The old days

I arrived in Vegas at the McCormack airport to find slot machines in the airport. It was my first time in the only state that had legalized prostitution, though ironically, not in Las Vegas county – apparently they had enough sin without the oldest profession in the world doing business on the strip.

I was with my boss Greg to attend the CES convention at the Las Vegas Convention Center to scope out the latest in high tech gagetry for a client of ours.

It seemed the bags took forever to come down the conveyer belt, and the longer we waited, the longer the taxi cab line grew just outside the glass doors. I was becomoing inpatient and wanted to get the party started.

We had booked a suite at the grand ‘ol Alexis Courtyard motel – a couple of blocks from The Hardrock. Having waited too long to make reservervations for the weekend of CES and the infamous Internext Convention, a.k.a., “The Porn Convention,” we were left to pick and choose from a handful of hole-in-the-wall joints of the edges of town.

Our bags arrived and we made our way to the Taxi line. Thankfully the line moved surprisingly quick – something I guessed was due to the number of visitors the city received each day. Greg and I were next in line when a cab pulled forward and screeched to a stop – the entire car lurching forward at the sudden breaking action of the driver. The cabby darted out of the car and quickly helped us throw the bags in the trunk. He seemed in a rush, so we hopped in the back as fast as we could. He took off from the lane so fast I had a hard time gathering the strength to put on my seatbelt against the G-forces generated by the high rate of acceleration. Each stoplight from the airport to the Alexis had our heads bobbing back and forth – generating more motion sickness than any airplane could have.

Upon arriving we got settled in the top floor unit. It included two rooms – a living room with a mini kitchen, and a bedroom with two queen sized beds. Greg claimed the bed closest to the window while I got on the phone to my friend Zach who was going to be in town from Los Angeles for the other convention. I arranged to meet him at Gypsy, one of only a handful of gaybars in the city. Odd, I thought – for such a party town, you’d think they’d have several more venues for us gays.

Greg, an outspoken homophobe, though surprisingly comfortable with me, was ready to party. I informed him I was planning on visiting with my buddy at the gay bar, to which he responded, “Let’s go.”

“I said it was a gay bar.”

“Yep, I wanna see it.”

“Alright, that’s cool.”

We arrived by taxi at the bar and waited in line to pay the cover. Upon entering I found Zach right away and introduced him to Greg. Zach gave us each tickets to allow entrance to the VIP room in the back, where we made our way.

Separated by a glass wall from the rest of the bar, we were immersed in world of near-nude high-buck porn stars, free drinks, and disappointing snack food. But who eats anyway? Food that is, who eats food?

Surrounded by sex, and not the persuasion he generally found interest in, Greg found himself a little uncomfortable. We immediately made our way to the bar where we ordered a couple of stiff cocktails and found a seat in the corner. The drinking ensued for a couple more rounds and we began socializing with the others in the room.

Names aside, we found ourselves engaging in conversation with the gay couple who ran ChiChi Larue’s website, a lesbian couple who owned the publishing company behind Freshman magazine (among 14 other such pubs), an amateur guy new to the business had brought his mother – a Jr. High Librarian, the owner of the largest gay website on the ‘net – in town from Toronto, the marketting manager for another big opperation, the photographer/owner of the largest provider of “twink” content on the east and west coasts – opperating out of both Miami and San Diego, and of course a handful of self-admitted fluffers and tan-skinned beauties from Larue’s pack – one of which was circling the room to show off his viagra-enlarged unit.

I was in a gay porn utopia when ChiChi Larue herself entered. I promptly introduced myself and requested a photo with her – she politely inclined and we shared a moment.

Shortly afterwards the party was set to begin with the real entertainment. ChiChi disappeared into a hidden backroom to prep for her appearance. Greg and I made our way to the main room to get a good view of the stage.

ChiChi came out with a cordless microphone and an armful of promo videos of her new flick. She had the crowd laughing and tossed out the cassettes. (We hadn’t yet entered the heyday of DVDs)