Adult Fun for Women in Las Vegas

One man, Five women in Las Vegas

Let me be honest with you right off the bat, A bulging g-string in your face is not funny. Really, it’s not. Why do I say this?

As my wife paid this steroid, taking, Adonis, looking kid to give me a lap dance as part of my attempt to rectify a bet and inform women on entertainment in Las Vegas, I nearly lost my stomach. This guy nearly lost a few things from his spandex thong as he danced inches from my nose.

This all started out innocent enough with a bet my wife had made about bachelorette parties being the next big thing in Las Vegas. Essentially, she was of the opinion that there were more women enjoying a last night out than men these days. Her exact quote was, “Women wear the pants in most households these days so they have been liberated to the point of seeking out adult entertainment. Yes, they in fact want to leave the kids and the husbands at home for a night of girl fun.”

I agreed that women want to have fun, but the idea that just because I sit at home everyday I don’t wear the pants, well, I don’t think so. She insisted she could find more women having bachelorette parties in Las Vegas than men and that I should focus a bit more on entertainment for the women.

To make this long story elementary and shorter, she was right. The male species had let me down as she was able to find fifteen groups of women in celebratory state, I could only muster up six bachelors. The women had taken over Las Vegas so I agreed to focus a bit more on women and their needs and I had to agree to a night on the town with my wife and a few of her friends.

So the night started with me having to sit through a show with the men from Australia and the "Thunder from Downunder", at the Excalibur. This was partial payback as I had explained that I had sat with an employee from the Olympic Gardens that happened to be Australian. I explained that as part of my research it was necessary that I engage in conversations with the women of the gentlemen’s clubs. At the time she did not seem to mind, but frankly, I really did not feel the need to hear a beefy guy whisper into my ear, “You’re a bit of a cute bloke.”

She loved it as did her friends.

Lucky for me she did not invite anyone over to our table, but I can see why the lovely Australian at the Olympic Gardens left her homeland, these guys get a bit too sweaty for my taste. Really, who shaves their chest like that?

As that show ended we barely had any time to negotiate an end to the evening as we were quick to get to our next show, “Men: the Show”. Initially I thought we were headed to a version of Comedy Centrals “The Man Show”, but unfortunately it was nowhere near that. Not a single girl on trampolines in the place. I believe beer was also non-existent. From what I was told, the Apple martinis were good. I tried to bathe myself in the drunken state that is so delivered by my friend Johnny Walker.

I should point out that women by definition are incredibly attractive creatures. Women posses the curves and the symmetry of fine art. Men, well, we are not meant to be displayed and exhibited. The male form is not attractive; frankly, I would rather turn the lights way down when I shower. Guys, we just have more to offer in the heart and mind.

I’m sure most women agree with that.

As we left the show at the Rivira the girls tried to have us see the “Chippendales” dancers at the Rio but they had already had their last show. What a shame, or so I thought.

I should note, that when you leave a room full of women watching naked men and you find yourself in the backseat of a stretch limousine with five of these women things get quite interesting. Nothing dirty or anything but these girls were ready to get home and make their husbands happy. I started to contemplate my good fortune. When the Limo stopped, I crawled out to see that the girls had had enough and they took me to the “Olympic Gardens” as a peace offering.

I will admit that I spent a great deal of time sipping scotch and whiskey on this night, but what I can’t understand is how I forgot that the second floor of this favorite gentleman’s club offers an all-male revue.

So I ended up with a silver thong, wait, spandex, silver thong, stretch to its holding capacity rubbing against my cheek like a chinchilla looking to cuddle. I could not have been more uncomfortable. As for the ladies, they enjoyed watching me squirm but they later admitted that they really did not need the dancing guys all over them to have a good time.

My wife topped the evening off by having one of the male dancers come over and sit on my lap and try his best Australian accent’ “Goodday, mate?” It was a bad accent and his body was a bit too sweaty for my khakis.

So, if you find yourself walking around a casino and you see a group of women celebrating the fall of another sister to the rites of holy matrimony, know that women these days wear the pants, and they deserve to get out and have a little bit of fun, just as long as they don’t make you wear tiny, silver, thong underwear the next night.

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