Vegas Wild
By Deborah Coonts,
Author of Lucky Stiff
The words “Las Vegas” conjure thoughts of wild exploits, sexual highjinks, hangovers, and the scantily clad. Not too far from the truth, actually. I’ve lived here over twelve years, give or take, and this city gets under your skin. You just do stuff here you wouldn’t even think about anywhere else. And I’ve done my share.
Take male stripping. Who knew it was a contact sport? I’m not talking Chippendales or Thunder Down Under — great shows, but a bit tame, all things considered. True male stripping involves young men parading around in nothing but muscles with tiny sacks over their bananas. I think they smile too, but frankly, I don’t remember. I must not have been looking at their smiles, but I’m not admitting to anything. Anyway, the strippers paw the patrons, rubbing up against them in very provocative ways. I remember sitting across from a girlfriend of mine as one guy straddled her and ground his member into her lush chest. All I could see were his clenching butt muscles until my friend leaned around him, raised her glass, and gave me a shit-eating grin. It ruined me — I was done. Laughing does not make the strippers happy. Trust me on that one. Who knew that handsome young men in their near-all-together could be so sensitive?
Another fun evening out here in Vegas involves men and dancing, but of a different sort. You know how sometimes you just wanna dance? No fondling, no come-ons, no tired pick-up lines . . . just dance? The best place to do it in Vegas is Krave. They bill themselves as the Number One Gay Nightclub in the Country, and I would agree. Not that I have a great deal of experience, mind you, but boy is this place fun! The guys are great. They love to dance. And they are totally not interested in picking up women. A relief. Of course, if you’re in Vegas to score a bit of action, this might not be the place for you . . . unless you are gay.
And now I here the owners of Krave are opening a bar in downtown Vegas, near Freemont Street, where all the servers are drag queens. Who could resist? I plan on being first in line!
Of course, if you’re into beer and butt-whacking, the Hofbräveuhaus is for you. Yup, you can sing along to what I call oompah bands — I’m sure that’s not the technical term, but you get my drift (a bunch of guys with beer bellies in Lederhosen) and you can order a flagon of beer and get paddled by a pretty girl with a wooden paddle and a major-league swing. Why anybody would want to do this is beyond me, but they do — to the delight of the restaurant patrons. And the whole thing can be memorialized for posterity by a roving photographer. This is not something I’ve experienced personally — I’m not one to pay for physical punishment and pain — but I’ve seen it done.
Oh, a word to the wise: leave the cameras at home when you visit Sin City — you’ll thank me.
So, while we’re on the subject of crazy-ass stuff I’ve seen but not participated in, let me tell you about the best party in town. Most folks think New Years is Vegas-Gone-Wild, but I beg to differ. Halloween is the night you want to be here to get your naughty on. There’s this party — The Fetish and Fantasy Ball — and the costumes are . . . creative. Often they involve spray paint and pasties. Or maybe just Saran Wrap. Or a couple of triangles of fur and string. But is it one heck of a party! The people-watching is the best part.
Did you know it is possible to eat a five star meal, served by tux-clad waiters . . . while suspended 180 feet above the ground. The views of the Strip are amazing — as long as you’re not acrophobic. It’s the only meal in town to require a seat belt — and it’s a ton of fun. Champagne toasts, filet mignon, unobstructed views, both panoramic and straight down, where else could you have this experience? It’s Vegas all the way.
Now, there’s one other thing I’m working my courage up to do. There’s this bar called the Double-Down — billed as “The Happiest Place on Earth”. They sell something called Ass Juice — it comes with Puke Insurance. I understand it’s a place you want to go when you’re craving the down and dirty, punk-rock Vegas thing. Sounds too good to pass up. Anybody game?
© 2011 Deborah Coonts, author of Lucky Stiff
Author Bio
Deborah Coonts, author of Lucky Stiff, says her mother tells her she was born in Texas a very long time ago, though she’s not totally sure — her mother can’t be trusted. But she was definitely raised in Texas on barbeque, Mexican food and beer. She currently resides in Las Vegas, where family and friends tell her she can’t get into too much trouble. Silly people. Coonts has built her own business, practiced law, flown airplanes, written a humor column for a national magazine, and survived a teenager. She is the author of the Lucky O’Toole Las Vegas adventure series.
Her first book, Wanna Get Lucky?, was released in 2010.
For more information please visit http://www.deborahcoonts.com/, and follow the author on Facebook and Twitter
