The Las Vegas Courtesan

Really? I have been here in Vegas the whole time. When I first started out blogging I remember following other sex-worker bloggers and I noticed how some would post every day, then only sometimes, and eventually fall off the face of the earth. No good-bye, just abandon their site.

I didn’t understand how that could happen, but I guess it happened to me, in a way. I still work, I’m still around town, I just… got a little bored with being online so much. Reading emails, replying, posting stuff, tweeting… it can be a lot of work and you don’t realize it—then other parts of your normal day get sidelined because you want to finish all of the other things as well. What I have been thinking is… I need a goal. Everyone needs a goal! Why am I doing this? I have been featured in many awesome publications and online sites, but I need something to fulfill my inner artist: Do something artistic… working towards a goal that many people and my long-time fans would enjoy.

So my idea? A book. Not just any book, but one that would feature stunning nudes and short stories to accompany them. I know many have told me over the years that I should write a book, but some novel length feature doesn’t interest me. So I am going to put some ideas together — a plan — and a maybe a Kickstarter-like project to get this sort of thing underway. I should have done this long ago!

And now… a picture! At last! So the story behind this quick shot was a funny one. I recently was sitting outside with a short skirt on at an outdoor restaurant with some chrome chairs that had holes in the seat. I sat chatting away for a few hours, but little did I know that the heat and sweat and gravity had pulled my skin through the little holes. It didn’t hurt at all, but the next day I turned around while getting out of the shower and thought “OH MY GOD” and imagined only the worst skin desease ever was attacking my butt. Then I realized, it was that dumb uncomfortable chair I sat in the night before that wanted something for me to remember it by. Sneaky chair!

It’s seems like it’s more rare for me to be asked something new or to have a call go a different way than the many before. I always like the calls that surprise me and break up the monotony of this job (believe it or not it can get quite boring!) I went on a call in the afternoon at Planet Hollywood. The phone girl had a story before I went in. For the record I don’t like story–telling time before I go on calls because that means there is some excuse or convoluted situation that I have to work around instead of an easy “Here’s the info,” now go upstairs and make money.  The story was the guy in the room does not know I am coming and was booked by another friend as I surprise, but the guy who booked left money in the room for me. Left money in the room for me? Where? How does he know what to leave? I’m assuming he only left the company fee in the room and I’m going on a treasure hunt just to find it. Then this creates an awkward situation for me when I have to explain, “Yea that money your friend left doesn’t go to me, I strip for that, anything else you must pay for,” which sounds like a total bummer of a surprise. This whole mental conversation takes note before I ask the phone girl, “Left money for me? Where? Did the friend know how this works?” She says, “He said he’s been to Vegas before and I have no idea about the location of the money.” See, this is why I don’t like story time before calls.

I go upstairs and knock. Guy has a surprised look on his face, but is on the phone when I come in. He finishes his business conversation while handing me the folded piece of paper marked, “Give this to delivery guy.” Inside is the company fee, nothing more. See, this is what I feared! He finally gets off the phone and I said, “Surprise! I’m your delivery!” he was definitely shocked and yet happy (some surprises have sort of panicked and declined.) He said, “My brother said I had a delivery for my birthday, but I had no idea!” He goes to his computer bag and pulls out a card that says on the front, “Open this when delivery guy gets there.” I cross my fingers that some sort of tip is in there from brother-of-the-year. He asks, “Should I open this now? He said to when you got here.” Yes yes YES! He does, and thankfully a decent tip is in there. Brother scores some points for knowing really how this works and not $30 in an envelope. The now shaking birthday boy says, “Man, I need a drink. So I get to have fun with you now, naked?” Yes, and then some.

Here’s the real surprise to me, this whole time I thought the brother was staying in Vegas as well, but in a different room or different hotel. Come to find out he wasn’t even in the US. The brother had stopped by his house the night before and stuffed the card and message in his laptop bag, then informed him of it later. That was one talented planning job, and probably more than any other call before.

So I’ve seen a bachelor dressed up in an Elvis costume too drunk to know his own name, and a bachelor that was so passed out he woke up swinging at his best friends, but I have never seen this amount of embarrassment or brotherly camaraderie as long as I have lived and worked in Vegas, and for some odd reason two of the three parties were British. All three of these parties by the way, occurred within two weekends:

The first party was at the Hard Rock, the guy who came downstairs to get me and four other girls (yes, 5 of us, and we all were not too pleased about the number of girls) , was a super nice guy from London and took us right upstairs and immediately gave us the crazy expensive company fee. In the next room were 12-14 loud, unruly Brits who apparently were all broke but wanted their friend to have the best time, just don’t embarrass him too much. Since we didn’t get tipped much at all upfront, we did a quick pile up dance on the bachelor and got him down to his boxers like we all normally do on bachelor parties. I noticed his silky boxer briefs had a photo of himself on it with the words, “I’m With Tim” underneath the photo. I laughed and said, “How cute did your friends make you those?” and he said, “Yes, actually…. HEY EVERYBODY DROP TROU AND SHOW THEM!” I turn around to see 12 guys at attention, all simultaneously unbuckling their pants and pulling their pants down. I felt like I was in a movie watching the synchronized pants-dropping, but sure enough all of the guys were wearing matching boxers with their buddy’s picture only 3 inches away from their own package. They must have practiced this moment together back home because they seemed to chime in   “Yea! Cause we’re with Tim!” I almost died laughing.

The second party, and I think the most funny, was also a group of British guys staying on the strip. I show up and due to some misunderstanding by the phone girl and best man, I am the only girl and there are 12 of them. I quickly explain to the best man 4-5 guys can stay but since they were in a bit of a hurry and on a tight budget, I couldn’t get another girl there in time. Since there were only a few guys chipping in they did what I said, paid the fee, and had enough of a tip for me to do a quick show for the bachelor. This is when the best man informs me of what the bachelor was wearing UNDER his pants: remote controlled, vibrating, black thong underwear. I giggled and wanted to see this for myself. Sure enough when I got him undressed in front of his friends, there was a vibrating thong that barely covered anything. The buzzing of the vibrator kept going off as his hysterically laughing friends kept mashing on the buttons of the remote from the couch. The bachelor nervously giggled and tried hiding what he could with his hands. I only kept this public humiliation up for a few minutes since he obviously wasn’t having fun trying to hold himself into the tiny thong. Luckily the best man tipped more so he could have more private time sans thong.

The last party was a tame group of guys staying in a suite. The best man/brother of the groom apparently was a rookie at planning bachelor parties and had gone online to order a bunch of party supplies, but ended up getting all of the items a bachelorETTE party would have. This usually entails of anything and everything with a penis on it. You’ll see these girls parading up and down the Strip with their penis straws and blinking penis necklaces. So I guess the brother went online and didn’t see vagina shaped supplies so he figured the penis shaped items would be okay instead. I almost died laughing when I saw these exact slippers on the floor. In the bathroom was toilet paper with sex positions on it and on the bar were penis shaped cocktail stirrers. The girl with me could not stop giggling which was contagious for me and I couldn’t stop. The best man didn’t get it until we explained what the penis items are REALLY for. He said, “Well, I couldn’t find much else!” I’m sure he’ll be better prepared the next time he helps throw a party.

So one of the largest conventions of the season is in town, though you’d never know it: the National Association Of Broadcasters convention. It has always been a weird one since people seem to go to bed super early. I thought I had written about it before, but apparently I hadn’t said much about it but it tends to mark the end of the spring convention festivity. This spring has been more of a roller coaster than before and February was awesome (and even the casinos were up then for the first time in a few years), but the conventions have been noticeably absent and even the bachelor parties have gone down in number. What’s the reason for all of this? Some blame the economy, some blame Obama’s comments about Las Vegas several times in the media, and some blame Vegas for not offering enough to the tourists on a budget since not everyone can buy a $400 bottle of Skyy vodka and a Gucci purse.

Usually during the spring it’s nothing but bachelor parties on the weekends and conventioneers Sunday-Thursday. I’m not a huge fan of the bachelor parties since the return on your time is quite low (and a lot of parties just don’t work out) but I like to at least have the option of going to a call to try to work something out. Starting this Sunday, the Rehab pool party reopens at Hard Rock and the level of calls tend to go up on Sunday nights when the pool season starts. Sunday turns from a relaxed night to see clients to wilder than Friday night. It’s quite amusing.

Last year I was waiting for a client to answer his phone so I could go upstairs on a Sunday Rehab party night. I was watching all of the people sunkissed and having fun in the hallways as the party was winding down, but within 5 minutes of sitting down to wait I had a drink spilled on me by one drunk guy, another guy tried yanking my arm like I was his property, and one guy yelled at me like a kid because I wouldn’t let him use my cell phone. I couldn’t help but laugh at the circus show.

Oh by the way, thanks for all of your votes on the fetish poll! I’ll see about a new schoolgirl uniform and maybe work down my list 🙂