At the first casino we got to, Richie got to the front of our crew, and the guy checking IDs said he was too drunk to enter. Because he had arrived with us, this restriction extended to all of us as well. Richie blew up and started yelling that he could "buy this fucking place!" We decided to just go to another casino, so we told him where we were going. We lied. We said we'd meet him there. He made a phone call, and a Mercedes came to pick him up five minutes afterward. I don't really know what that was all about, but we lost him.

We got into the next casino and split up. The guys went to play poker, and Rex, the girl, and I went to the blackjack tables. The girl disappeared soon afterward, and we knew we'd just get home by ourselves. Here's the thing: we didn't exactly plan the evening, so we had only cash on us and no credit cards, etc. We played blackjack, and I quickly ran out of money, so Rex had me bet with his pot. I was betting the minimum, and he was betting anywhere from $25 to $100.

We were having a great time. We were up and down and all that. I eventually stopped playing because I hate losing money on gambling. I once played blackjack in Tahoe and stopped after I made $13. I told Rex to put aside one of his $100 chips so we would have enough to get home, since he had converted all his cash to chips, and I was out. I walked around for a little while, and when I returned, Rex was getting up from the table. At one point he was up $2,000, but now he had lost everything.

Fine, I thought, let's just go the fuck home. What are we doing here anyway? We looked around for the people we came with, but they must have left already. We made our way to the lobby and prepared to get a cab. "Wait," I said, "did you cash in the chip already?"
"Oh fuck."
We were stranded in fucking nowhere, Indiana with no money and no one to call. I don't even know that many people in Chicago with cars, and no one I could call at 10:00 a.m. in the middle of the week to pick my ass up in another state.

We somehow started talking to a black woman in the lobby also appeared to be waiting. Girl was fully pressed--hair, nails, everything. . . fanny pack. She was waiting for her sister or someone to pick her up and take her back to Chicago! Not far from where we were going, assuming she was telling the truth. We told her our plight and begged her for a ride. I could tell she was seriously considering it, and I was giving her sad puppy face.

At one point in the begging process, I stuck my hands in my back pockets, and I felt papery material. Could it be? Yes! I had been sticking change from getting drinks back there all night. It came to about $40, enough for the up-front payment to get a cab to take us to Chicago. Perfect, see you later, Keisha (not a joke). Rex said he had money at home, so we could pay the driver when we got there.

We slept in the back until we arrived at Rex's condo. He told the driver he'd be right back with his money, and the driver was extremely skeptical and insisted that I stay with him along with Rex's ID. Fine. Rex headed around the corner and into his building, and I waited in the car. It was taking forever, and I started to get nervous. Did he just ditch me? I got out of the car, and the driver started freaking out. I told I wasn't going anywhere, but I wasn't into feeling like a hostage. After a total of 15 minutes, I felt compelled to do something. When the driver was looking away, I bolted around the corner and up to Rex's door. He was in there frantically looking around, looking majorly confused. I asked, "well? What's the deal?" Apparently he thought he had more cash at home, but he must have taken everything to the casino. I suggested just going to an ATM, and he said that's all he has until next week. Fuck.

Then there was a knock on the door, and we looked at each other like, "oh shit." It was the doorman with Rex's ID saying there was cab driver downstairs who still needed to be paid. Rex said he'd be right down. Somehow he remember that he had a giant bowl of change in a drawer next to his Taser[1]. He straight up took the whole bowl down to the cabbie, and I was like, "okay, hope to see you soon." Sure enough he reappeared after a couple minutes as the driver had accepted the payment. When you have even a small bowl of change, the cash value is surprisingly larger than you might think. A bowl that size probably held around $80 or $90. The driver made his money plus a huge tip. . . albeit mostly in change.

I promised myself I would never go back to Indiana unless I absolutely had to. You never know--book tour, assassination attempt, etc. We collapsed and took a well-deserved nap. I was never happier to see Barack Obama than that moment.


[1]-Rex kept a taser in a drawer at his condo. I saw it one day asked, "what the fuck is with this?" He said he used to get wasted with his friends, and they'd shock each other with it. Nice. He pointed it at me and grinned, "wanna try it?" I said, "nooooooo!!! Get that the fuck away from me! I could die!" Maybe, maybe not. When I was in peak athletic shape, I had an abnormal ECG, and they wanted me to come back for an echocardiogram, basically an ultrasound of the heart. I never did. Sometimes I worry I might just drop dead of some heart condition unknown to me. Oh well, I think I'll go eat five pounds of bacon and sugar, smoke 20 cigarettes at once, and be generally sedentary. Beetus & heart probs, here I come!

My First And Final Face-First Foray Into Furburger

I'd like to tell you a story. It's a magical tale about one young gay man's experimentation with the opposite sex.

That night I hung out with my older friend Rex. We took full advantage of $1 beer night at a bar near his condo. We sang along to an 80s cover band, and made fun of these three girls we always saw there: Fatty, Elvira, and Plain Jane. Their names pretty much sum up what we thought of them. Fatty was a crazy slut whom I eventually befriended (for one night) and found out she fucked half the guys at the bar and no one will talk to her anymore.

Anyway, we left the bar and went back to his place to continue the party. Rex told me he wanted to get laid, but I guess nothing worked with prospects at the bar. He said he should just have a hooker come over. I laughed and changed the subject. At one point he disappeared, and when I asked him what he was doing, he said he called a connection (a.k.a. madam) to send a girl over. I thought he was kidding. Cut to an hour later. He got a call that someone was at the door downstairs for him. That's when I realized he wasn't joking at all. We retrieved her from the entrance. She was an exotic-looking woman, perhaps 40 years old. I forget her name, so I'll just call her Slut. We chatted for a minute, and I kept thinking, "um, well what the hell am I supposed to do during all this. Awkward!" I figured I would just slip onto the rooftop landing and quietly chill for a while. Slut was Venezuelan or something ethnic like that. I found this extremely interesting in my state of intoxardation, so we started talking in Spanish. Five years of studying the language and a perfect score on the AP test culminated in my being able to make smalltalk with a prostitute.

Even though I wasn't to be involved, just the fact that I was there warranted Slut to ask for more than the $400 she received upon entering the condo. I made it clear I wasn't going to be doing anything, let alone watch. Slut saw the opportunity to ask for more money, and Rex said he would gladly give it to her, but he didn't have any more than what he gave her. Well that was a lie. For some reason he had about $10,000 cash from a recent commission. He got her to agree that what he already gave her was sufficient. They started making out and all that fun stuff. I was intrigued! I'd never seen straight sex in person, so I found it clinically interesting. Plus, Slut told me to stay! I guess she thought I was cute.

Rex removed her dress and panties (I hate that word, but it's funny) and lifted her onto a wide banister-like partition between his bed and hallway. Then the muffdiving began. Rex was doing it for a few minutes before he pulled his head up, looked over at me, and made a gesture to indicate I should try it. I don't know what made me do it. I didn't think much about it at the time. I'm pretty sure I thought it was rather funny, so I figured, "what the hell." Keep in mind, I had never done this before, and I had never had a close up look at the vag. So I didn't really know what I was doing, but I just emulated what Rex did, and what I've seen the few straight porns I've watched. I was pleasantly surprised to find a lack of foul odor and taste. That was really my only concern. It was clean, pink, and freshly scented, like Barbie's dream car. Oh, and shaved. I would have been really put off by an abundance of hair. She moaned and pinched her nipples, all the stuff she probably thought we wanted to see since she was being paid for it. I did not find it arousing at all. It was more like a task that I wanted to accomplish. After a while, she writhed, moaned some more, and um, ew, got a little. . . um, juicier? I took it that she climaxed.

After that we all moved to the bed, and they started fooling around with each other. I grabbed a boob here and there, but I wasn't really willing to do anything else. I left my underwear on and halfheartedly made a show of playing with myself, though it was clear to me that no arousal would happen for me in that region. I probably could have made myself, but I was focused on the wall or Slut's body because I didn't want to stare at my friend while he was banging her. It would have felt rude! Without a word, I slipped away to the bathroom for some mouthwash and waited it out.

When it was all over, I just couldn't believe I did it! But I really wanted to be able to say that I had tried it once, and it was obviously not for me. And it makes for a funny story. Slut left, and Rex and I laughed and talked about it. It was uncannily not awkward. He imitated me going down on her, and I had to find that hilarious. At some point before she left though, we exchanged phone numbers. For what purpose, I have no idea! She called me several times over the next couple months and left voicemails saying that she really wanted to see me again. I saved her number in my phone as "Slut."

So that's the story of how I went to town on a Venezuelan prostitute's ladyparts. It happened, it's over, and I have no desire to repeat it. At least now I can say I tried it, and apparently I was good at it. Hookers lie, but their axe wounds can't. I rock.