Vegas #4: The Things I Shouldn’t Tell You

I went to Vegas this past weekend expecting a relatively calm weekend. I’m not a partier; I like to drink, but I generally avoid the crowds at clubs and crazy bars. I guess strip clubs are an option in Vegas, but again, not really my thing. I did, however, discover something that I didn’t know would be my thing…

Older women.

So on Saturday, I was looking forward to a nice relaxing day with casual but responsible drinking throughout. For the most part, that’s how it worked out. We had our fantasy baseball draft in the sweet suite (see what I did there?) I reserved, drinking mimosas throughout, then we grabbed some lunch and went down to the pool.

Now, I should tell you about the pool at The Mirage. Pools, I should say. There’s a normal pool that no one actually gets into–they just lounge around on beach recliners. That was nice, but all the good spots were taken, I was stuck in the shade with my friends. It was actually kind of cold, and I could feel my skin getting even more pale instead of tan.

There’s another pool at The Mirage that I should tell you about. It’s called Bare. It’s a topless pool with a $30 cover for guys. When I originally heard about this pool, I thought, “Oh, that would be a nice place to relax and read a book, Vegas-style.”

Yeah, it’s not the book-reading type of pool.

I won’t go into the details of what happened at Bare–I’ll leave that to your imagination. Especially if your imagination is similar to mine (and just as shy). Plus, what happened after Bare was much more interesting than what happened there.

I couldn’t find my friends when I exited Bare–I thought they might be back up at the suite. But when I got up there, I couldn’t find them. I figured I’d bide my time by mixing up some adult beverages, so I went down the hall with the ice bucket.

This is where things got interesting. Mom, if you’re still reading, please pick this as your stopping point.

There was a woman in the ice machine room when I got there. I couldn’t see her face, but like every non-Asian woman in Vegas, she was blonde. She was wearing a towel and a bathing suit top, and I’ll say that she had a really nice figure.

Then she turned around, and I realized that she was significantly older than me. Okay, not like my grandmother’s age, but she was at least 40 (I’m 29). She was a little too tan, but not by much, and she was really attractive. The kind of woman that makes me blush and pretend that I don’t speak English.

Nothing would have happened if her towel hadn’t fallen off. As she took a step towards the exit, this look of alarm appeared on her face. She suddenly handed me her bucket of ice. As I took it, her hands shot to her waist, where she secured her unraveling towel.

“Thanks,” she said.

I think I smiled and said something like, “No problem.” Trying to sound cool, you know? Then for a split second, I actually was cool, because I said, “Need a hand getting this back to your room?”

She looked at me for what felt like a year. Then–I definitely remember this line verbatim–she said, “You know, honey, let’s make it your room.”

Yeah. You read that correctly. Yeah.

I could tell you what happened when we got back to my empty suite with the king-size bed, ample couches, and giant jacuzzi tub. I could tell you how we managed to use the entire bucket of ice without mixing a single drink. I could tell you what she was wearing under that towel (okay, I’ll just tell you: nothing). I could tell you that she was actually 46, not 40, and that she’s a pilates instructor (she even laughed at my pirates pilates joke).

I could tell you all of these things, but this blog isn’t the place to do it. I’m sure you understand. Instead, I’ll leave you with a photo of the aftermath.

So yeah, that was my Vegas experience. What do you think?