Back Alley Sex: When Lust Takes Over in Vegas
A steamy encounter leads to an unforgettable experience in a back alley.
💦 Temptation is calling dive-in while it’s hot and steamy.
He approached as I left BB, a popular local hangout in downtown Las Vegas. He was in line waiting to get in with the other hopefuls. I noticed him as I headed in hours ago.
He shot me a quick eye-rape as I entered the club. He was easy on the eyes in a non-pretty boy kind of way.
“Where ya headed?” he said as he ran over, blocking the cab door with his muscular arms.
“What’s it to you?” I said as I turned, checking out his tall frame that towered over me, 6’6” of solid man.
“It’s early. How about we go in and have some fun? Come on, it’s my last night here and I want to at least dance with the hottest guy in Vegas.”
He shot me a smile with the whitest teeth I’d ever seen. His eyes were a piercing chestnut brown with a determined chin. His straightforwardness turned me on; I liked that in a guy.
“How old?” I asked.
“Does age matter to you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if it didn’t, now would I?” I moved his arm from the cab door.
A worried look flashed across his face. It was the look of a man who knew the wrong answer that could ruin any chances of scoring.
“Twenty-six,” he said hurriedly, flashing a weak smile. His eyes told the story of a liar.
“Too young, baby. I like my men with hair on their chest.”
As the driver prepared to leave, there was a knock on the window. I rolled down the window, and he rested his arm on the door, leaning into the frame.
“I lied, ok. I’m 37. Here’s my driver’s license as proof.” He handed me his worn leather wallet.
“Jon Verne, 6549 Country Lake Road, Atlanta, GA, 6’6”, brown eyes, 240 pounds, Organ donor — good for you.” He opened my door. “Come on, let’s have some fun,” he nodded to the entrance.
It was only two in the morning; the night was still young, and I didn’t have my man meal for the night, so I was down to take a chance. As we walked through the entrance, I gave Billy, the doorman, a wink and tipped him, just as I had earlier. “Coming back for seconds, Ian?” he said, nodding to Jon.
“The poor man’s come a long way. It’d be impolite not to show him a good time,” I said as I took Jon’s hand, leading him through the entrance into the groans of the people standing in line.
We were greeted with complimentary Apple Martinis and asked if we wanted manicures. This is BB’s signature service. They know how to treat their guests.
“It’s all part of the experience,” I tugged his arm leading him to the table. I plopped him down in the service chair. “Now sit, and enjoy your mani.”
Jon was hard-headed. He attempted to leave the manicurist, but she shot back a look that could strike fear in any man or woman.
“You better sit your sexy ass down now,” she said with a southern drawl as she placed his hand in the water.
The big draw of BB to locals and tourists is its uniqueness. It doesn’t have all the trappings of glamor and lights that Vegas is known for, but it does have the sinful factor that everyone loves. They decked BB out as an old-fashioned beauty salon, complete with vintage hair drying stations, barber chairs, and a bar covered in shag carpeting.
The bar is completely stocked, and the bartenders can whip up anything you could ever imagine. I once ordered a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against a Cold Hard Wall with a Kiss at the recommendation of Bobby, the bartender.
I watched Jon over at the manicure station. He looked uncomfortable; I could tell he was still new in the gayberhood. Like many that come to Vegas, he was here on business and cashed in on some repressed desires, thinking no one would know back home. It’s an easy, quick release. It’s the same tale I hear every single night.
Waving down the barkeep for a refill on my Appletini, I felt a package, a stranger’s package, press against my backside.