Part 1: My Perfect Shit Show

one-night stand in vegas

Let’s skip the introductions and get straight to business.

So, last week I was the headliner for a one-night shit show. I know that’s seriously unladylike, but extremely ugly realizations call for extremely drunk measures.

Question: In your opinion, what constitutes a perfect one-night stand?

With the goal of educating readers on such matters of scientific detail, it is necessary to fill you all in on my hot mess, then subsequent sob fest (which I will detail in my next Sexcapades article) So without further ado, here’s the story of my “perfect” one-night stand in Rack City (cue music).

Last month, a friend and I went to Vegas with the aim of getting, as my friend lovingly says, “Shit-Faced.” I wasn’t looking for anything to happen and I sure as hell wasn’t looking for a man. Read: Post Post-Breakup Mode.

My meeting with ahem, “The Boss” can be summed up in two words: unexpected and exhilarating. I think it started when my friend left to “talk” with a young, fresh-faced working professional, leaving me to contently and drunkenly dance on top of the VIP booths. As I’m sure many attractive young ladies who have found themselves in Vegas can relate, my friend and I had no trouble in shimmying and flirting our way into the VIP area…which is how many encounters in Vegas begin.

I remember the exact moment our eyes caught one another. I looked back at the table and in the chaos of flashing strobe lights and heart-pounding bass music, there he was. Reflecting back on that moment, I’m not sure why I decided to do what I did next but the simple decision to slyly smile and jump down to chat with this then mysterious man was the epitome of spontaneity.

I slowly took my time walking along the booths and then came up to the mysterious man. I shot him another sly smile and half yelled, half giggled, “Why aren’t you dancing?!”

He wore a well-tailored, navy suit and casually leaned back with both arms against the booth’s ledge. I could tell that he was much older than me but still extremely attractive with a youthful, boyish charm.

He kept his eyes on me the whole time as I walked over and replied, “Cause I’m watching you dance.”

The rest of the night at the club was a fantastic blur of lights, champagne bottles, vodka cranberries, seductive dancing, and sensual touching. It was almost two in the morning before he gently brushed the hair from my face and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get out of here.”

Before I had a chance to respond, he swiftly turned me around, and passionately kissed me as he dipped me á la Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. I (almost too easily) wrapped my arm around his neck and kicked my leg up in the air as his quivering lips met mine.

He quickly grabbed my hand and we started walking out of the club. A brief moment of hesitancy struck me in my drunken state and I stopped in my tracks.

He walked up to me and put his hands around my waist, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if I want to walk with you.”

He kissed me on the forehead, smiled, and said “I’ll carry you then.”

His smartass answer intrigued me and we continued on our way with him carrying me up the hotel’s escalators, across the hotel to the elevators, up the elevators, and then to his yes, penthouse suite.

Of course, I couldn’t help but note out loud: “Oh, you fancy huh?”

What proceeded next can only be described as a story taken straight out of an X-rated paperback romance novel, the kind where Fabio is shirtless on the cover clutching a lovely damsel. With the mesmerizing view of the Vegas strip as a backdrop, we acted upon our most animalistic fantasies. We took turns playing Hansel as we left a pathway of clothes and shoes from the doorway to the living room, to the balcony, and then to the bathroom.

His chiseled abs were a visual testament to a lifetime dedicated to playing sports, which naturally worked wonders pressed against my chest as we wrestled on the cold marble of the bathroom floor.

No (real) words were spoken and nothing was questioned.

When the morning’s rays began to light up evidence of last night, I knew it was time to leave.

I walked like a BOSS in my stilettos and skin-tight dress as I made my way to the taxi line. Did I care that some old couple was judging me with their blatant stares? No. I bet I had ten times more fun than they did last night. If there’s one thing I learned about others’ judging you, it’s to always keep your head up and continue moving forward.

So there’s the story of my “perfect” one-night stand… that is, until last week’s realization. And for that, you’ll just have to tune in next time cause frankly, I’m out of space.

Till then – kiss kiss!

Knotty Bella


P.S.- Follow me on Twitter @KnottyBella


(Photo via Sex and Mess)