I have loved Las Vegas since my first business trip there in the early eighties. I love it because of its “open-all-night” vibe, one even stronger than New York City’s (another metropolis on my love list). In addition, it was the first place where the concept of an escort crossed my mind.
As I reminisced about the incident in an earlier installment, I was walking through the packed Flamingo Hilton casino (now just the Flamingo) on Las Vegas Boulevard when a pretty, young woman in a trench coat bumped into me and briefly spoke.
“Want to party?” she asked, and when I didn’t react quickly enough, she kept walking. By the time I realized what had just happened, that I’d been propositioned by a professional, by an escort, she had disappeared into the crowd. It made me think, and even though I did nothing about it on that trip (except harbor a regret for what might have been; she was beautiful), the thought of seeing a pro was now in my head.
And, again, as described in earlier chapters, I would eventually begin a long, (physically, sexually) rewarding, and enjoyable association with professionals from coast to coast.
It was not until the 21st Century that I ventured into the professional market in the perfectly nick-named Sin City. Delving into my go-to Internet source for escort excellence, I came up with someone who sounded perfect – middle-aged, with large tits, and a willingness/love of being pleased (by me) orally (always a must for me).
A bit of serendipity surrounded this initial meeting with Honey (as usual, her professional name has been changed to protect her) as I was staying at the Flamingo (in the Hilton Vacations portion of the resort).
Honey showed up promptly at 11 p.m. for a two-hour appointment, as we had arranged. She was breathtaking – short, auburn hair framing a lovely face; long legs, smooth, round ass, and a glorious pair of breasts (maybe a bit too large, but still wonderful) sitting high on her thin frame. She greeted me with an open-mouthed French kiss and a playful grab of my crotch.
We broke the lip lock and spent a moment talking. It was just a moment as we quickly jumped onto the bed, our clothes came off, and Honey squirmed down my body, taking my hardening cock between her lips. I had received a preview of her tongue’s ability during our initial kiss, but the sensations she produced on my cock, along with her suction action, had me spurting very quickly.
Euphoric rather than spent, I moved down Honey’s body, spreading her thighs to give me access to the bald mound between them. I began licking the lips, spreading them with my tongue as I would intermittently lick her clit.
Her moans indicated I was doing something right, and as I spent more time licking, nibbling, and sucking on her clit, the moans got louder, and more intense as her thighs began tightening around my head. A sharp intake of breath, a squeeze on my skull, and Honey came with a shudder and a sweet moan.
I rolled out from between those thighs, taking a moment to breathe in our scents, the wonderful, pungent smell of satisfying sex. I offered her a glass of wine as we came down from our mutual orgasms, but she declined. She did accept a drink of water, though, as her breathing returned to normal. We sat together on the bed and got to know each other a bit better.
I preferred escort sessions, which included some interpersonal conversations. I really liked getting to know the individual woman a bit (realizing I might get a contrived story). I was not looking for anything in particular, just a more comfortable atmosphere. Sometimes, these conversations occurred prior to sexual activity, sometimes after.
It was shortly after midnight when Honey asked me a very simple, leading question: “Have you ever been to a sex club?”
“No; never thought of it.”
“How’d you like to go to one?”
A moment’s pause.
“Sure; why not?”
Off we went in a taxi, headed to the Green Door, just off East Sahara in an old, somewhat rundown, large strip mall. We walked up a short entrance hall to a small, movie-theater-like “ticket” booth.
I bought a membership, using Honey’s address, to secure a local couple's weekly pass for $85. I received a – what else – green membership card (credit card like plastic, which I still have even though it has been more than ten years since I last visited the Green Door), and we went through a small hallway into a large room with a small stage on the opposite wall.
Honey took me on a tour, past a bar (selling soft drinks; no liquor), then past a variety of rooms, including the couples-only area. The Green Door is divided into theme rooms, alcoves with banquets, and hidden nooks.