Did I ever tell you guys about that time I “slept” with Paris Hilton? I didn’t ??? Well then… Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. Wanna beer, a soda pop or something? What’s that? Oh yeah, sure you can smoke inside of the house. No cigarettes though, heh heh heh.
As it’s been a couple of years now, my recollection of this whole incident is as about as vague as the downtown L.A. skyline on a smoggy summer day, but I’ll do my best to run this down to you.
Thanks to an inside tip from a friend of a friend of a guy who knew a trainer at the Del Mar Racetrack, I had managed to parlay a C-Note into a fat-ass bankroll. The nag I’d bet on to place came in at 27 to 1 odds paying $18.50. Fat City. I was hillbilly rich. The loot was gonna burn a hole in my pocket if I didn’t do something with it but quick.
Due to a most unfortunate recent incident involving a couple of hookers, a stolen garbage truck and copius amounts of Beer, Rum and Mezcal I’d decided another Tijuana weekend was simply out of the question.
Praying my luck would hold, I decided to shoot up to Vegas for the weekend. As the scrub hills of So. California gave way to the shimmering heat of the Mojave, I put my foot to the pedal and drove like a man possessed. Stopping only once in Baker, CA. to get gas and to admire the World’s Largest Thermometer, I was at Caesars Palace before you could say seven come eleven.
I flipped the kid at Valet parking a $20 (hey fuck it, I was on a roll) and went on inside to get my room key. After a hot shower, cold shower and a straight razor shave I was feeling something like human again.
I decided to smoke a joint and lay out my battle plans for the evening while the Oxycontin I had just taken kicked in. Finally, feeling Vegas cool, I made my way through the throngs of zombie like midwestern tourists greedily and pathetically clutching plastic buckets of chump change and found a quiet lounge just off of the main casino. A couple of drinks, some dinner and then on to the craps tables was my plan. I say “was” because this was soon to change.
As my eyes adjusted to the soothing darkness, I noticed an attractive young lady sitting alone at the opposite end of the bar fidgeting nervously and checking her watch. I had the bartender send her a drink on me. She accepted and raised her glass in my direction. Waiting a minute or so I got up and went over to make my introduction. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re quite beautiful and that watch of yours must be too, the way you keep looking at it.” So much for originality eh guys?
She answered: “I was supposed to meet my friend Rick here but… ” Her voice trailed off, mumbling something about what flakes most guys are and how they were gonna make a video or something.
“Listen, I’ve got an Oxycontin if you want one”
“God that sounds great” she said swallowing it quickly. ” I loooooooove drugs and I know where to get some killer Coke.”
“Oh yeah, where?”
“Right here” as she laughed and pointed at her purse.
“We could go to my room if you like”
“What are we waiting for?”
Back in my room we took turns snorting lines, making out, pawing each other hungrily and snorting more lines. Then we fucked for the next couple of hours. As I sat in the windowsill of my room absentmindedly fingering the elastic of my boxers and blowing smoke rings at nothing in particular my curiousity finally got the best of me.
“What did you say your name was?”
“Paris. Paris Hilton” she purred demurely.
“That’s a very pretty name”.
She gazed at me from the bed with a look in her eyes that was at once petulant yet begging for degradation. I was more than happy to oblige. Her head was on it’s way down, my manhood on it’s way back up and the rest of the weekend was just a blur.
Since it isn’t good manners for a gentleman to kiss and tell, I’m asking you guys to please keep this between us. Don’t tell a soul in other words. If this was to get out over the internet…..Powered by Sidelines