I haven't been to Las Vegas in almost twenty years. I was in my early thirties the last time I went and it was a week with my father so -- as you can imagine -- there was zero "action" other than gambling, shows and other tourist stuff.
This time I was visiting the city on my own. My boyfriend and I had split-up; I just received a promotion at work and was "rewarding" myself for both accomplishments with a week in Sin City.
More important, I was going to meet my on-line friend Jack who lived south of McCarran International and, like myself, thoroughly enjoyed the idea of pro-fantasy erotic wrestling.
We had "competed" on-line almost every night for the past year and came up with the term "competitive making out" for our style of wrestling since it was a combination of wrestling, rough-housing and sex. Neither of us were into real pain but we both enjoyed the "selling" of a hold. Nothing turned us on more than our opponent writhing in agony and begging for mercy -- especially if it was something sexual since the loser of our matches was almost always the man who climaxed first.
Jack was thrilled when I told him I was coming to Vegas and we planned to meet on my first night. Dinner at the "New York, New York" casino, where I was staying, and then up to my room for an evening of making all of our cyber-matches literally "cum" true.
My flight was on-time and settled into my room about an hour later. I unpacked my assortment of bikini underwear to decide what I would wear for our first match and decided on a leopard print pair that showed off my "assets" the best. I stripped naked, put on the bikini and admired myself in the mirror -- the diet and exercise had paid off. Certainly no underwear model but nowhere near as "dumpy" as I had been a year ago.
I had sent a text to Jack when I picked up my bag at luggage claim but had not heard back from him which I thought was unusual. I was about to send a second text when my phone rang and I smiled when I saw it was him calling.
"I thought you might have chickened out when I didn't hear from you," I said jokingly. He laughed and said "never! I'm in the lobby -- why don't you come down and we'll go for a drink?"
I threw my clothes on over the leopard print bikini and a few minutes later I was passing the front desk of the hotel and making a bee-line for a slender, older man standing away from the crowd. We smiled at each other and -- thankfully -- skipped the customary handshake and went straight for a hug. He squeezed me with his toned arms and I realized that if he caught me in a bearhug later I was going to be in serious trouble. Of course, I wasn't a weakling so I squeezed him back just as tightly -- giving him a sample of what he was going to get later.
We pulled back and smiled at each other knowingly and then headed towards the Irish restaurant in the resort to have a drink. After we sat and ordered our drinks Jack turned to me and said "I want to ask you something and if the answer is 'no' that's totally fine ... but I still want to ask." I shrugged my shoulders indifferently but my heart was sinking -- afraid he was going to tell me he couldn't wrestle for some reason and my trip here was going to be spent doing nothing but gambling and eating.
"I got invited to an event tonight" he said as the handsome bartender served our drinks. He waited until the bartender walked away before he continued. "There's a guy I wrestle locally, I told you about him?" I nodded. "Anyway, he got invited to this thing tonight but he can't make it so he asked if I wanted to go in his place ... it's kind of hard to explain and, honestly, if you want to say 'no' that's totally fine."
I could see he was nervous and I figured I'd better let him off the hook. "Listen," I said "if you'd rather go to this thing tonight instead of being with me that's totally fine! I'm here for the whole week!"
"No," he said, sipping his beer "I'd like you to come with me. See ... there's this incredibly wealthy guy who comes into town and stays at one of the huge suites at ..." he paused and looked around. "I'm not even allowed to tell you what resort he's staying at. It's all very secretive."
"But if I go with you I'll know what resort he's at," I said.
"Of course, but if you don't go you're not allowed to know much about it. The trick is not telling you a lot about it but hoping you'll still want to go!"
"Does this involve wrestling," I asked as he looked around to make sure nobody was listening. "Yes," he said "and other things ... especially certain things we like to discuss at night when we chat."
He sipped his beer again, giving me the chance to think this over. I sipped my own beer and said "how many people will be there?"
"A dozen at the most ... maybe less."
"Are they all going to wrestle?" I asked.
"Not exactly."
"And that's all you can tell me until I agree to go ... right?" He nodded and we sat in silence for a few moments. I took another sip and said "is anybody going to get hurt?"
"Of course not" he said emphatically. "It's totally our style of ..." he struggled with the word and I whispered "competitive making out?" He nodded and I thought for a moment and then said "okay, why the hell not? How often do you get to go to a secret even in Las Vegas? What time?"
"We need to leave in about fifteen minutes in order to get to the resort in time. It begins at seven." He took a long swallow of his beer and I finished mine. We argued for a moment over who was going to pay the check (he won) and then we went outside and started walking north. I looked up the strip wondering which resort we were heading for ... Paris? Caesars? The Mirage?
A short while later we were turning past some famous fountains and heading straight for the resort I had been planning to stay at before I saw how much the rooms cost and decided to stay more economically. Jack seemed to know exactly where he was going -- taking us to a bank of elevators and up to the tenth floor and down a corridor to a set of double doors where a hulking man in suit and dark glasses with a wire leading from his jacket to his ear stood guard.
Jack walked up and introduced us to the guard as "Mr. Nelson" and "Mr. Spladle." The guard nodded and unlocked the door for us. As we stepped into the room I leaned into Jack and whispered "which one of us is Mr. Spladle?" He smiled and said "me, of course ... I gave you a boring submission hold."
The room was breathtaking. We walked into a massive living room area with opulent furnishings where ten men stood around chatting and having drinks from a bar. The men ranged in ages from late twenties to one man who appeared to be in his eighties. Some were muscular and some could use a few hours in a gym. Some were lean and some were overweight. The eighty year old was the most athletic looking, wearing shorts that showed off his steel cable legs and arms that looked as if they could bend steel. I was suddenly concerned that I was somehow going to be fighting this old man and going to be known as the guy who had his ass kicked by an octogenarian.
A slim man in white jeans and a baby blue shirt hurried over to us with his hand extended and Jack shook it. "So good of you both to make it," he said as he motioned to the bar. "The action will begin in a few minutes! Help yourselves to a drink if you'd like one."
Jack poured himself a Scotch while I made myself a vodka and tonic. We moved over to a corner of the room and I tried to appear as if I wasn't nervous about not knowing what was about to happen ... although I was excited about what could possibly be going on here. The men all seemed "normal" enough and were being civil to each other -- no demonstrations of ego or banging of chests. At least, not yet ...