As she lay there lifeless with blood dripping from her nose and corner of her mouth, the severity of the situation was slowly becoming apparent. Maybe the six-hour drug and alcohol-fueled animal sexcapade had gotten out of control. As I lay naked on the cold marble floor unable to escape the locked brain that was still tweaked from the battery of pills consumed. I was stuck overseeing the situation from above as my own out-of-the-body experience so consumed me I could not move a muscle of my own. A virtual Russian roulette for the body, an all-you-can-eat-buffet of ecstasy, mollies, blow, crank, and a tab or so of LSD with two magnum bottles of Cristal. The bodily fluids and substances covering every surface of this Four Seasons ensuite would be a cornucopia for the CSI Las Vegas crew. This would be the night I reached my peak and rock bottom all at the same time.
To understand the end, we have to rewind the tape 48 hours earlier when Tiffani first came onto the radar. I was in Vegas for a conference bored and lonely for a good time so tinder and craigslist are common favorites for finding Ms. Right-Now. Besides things were dull at home with the third wife and two kids, this business trip was much needed and deserved to have a 4-day hall pass to blow off steam. What she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, am-I-right?
This particular trip I decided the usual was too easy; it was time for something different. As we all know swiping left and right is so 2013. The tubes-and-wires are woven into an internet fabric of social media, a ripe breeding ground for finding the next conquest. With so many look-at-me narcissistic facades in the shallow pool of humanity, it won’t take long to locate, track and tag the next notch especially amongst the souls here in Sin City. This adventure to Vegas is going to be legend-ary.
Just need to find myself some Candi, everybody loves candy. Candi is everywhere, a gal that on the outside appears sugary sweet, very tasty to the eye, hence the other cliché “eye candy”. Everyone has a sweet tooth for Candi; we always need to get a taste of what we want, get ahold of the candy, rip off the wrapper and then eat the whole thing. On the outside Candi all sweet and shiny, absolutely delicious to look at, but be warned, like Zots or Tootsie Pops candies, sometimes once you reach the middle of the savory-sweet, you never know what’s inside as you lick your way to the center. Why not, life is short, it is impossible not to. Like most things in life, riding a moped, eating candy, driving a fast car with top-down on a summer day, all of these are great until your friends find out. Sometimes they expect you to share, and that takes away from the whole experience. Some things are just not meant for sharing.
Finding a specimen was no harder than going to the all-you-can-eat buffet, no seriously over breakfast the loud & chatty, large table directly across the lobby was stacked with young ladies in town for a beach-body-Zumba fitness expo.
It only took a few moments watching their pack obsession with taking group selfies over pre-workout mimosas to realize their need for look-at-me social media tendencies. I am sure they were getting their pre-game on before a marathon Calvingraphy master class at their expo. A quick scan of bottle-blond cougars and kittens posting in last 15 minutes with #zumbalife at the Mandalay Bay narrowed the narcissistic scope of my search right down to my targeted hunting ground. Now it was time to penetrate their den and watch the feline battles of kitten vs cougar for the out-of-town affection of the alpha-male.
Now the real question of choice, young moist, fresh meat in a smitten kitten, or aged gristle meat that’s been nipped, tucked injected with botox, silicone, and marinated in a hungry cougar?
There was no choice, glad that you anticipated for a moment that I was interested in the pre-approved AARP cougar, not on this trip. Bouncing between Instagram, Facebook with some likes and direct messages of positive reflection and making my Vegas intentions known. It wasn’t long before the dialog moved to DMs and Snapchat.
@Tiffani4Life: What brings to Vegas @Victor?
@Victor: Just some midweek fun in the sun here in Sin City!
@Tiffani4Life: Do you like to party?
@Victor: I am always down for a good time, drinking Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain
@Victor: Are you down for a penthouse party? <wink emoji>
The rule of i-girls always adds a fun flavor to the mix. Lexi, Ani, Dani, Tiffani, Lori, Kelli, Krissi, Jacqui, Patti, Nicki, Ami, Jenni – any gal who ends with an “i” instead of the traditionally accepted spelling is already down to party, exhibits low esteem, and is almost always self-centered – hence the “i”.
It did not take too much persuasion to lure Tiffani back to my penthouse on the 42nd floor of Mandalay Bay. I think she was getting hot and bothered from the time we entered the golden-doored elevator in the lobby. The penthouse level has its own private elevator, which means she already can’t keep her hands to herself.
Once in the room we popped some champagne and did a few lines off the glass table overlooking the strip. Tiffani pulled a little red velvet pouch from her bag. It had an assortment of pills in various sizes and colors.
“Victor, you up for a few rounds of pill-pop roulette?” she flirtatiously asked.
I replied, “Fuck yeah, let’s turn off our phones and get this all-day party started”
How this little game works is for each pill popped, the other person removes and item of clothing. Within 30 minutes the first magnum of champagne was kicked, the velvet pouch was empty, and we were as naked as the day we were born. Now the psycho waiting game begins and I don’t mean Tiffani, I mean all these unknown drugs to digest and bring me down to funky town.
It wasn’t long before she had saddled me up and was riding like a six-year-old on the mechanical horse outside Kmart; the gyrating back and forth was almost hypnotic as she rode reverse cowgirl, definitely not her first time at the rodeo. When she smacked my ass and yelled “Yippee-ki-yay mother fucker, we ride until sunset”, I got so excited I started bucking like an unbroken bronco as my trusty six-shooter unloaded all barrels.
The steam room in the ensuite was 95 degrees, perfect for some limber hot yoga. In our personalized hot-karma-sutra-tantric yoga experience, I waited for her beautifully executed downward dog before I took her from behind. Sliding my hot dog down her hallway made me consider how many had been here before.
The climatic roller-coaster had been an incredible fuck-fest evening of ups, downs, twists, some loops, and a corkscrew or two. When she tried to perform that finishing move after another line, this one of Special K, was when it went from insane to absolutely bat-shit crazy.
Paranoid as fuck that she was dead; what the fuck now. There is no undo button for explaining naked dead chick in your room. Especially on the 42 floor. No way to hide or discard evidence from here. I guess on TV they would just dump the body over the balcony, but there is no fucking balcony or even windows that open. FUCK! It will be hard to have this stay in Vegas if there are wrongful death charges. This would probably ruin my career and marriage.
Eventually, after leaving the groggy phase, it became clear she wasn’t dead. The bloody nose was from the habitual use of cocaine, and the blood from the mouth from her tearing her lip ring off when it got tangled with my Prince Albert. As fucked as it all was, this drug-fueled raunchy-rage-fest, and all traces of Tiffani would stay in Vegas.