The Experiment

Slow enough night at the Rum Runner, usual bartender in black clad leather biker outfit with breasts and ass that have long since out grown her former nature of stimulant abuser has somehow now found herself at this crossroad of evening bartending when all the other men and options ran aground like the Titanic. Meeting up with Mitchell tonight, have to conduct some business, new found venture in Las Vegas, which is not very unique or special but nothing more than a new pipeline in a time old establishment amdist a city that serves to every single need and desire not matter how foul and vile. So while I bide my time waiting for a few customers to stop by, not much else to do but take inventory of my surroundings. Mostly just a cast of translucent cretins who never see much light of day, won't see them at Costco, 24 Hour Fitness, or walking their pets down at the local park, no the daytime is meant for sleeping or hiding behind heavy blinds, jumping, twisting, and becoming paranoid anytime a car passes through the neighborhood. Life runs down its options sometimes, so there is not much left but to hunker over dollar beers for hours at a time and hope the other unusuals decide to come in for the daily communion to relish over stories from the good old days when television was black and white, and the president was just plain old white.

One of the older women has a tattoo on her shoulder, she looks about 50 plus, driven crazy by countless events in her life with the tattoo remaining as a mere artifact of an existence lived with multiple personality disorder. The Rum Rummer had become her refuge from the hyper fast forward movement of the 21st century, where it feels like you need three minds and a shit load more guts just to get up in the morning and get out of bed, so this bar was the final compromise, a reflection of a generation of tattooed malcontents who did not receive all those dreams they so readily bought from the sliver screen, now in 3D, isn't that cool? Part barfly, part psychiatristic nightmare, yet this woman seemed to have it sorted out by minimizing her existence, while chatting with some guy who the world had long since forgotten, consumed then shit out into the pile of ever growing human manure filling the streets of Las Vegas like a never ending winter storm of blizzard like conditions.

Just chatting with Mitchell, he has his own troubles with his woman, my only trouble with mine was that she submarined my ass by jumping ship leaving me marooned to my own solitary fate lost in a sea of uncertainity, must be nice to move from one bed to the next, very comfortable and obviously well planned have to give her credit for that at least, probably the smartest thing she has ever done in her life, yet at the loss of ten years of her life, well, everyone has to get out sometime, can't blame her for that angle, surpised I lasted that long with my behavior. so Mitchell is giving me the low down on his current frustrated state, as some sista sitting down from us started going into a drunk tirade about how this is her last week in Las Vegas, also how she can't wait to go home to Detroit, where her 60 year truck driving sugar daddy takes care of her. This woman is already wasted on straight Vodka which by the looks of she has been drinking continously for a week.

Apparently, she had to dress down tonight to keep all the old lecherous men who habitually inhabit the Rum Runner from preying on her weakened blacked out state as some fat dumpy balding 50 something man cozies up next to her with all the ideas of taking her out to his car and sexually assualting her in the parking lot as she vomits in the backseat. This is what I am dealing with right now, all these crossroads coming to a head at one location, this bar, while the sista continues on in her drunken dialouge about how she came out to Las Vegas to take care of her grand daughter, so her daughter could attend night school and work at the same time, apparently her daughter got knocked up again, which might have contributed to this woman's current state of wasted annihilation, too early to tell, feels like nothing more than just your usual Las Vegas shit talker who makes all these unverifiable claims, as if she was Willy Wonka parading off into the Chocolate Factory, nothing of the kind tonight, just her continuous babbling which I will pick up on later.

Throughout all of this I have a few drinks with some other friends who stop by to say hi, chat and a handshake sort of thing, exchanges and they are on their way, as Mitchell goes off to play video poker, so does the sista who in a matter of 15 minutes has gone through all her money, 80 bucks about, according to her, but all she has to do is make a phone call and more dollars shall be delivered, this woman has a nasty tone about her, but is sort of in and out of a reasonable sense of behavior, the couple extra shots of vodka bought by the creepy old man next to her has began to limit any sort of complete understanding in speech. It's the classic ol slapping of the hand against the bar, with that familiar, " well let me tell you something" she sort of thinks I'm cute and is all upset that she did not dress up, which appears to be making her feel very self conscious of her looks, either way, more mad rambling of a booze hound with no pause on the horizon.

I volunteer to drive her over to her apartment across the street, word had that someone, some drunkie got ran down a couple weeks ago attempting to go home from the bar, so why tempt fate, why indeed, I thought, be a gentleman offer up a ride, if for nothing else to see what else might come out of her mouth. Nothing really as I drove her over to the apartment, waited in the car, Mitchell thought I was going over for a quick bang, thought crossed my mind, but rather let this one play out, see what other bizarre nature might reveal itself, made it back to the bar, she began feeding more money into the video poker machine, as the woman,, let's call her Trina, already forgot her real name, like it matters. So Trina is reupping on the vodka, intent on pushing the limits of inebriation to its ultimate conclusion, fair enough, another 15 minutes she is broke again, trying to hit me up for some money. By this time, I have put about 5 bucks in the jukebox, as I wait for another friend to show up with some money he owes me, lives close by and with not much else to do, except go home to my new confines at the Sahara hotel, why not play a bit of old school funk music to get the party started here at the Rum Rummer. This idea was intentional as my mixed race ass had to listen to more about the wonders of Detroit, yeah I have been there, a few times, to fuck some woman, a thousand times hotter than this throwback, I had to let some line out to keep her momentum flowing, this ugliness inside of her initally began to trickle out, now it was turning into a slightly open water faucet and soon enough there would be a flash flood of illicit behavior that might make grandma over in the corner charge toward the exit.

I would not be dissapointed as I played some Parliment, James Brown, and Afrika Bambatta, start off with something obvious, music not normally played in a place like the Rum Runner, these songs will get a reaction out of her, just watch and within 10 seconds she looked over at me and asked if I played this particular song as well as all the others to follow, Trina was at a loss that someone like myself could be so black cultured, sure if you want to call it that, I know music and now people, fairly well, this one went down easy, bust out Curtis Mayfield, now she is dancing with her big black booty shaking back and forth, dancing lost in another formal world of fun where responsibility had no meaning and the night never ended, which brings us to the next phase of the night, where Trina gets it in her head that going out dancing tonight would be a fantastic idea, she has been out in Vegas for almost a month and has not gone out once since she has been here, locked down with a small child and her daughter's errant mood swings, Trina looked ready to explode as I put on some Ohio Players, as I came up behind her, which started her grinding on my dick with the occassional squeeze, then the thought crossed my mind, whether I should bang her or not, looks easy enough, but then she starts getting pushy, making demands on what to play, trying to shake me down for more money, I buy her another drink, get her back in the seat, while Trina tells me in her drunken daze how much she likes me, by now Mitchell has split for the night already figuring that I will close this one down no problem.

So after some more talk, it is off to the dance experience conviently located at the Stratosphere, good, at least it's not Tao or LAX, she never make it past the door with her hard attitude, fight would break out, blood spilt, and ultimately metal cuffs placed on the both of us, Stratosphere would be perfect, total dead zone, no one cares about anything there, walk a block in the wrong direction in the adjecent neighborhood, stab wounds and possibly death might follow, dangerous streets of Las Vegas, which according to Trina were nothing, to her this place was filled with shit loads of pretenders, fakes, and wanna bees who added up to no threat to her whatsoever, that made me feel safe, walking around with this timebomb, problem was when she finally and eventaully blew up I could not be sure what direction the shrapnel would fly, still this whole thing looked to be quite a bit of fun, why not put her into play in the public domain, get tourists involved see what they would make of her schizophrenic drunken characater, tons of amusement, just have to get there in one piece.

First, it was necessary to stop back at her daughter's apartment so she could get properly dressed, so out of the sweats and into some real tight jeans that made her big ass look gigantic, Trina had that going for her, that big fat ass, probably the only thing to keep the money coming in besides her dominate behavior which slowly began to reveal itself as she called me over hold her weave, as she attempted to brush it into some sort of respectable appearance inbetween gulps of straight vodka from a bottle on the kitchen counter. The apartment was a disaster of piled up boxes, throw away furniture, trash, and child's dinner table that double as the house dining table, three little miniture pink chairs to match, not sure Trina could fit that big ass in one of those or her daughter that checked in at about 5'10", she peeked her head out for a moment then walked back into her room where reruns of In Living Color played on the television. Trina's room was nothing more than a random collection of strewn about clothing, tore up paper moving containers and half assembled furniture, she slept on some 70's era couch in the front room, as she pulled on her black velvet boots, Trina was starting to feel sexy and walked over to the home stereo boom box to put on some music, get the mood started, so hear comes the rant on how she does not want me to think that she is so ho, who gets down with anyone, she is respectable as she grabs my cock again, gives it a few pumps, smiles, and squeezes it. Time for me to play fashion expert, this shirt or that other shirt in the pile of clothing off in the dark recesses of her room, I look in, in shock a bit, have not been around this kind of vibe since I was a teen, living in real run down neighborhoods where people did not give a damn, letting everything go to hell, especially their home. More drinks of vodka, I was not drinking, just taking in the noise of the clock that probably could be heared at the end of the apartment complex that kind of tick tock to drive me mad, in an insomniac like state, go completely bonkers, the noise was getting to me already, yet Trina's act kept me distracted, her ass as well, got my hands on it, all mine if I so desired, she hated her current shirt, pretty much ripped it off of her body, leaving her in a bra, she pulled out her tits to show me, okay, nothing special, had those big sand dollar nipples, little sag, sure, they are tits alright as she went back into her cave and pulled out another shirt that with a bit of effort looked to be the final touch on a masterpiece only someone like Picasso could appreciate.

Busted up and fragmented did not deter Trina from asking me for 2.50 cash in case I decided to ditch her later that night, it was on the table, yet at this early point in the night I still was thinking of banging her as well as looking forward to what she might do once she hit the public stage. Bit more drinking and she was ready, weave set, jacket, set, Baby Phat, she kept rambling on about her jacket, Baby Phat, Baby Phat, I acted dumb pretending not to know that it was a clothing company, so Trina felt it necessary to explain to me the history of the company as well as how Russel Simmons ex wife or whoever was the owner of the company and how now she had married some younger guy imported from the lands of Africa, sort of like the Russian bride thing I guess, somewhat confused and laughing inside, time to hit the road.

Pull into Stratosphere, immidiately Trina begins in on how cool this bar was some 3 years ago when she was last here, great I thought, go with it, let the force flow, we found the place, totally dead with nothing more than the bar staff and some cover band who had assembled for financial means to pay the bills while they chased more artistic endeavors that currently were not bearing much fruit, sort of like this blog. Like a magnet, Trina found her giant stripper pole that had been the focus of her conversation for the past hour and a half as she racked her brain for every little detail in regards to this bar I was currently ordering drinks in, server is female, looks Russian, so I said something in Russian and she laughed and left to grab the drinks. Trina had been teleported to disco heaven, forget it, off in another dimension, time warp back to her younger years where she had confided in her lengthy career in bad behavior, not sure if she had been rocking the crack, but she had her hood credentials there was no denying that, Trina told me that she would warn me if some shit was about to go down, therefore I could get out of the way of whatever might follow, I felt myself warned, fine, she could probably hold her own against security for at least 3 to 5 minutes before they put the tasers on her, she looked strong, aggressive, and nasty without nothing much more than a semi sexy smile, danger was on the horizon, time to batten down the hatches, dark clouds and stormy weather ahead, hurricane Trina rapidly approaching who paid me no attention as she got on her knees and began to shake her ass up and down in the general direction of the cover band who had no idea how to respond to this stripper like behavior of leg spreads, fingering, and the ocassional ass smack, the guys in the band were intrigued, the female singer, somewhat nervous at Trina' sexual lustfulness.

I was nothing but the guy who brought her there, under the guise that somehow myself and Trina were together, nothing more than a cover id to keep these people from calling the cops and or local security, if I had cut her loose there, she might have lasted fifteen, ten minutes before getting in someone's face or pulling her pants down while spreading pussy lips, Trina was down for what ever as long as the music played, did not matter the song or the style, she had transformed into the boogie machine, dry humping the large metal strpper pole, the lead guitarists and my knee as she ping pong amongst all three objects, stopping at the table long enough, to take another shot of vodka, nearly spraying half of it out of her nose and mouth, exclaiming, " Damn, they don't water down their shots here do they!" I got up and got her a few napkins that Trina quickly swatted away from my hand, the rythmn of the dancefloor was calling her back for another round of erotic 20 dollar lap dances.

Not sure if she realizes anyone is around her anymore, begins to get verbal with the Russian cocktail server when Trina notices I am talking to her, rapidly things are beginning to spin out of control and it is at this point that this little experiment is taking a turn for the worse, crash right off the highway onto the rocky shoulder of the desert below. By this time, Trina is attempting to rip the leather from her belt, maybe she is attempting to take the belt off of her pants, yet it is still fastened, not to be discouraged her energy and anger increase until the belt finally gives way then is quickly jettisoned off to some unknown corner of the dancefloor, time to corner to the two girls dancing, probably friends of the band, in fact one of them is the singer, while the other, wife of the lead guitarist, impromptu line dancing breaks out, Trina has them secured looking to go for the three way girl fest, ironically a few minutes early the wife had been commenting on Trina's ass, somehow Trina picked up on it and in her drunken delirium tried making out with the wife, now it seems all three of them are in some prison episode like event, bonded through the common cause of female power enclose by the circumstance of their individual actions culminated on the dancefloor tonight in a light female sexual wave of glory.

I have already decided to get the hell away from all the madness, Trina has gone from drunk to ghetto in about three more shots of vodka, give her credit for holding all the booze down, the only reason I bought the few more was to watch her puke all over the place, but she one upped me by holding all that poison down, good show. Quiet time, damn band would not stop playing, it was somewhere around three by now, wrap the night already, but time for some more Journey or Loverboy, as well as a bunch of other random ass shite I pretended to clap along to if only to further this flow of magnetic disgust which slowly turned to glue covering my body in a mess of putrid angst and bitterness. Rode the rest of the evening out, a screw turned in Trina, knowing her actions were getting to me, a battle of wills, so I had to ride this thing out to the end, jeez, even plow her as if to say, hell, is this all you have, this the pinnacle of base behavior and hostile attitude you can muster, not much place for the likes of you in my hall of fame, another number, another frame, so the see saw of manical bi polar mentality kicked into her central nervous system, here comes the rollercoaster of "Hey em I gettin too weird..... You sure?" to "See that bitch over there.... I'm uh fuck her." the comedy was nonstop, had quit drinking by now, still had to drive back to the Sahara, so let us just fast forward past closing down the bar, me taking a piss and coming back to see Trina crying, then getting all aggro, cause she thought I left, already gave her bus money, so why not, as she went into a another riff about having to have some old leech give her a ride home, then having sex with him, the conversation got stranger, some time during the evening I told her I was staying at the Sahara which coincidently happened to be one of her favorite casinos to gamble in, for a second I bounced around the idea of taking her back to my room, then giving it to her , but deep down I knew Trina would be back at my door, soon enough looking to move in for the week or worse, wanting to stay after I had sex with her then getting weird when I decided to chuck her out the door, time to go, bye, shit, would have to change rooms a couple times to get her off my scent. Did not matter, her manic depressive behavior mixed with a pure sense of dark evil cruelity finally broke me, pulled over off the main roads, then told her to get out which she reluctantly did.

Good, finally have that animal off my back, sort of blew up in my face as I pull up the old van into valet, for some reason the parking structure was closed, looks like the car in front me is not in the mood for moving, a White Sebring, lights on, ignition on, so I pull the E brake on the van get out, where the hell is valet, probably sleeping almost consider, leaving the keys in the car and room number, hope for the best, the valet station is one way mirrored so who knows what the hell they are up to in there, may not be able to see me though, cause the other car is stopped so far back, get out, the driver and the passenger are totally passed out, snoring away with no idea that they are in the Sahara hotel valet, makes up for all the other chaos tonight as the valet person tries to wake the two guys up by violently banging on the car's front window while yelling at the driver, does not seem to be working, I move on, walk inside where it is 5am and it feels like I have not gone to bed before 4am for a straight month, but wouldn't you know like all good Las Vegas stories, there happens to be a cute sista sitting at the internet kiosk station checking her email at 5am, maybe she is from Europe, all dressed up minding her own business, causally decides to chat me up as if I would like some company for the evening, Evening? It's bloody 5am, what kind of company do you plan on keeping, turns out to be the 100 dollar kind, so I say, hell, why not, pulling her off the bench for her moment in the sun, bring in those final dollars of the night, where by sitting out here at such an early hour at the Sahara sends a pretty strong signal of how lean her work shift had been already, so off we go like room service for making it through that entire night, enduring all the psychotic episodes of Trina, makes great writing though, as I cut into Savannah, Ms Little 5am and she sighs, the ever such familiar sound in Las Vegas, echoes off the room's walls out toward the casinos themselves where all lust, sin, and excess are absorbed recharging the hedonistic tendencies of such a city for another evening.