I've been doing my thing since my wife and I split. First things first, I needed to make sure everything in my home life was in order. Arrangements with the kids, separate finances going forward, making sure her gym membership goes off my direct deposit (important one for me for some reason) and making sure our children understand that just because mommy and daddy don't live together doesn't mean they are not loved and trying to make the smoothest transition for them. Since I have the kids at my house (she acts like I'm the sole owner of the property. I doubt the state will agree with her), my free time is slightly limited. Thankfully the kids have grandparents who almost demand that they get to have them one night a week, so I have the opportunity to get out there. I've been meeting up and going out with old fliends and hitting the bars when appropriate. Not too much in the way of trolling for skanks. Finally last weekend I got a chance to polish up the hubcaps on my Altima and begin my "back into the wild" tour.
STOP ONE-RENO
A marketing department came up with a great line. "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas". I was told that the phrase was going to be used by the Reno tourism board until they realized that Chlamydia has no concept of city limits.
Ahhhh, Reno. The town that begs the question "why the fuck are we doing this in Reno?" Well, it's an annual event with my brother and a few of our friends (one of them was the one I made the It Gets Better video for) to go to that shithole, watch and wager on football and drink ourselves celibate. My brother was thrilled since we finally have a legit single guy to be out on the prowl. I guess when you are married or in a committed relationship for some time, the chance to be a wingman is enough to make you cum. I was thinking that I may have to fly solo for this mission.
So I begin to plan my trip........
I for one am shocked at how limited my options are. Fuckin Yelp. Now I'm left to the suggestions of my group.
Ryan (brother) and I had to pick up Pat and Josh at the airport way to early to check into our hotel, so we were left with dilemmas on what to do. What else can one do when they are killing time in Reno?
Now gun-nuts, save me your expert opinions on technique. I don't own a gun or plan on it anytime soon. I also know my stance, head positioning or whatever you fuck you want to critique is all wrong. My scorecard is enough to tell me that. All I know is anywhere you can belly up to a bar, drink three stiff jack & cokes and THEN be given a shotgun and sent out into an open range is an allright place in my book.
So for those keeping score, we haven't checked in yet and I'm one sheet to the wind. Remember that.
We finally check in after Pat, the actor who isn't much taller than the gun and the most pinko-liberal douche in the group, slaughters all of us at the gun club. After getting cleaned up and bullshiting about what to do for food and where to go, the general consensus is to leave the casino area and check out the local scenes. I'm down with this idea, since even if we don't hook up with a veritable harem of women of low self-esteem willing to moisten my condom with their herpes juice; we can at least take a sample of the homemade drug addled freakshow that is Reno nightlife. I mean I just saw a shirtless guy in dirty jorts rolling a lone truck tire down Virginia Street. I'm fairly sure we can be entertained downtown, or get stabbed trying.
We agree on our plan over a few Sailor Jerry's and Pepsis with two beers. Jot that down scorekeepers.
Stop one - Strega Bar. I was not down with this option. The group thought it may be a cool option since it was an old house converted to a bar/local hangout with live music. My first thought was "guys, does that sound a little psuedo-hipsterish to anyone but me". I'm willing to go anywhere, but that concept just reeks of chicks in glasses you don't want to fog up and would-be draft dodgers with military jackets. I was right. We walk in and the ironic mustache to man ratio was 1.5 to 1, if that tells you the quality of the trim in that toolbox. The bartenders where actually pretty cool and nice, but we couldn't stay at that joint any longer than one Jack & Coke before an Occupy Reno rally jumped off.
Stop two - ????????????????????
OK, fuck it. I don't remember the name. All I can tell you is that it's near West St. and it's the place where I drank this.
and did these
that picture is from the night after. We did do Irish Car Bombs at the nameless place with a couple of freshly turned 21 year olds. The place was pretty nice, not divey and looked like a cool spot to watch games. For Saturday night however, it was very much a college crowd from UNR. It was then I realized that this group of guys in their mid-late 30's doesn't really play well with the freshly legal crowd. Even on our best behavior, I felt like our group came off as every girls creepy uncle at that place. Except me of course, since I'm younger looking and awesome. I was comfortable enough mixing it up with the young'uns with such stimulating one sided conversations like "Your t shirt says Love Pink. We have so much in common" and "I know your dad was a car fan and that's why he named you Shelby, but you could've avoided this whole conversation with me if he just named you Carol. What I'm asking is if you love or hate your dad at this moment"
Surprisingly I left the bar with no takers. I did find a way to down two more Jack & Cokes, half a pitcher of cheap beer and one round of Irish Car Bombs.
Finally I had to put my foot down when the guys suggested one more local spot. In my drunken state I realized that if I was going to find a skank willing to make a mistake, it was going to be at the casino and hotel spots. When my brother protested, I yelled out the most profound thing I have ever said.
"Where are you more likely to be more of a slut? On your vacation or in your backyard?"
.....and back to the Silver Legacy we go.
Probably the liveliest spot of easy cum dumpsters would be Brew Brothers. Big bar and dance floor, live music and near the elevators to the hotel rooms. We jump in and I get the place of all kinds of women and guys of all ages who look like they were auditioning for Douchebag’s crew. To quote robotic Tiger Woods “I. like. my. chances.”
My drinking team is just a mess. My brother notices a cute girl for me in a bachelorette party across the bar and tries the ever so smooth move of ordering the bride a complementary blowjob shot from across the bar. The only entertainment that came out of this was the bartender body English in having to explain to the stupid bitch that the shot was for her, it was purchased by that weird looking guy over there and how to drink a blowjob shot.
Josh, who has been mostly silent the whole trip, pulls me aside to see the sweaty TVO type height guy who is trying to dry-hump this reasonably average lady on the dance floor. She shoots a look are way that suggests that she needs someone to pry this oompa-loompa off of her. I just walk up and take her hand and walk away with her. I don’t even he noticed, because after I looked back to give him my patented “HA HA fuck you loser” smile, he was still there just pelvic thrusting air. After we hit the floor for a minute I take her to the bar to get some drinks and flirt a little. The first thing that comes out of her mouth is “I’m Amanda and I’m 46” …….I take my Jack & Coke and walk away without saying a word.
I need to clear something up here. She was a hittable 46 in the state I was in. No problems with the age. It’s just when I save you from a midget rapist and I buy you a drink, the last two things I want a women to tell me is “ I have the same name as your soon to be ex wife and I need to tell you how much older I am”. Pass. Just pass.
I finally give up on my buddies and hit the crowd on my own. No sooner do I break free I lock eyes with a curvy Latina with long curly hair, large eyes, full lips and possibly questionable morals. We end up working our way to each other and start dancing. If I have learned one thing in my lifetime, dancing with a drunk Latina is about as close to sex as you can have with your clothes on. We’re out there grinding on the dance floor for a while and I get a tap on the shoulder from my brother saying “tell your girl that her group is leaving and you may get shanked if she stays with you. Just sayin” I tell her and she says she she’s staying with me and get back to rubbing her tits on my chest. I turn to my brother and tell him I’ll let the chips fall where they may.
So me and my spicy little dance partner get some drinks after the band wraps up. Her name is something I guess. I know she was 26 and was from El Salvador. She was here with her roommate (so much for getting away from locals) and he was gay, does a lot of drugs and wanted to avoid him. I guess that was the “group” my brother was talking about. She spots him and we duck and dive around the bar to exit and head to another place to have another drink as if we needed it. Through conversation I suggest that if her ride is gone she could crash in my room and sleep it off before she calls a cab. Her reply was “Or I could just go up to your room and fuck your brains out” Yeah, I guess we could go with her plan.
So I plant her with a nice sloppy kiss and I could feel her hips quivering as soon as our lips touched. This piece was ready to go and go big. I told her to wait there while I hit the restroom. This gave me time to call and text my brother explaining very carefully how he needs to get the fuck out of the room now. As I get out of the mens room she is waiting and is damn near pulling my pants down right there. I can’t get a conformation from my brother that the room is clear, but I’m just going to have to take my chances.
As we make it to my unoccupied hotel room (turns out they hit the tables and didn’t make it up) It get heavy in a hurry. She had one of those strapless dresses that kind of hide a good set of real breasts, so I got a good treat when I unzipped her dress and a fantastic set of full, supple and well sized set of tits revealed themselves to me. Her whole body trembled when we were kissing, reminding me of why I liked to fuck with beaners the first time I was single. Holy shit she was horny. I moved a hand over her honey pot and it was gushing. I can’t come up with a better description of her wet snatch than Mike Backer so I won’t. Let’s just say she was ready to go.
Remember that part where I suggested to keep score? What did you fucksticks come up with? How many beverages over the course of day did I describe? No matter how many you kept track of, adding them all up comes up with the same answer.
Wiskey Dick.
Yep, I got my first post breakup piece of ass sopping up my bedsheets with her pussy juice and I am struggling to get it up. After a while of kissing, titplay and aggressive fingering, I start to feel like a struggling relief pitcher. You just get inside your head and you just can’t get right. Thankfully she is so drunk and horny she is just responding to everything I am doing, which give me a chance to relax a little and get into the zone. After slapping her on the thighs and tits with my half flaccid chorizo, I get enough blood flow to pull a condom on. Thank goodness. I was not going to be closing escrow on this deal without wrapping up. I was already slightly concerned about her turning the bedsheets into a STD pietrie dish as it was.
So I finally, and barely get to snake it in her and she goes wild even without me at full strength. The shaking and convulsing almost freaked me out enough to lose my not really hard on. I persevere and soilder on until I am ready to, unlike at the gun range, fire off and hit my target. She wants me to shoot my load on her and I was nice enough to oblige. I collapse in a heap as she presses her tits to me and rubs my chest. I don’t even remember if she wiped me off of her. She was either to drunk or too horny to remember that we just had some intense sex that I was barely there for because she started kissing and grinding me five minutes later. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get it going again but I kept along with it until she passes out.
There are times I think about my future and all the uncertainty it currently holds and the events in the past that led up to that uncertainty. Let me say that the sunlight seeping into a hotel room in Reno with a luscious set of naked tits pressed against me while a drunken whore sleeps in my arms is not one of those times.
She wakes up, goes to the bathroom, has me zip her up her dress, gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves without saying a word. One night stand at its finest. I head into Pat and Josh’s room, where they were more than happy to let my brother sleep on the ground, to let them know that I didn’t get my kidneys harvested. I forgot to wear a shirt (I was still not of right mind) and they didn’t need me to tell them how my night went. My back was not just scratched to high hell, but clawed open. To quote Pat “did you fuck a chick or did you star in Passion of the Christ?”
If you like, I can go on about my day of watching the Raider almost upset the Falcons, eating a shame meal from the Awful Awful, or another night of drinking, but with no pussy to speak of. Oh yeah, karaoke too. I doubt you want to read about all that. The last thing I want to do is get wordy.
