[Continued from "What Happened in Vegas, Went to Omaha (Part 1)."]

The next night we went to a piano bar in the New York, New York.  I had no fucking interest in the piano bar.  I had been going along with whatever Sally and Vicky wanted to do the whole damn trip.  I told them my only requests were to have one nice meal at a fancy restaurant and to see the water show at the Bellagio.  We did neither.  But we went to the fucking piano bar.

2004 LVWe drank enough and I began to have some fun. We took a lot of photos at the piano bar.  This gem is one of them.  Please forgive the quality, as it’s a shitty phone camera picture of an old-fashioned photo print.

We eventually left the piano bar and went to some “cheap” casinos on the strip to gamble.  We finally ended  up on the gaming floor of our hotel.  Vicky went up to our room to go to bed; Sally “played” craps, which just meant she got the dealers to show her how to play considering they were bored and it was about 4am.

I was about to go to bed myself when we bumped into the Omaha guys from the night before.  I sat with one of the guys at a bar within eyesight of Sally at the craps table.  I don’t remember what happened to his friend, because by that point it was pretty obvious what was going to happen.  I placed my hand on his knee and we both knew what was up.

We went to his room and fucked.  We were so drunk and horny that we didn’t bother with condoms.  At some point his friend walked in and then immediately left when he saw what were were doing.  We fell asleep for a bit, but then I had to get back to my room to get my stuff and get myself to the airport to fly back to San Francisco.

I did the walk of shame from his hotel to the hotel where Sally, Vicky, and I were staying.  I didn’t realize it at the time that our hotels were literally next door to each other.  I left his hotel and walked for a while.  Then I stopped into a McDonald’s for an Egg McMuffiin, which I assert is one of the best breakfasts ever, and even better when hung over and feeling supremely guilty about cheating on your husband.  Again.  Then, as the time was getting away from me I grabbed a cab.

I ALWAYS get lost on the strip.  Still.  Stupid, but I don’t know any directions when I’m there even though I do pretty much everywhere else; I know where the fuck the ocean (that’s the Pacific) is from where I am (now). Maybe because I’m pretty much fucked up the entire time I’m there.

I barely got back to the room in time to get my stuff and go to the airport for my flight.  Sally was pissed (angry, not drunk).  I assured her everything was fine.  She said she had worried about me and that I should have at least said what I was doing when we last saw each other (when she was playing craps).

The reason I didn’t say anything to her the night before had something to do with having to acknowledge what I was doing, cheating on my husband again.  I really did feel like shit every time I cheated on my husband, but I couldn’t help myself.  I needed so to be fucked, and hard.  I’m still like this.  I think I’ve always been like this.  I need a good pounding.  Need it hard.

I swear.  True story.

[To be continued, of course.]

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