I was still quite innocent in the art of walking the Vegas strip after 2 a.m., which was littered with screaming fat chicks, homeless men, stumbling couples, and hookers. As I walked across a bridge beneath one of those blaring fifty-foot TVs, two black chicks approached me. "Hey sexy! Where do you think you're going?" I'd never been too much into black girls, but a handful of TV stars have wowed me into busting a semi. On the top of that list is Jada Pinkett from Menace II Society before she chopped off her hair. One of these girls was a carbon copy of her (Halle Berry is overratedโsorry). Even though the other one looked like Play's chick Sharane from House Party who had dripping hair and was always wearing yellow, I was hooked on Jada and Sharane from the start. I hoped they weren't hookers.
They were hookers. After they faked a few interested questions about my night, it came: "How much money you got on you?" Sharane asked.
"Nothing, actually. I crapped out," I replied, continuing my stroll. I wasn't lying; I'd just lost my bankroll and gone over my $300 ATM-allowance for the day. Until I was ATM-eligible again in about twenty-two hours, I was more useless than that one time in fifth grade when I went to the mall arcade and only had two dimes.
"Don't you got an ATM, sweetie?" Jada asked, caressing the back of my neck.
"Yep, but I already tried to take money out. It won't let me. Sorry, girls โ I'm broke."
Expecting to see them flee my hopelessness, they continued to walk alongside me as Jada persisted, "I'll make you a deal: We find an ATM. If you get money, the three of us party all night. If your card denies you again, we give you a blowjob for free."
I stopped. "What?"
"You heard her," Sharane added. "If your ATM don't work, we'll suck yo' dick anyways."
This was too good to be true. To suddenly be offered a free blowjob from two girls who depended on such acts for survival was something completely foreign to an unlucky, threesome-blowing guy like myself. Because I am a believer that free blowjobs exist, I accepted their proposition as we made our way down the escalator.
The girls had a suspicious bounce in their step. "Oooh, you gettin' your dick sucked," they kept saying musically, squeezing my ass, hooking their arms in mine, thrusting their hands up the back of my shirt.
Jada and Sharane stood attentively at my side watching the screen as my ATM card failed, which was what I was hoping for. If my transaction had gone through, I would have had to make up some story about "my friends waiting for me" and flee. No way was I paying for sex.
"Try one more time," Jada insisted.
At this point, I knew I was in the clear: I had no money and there was nothing the girls could do about it. To satisfy their empty demand, I tried my card again. Declined. I put the card back in my pocket along with my ID, room card, and gum (I never carry my wallet in Vegas; it's too bulgy and at risk of getting stolen.)
The three of us stepped away from the machine almost simultaneously. "Don't worry, sweetie, we keepin' our promise. You gettin' yo dick sucked," Jada affirmed.
We walked to Sharane's white Expedition, which was parked just around the corner in a rundown parking structure. A pale obese man was pissing in front of the car next to them. Sharane interrupted, "What the fuck is this? Get yo' fat ass out my eyes. Go pee in the alley next to the garbage can you Chunk mothafucka."
The fat manโthe timid kind with floppy hair and a lost gazeโzipped up and walked away.
Sharane drove while Jada slowly eased my pants off in the back seat. "Where we going?" I asked as I wriggled out of my jeans.