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It Can Happen to You

The gambling bug had taken control yet again. After going 0 for 20 at Club Jet, I left alone with an eye for the dice. Fortunately, I had barely slept the night before, so my body had placed a limit on my night. An hour later, the craps table was taking me nowhere. My $100 had dwindled down to $70, and I had to find my bed. I took my two green and four red chips and left. I didn’t even cash in.

I walked the crowded streets feeling unsatisfied. I walked past drunk guys, drunk chicks, couples, and soon-to-be one-night stands. Despite the effects of a 0 for 20 night, I had a good buzz. My weary body didn’t let the buzz ever get past “above average,” but I wasn’t complaining.

Ten minutes into my walk back to the Excalibur, I looked to my left and saw a van with an attractive chick-driver smiling at me. I didn’t smile back. I just stared at her. Eyes locked with mine, she patted her seat. I assumed it was a motion for me to get in. Fuck it. I had nothing to lose. I got in.

I was welcomed to her van with crazed laughter as she watched me sit down. It was a strange laugh, hysterical yet nervous, like I was a clumsy stray dog. I glanced at the brunette driver. She wore a black top with giant, fake breasts, to go with long, red nails. A devastatingly strong perfume permeated the air. Laughing, the long-haired beauty asked, “Where are you off to?”

“I’m going wherever you’re going,” I replied casually, keeping my poise.

Seconds later, she reached over and started fooling with my pants, fondling my dick through my pants, up and down. There was no way she’d be able to take my pants off one-handed, so I helped out. Even though I was several beers deep, I could feel a hard-on as I unbuckled my belt, unzipped my fly, and began taking off my pants. She laughed again, this time wilder, her head bucking. Used to a planned strategy, I couldn’t believe how easy this encounter was turning out to be. When I pulled down my boxers, my dick sprang out like a jack-in-the-box. When we hit a red light, she bent down, grabbed it, and started sucking. I sat there more in shock than pleasure. Just a minute ago I was walking home in shame, and now I had this fake-breasted hottie blowing me in her van. And she was driving. Twice I have caught girls giving a guy “road head,” but the guy was always driving. I’d never seen or heard of driver sucking passenger.  This had to be a new frontier.

The light remained red for a couple minutes. When it turned green she took her lips away from my lap and drove. “We need to go somewhere,” she said. Fuck yeah we did.   

A couple blocks down, she made a right turn into an alley. After driving for about sixty feet, she stopped, got out of the van, and walked over to my side. Unaware of her plans, I got out and stood by my door. The narrow alley had a casino wall on one side and a fence on the other. On the other side of the fence was a small deserted parking lot. Just sixty feet from the Las Vegas strip, we had the dark alley to ourselves, not a soul in sight, the only noise the honking of the passing cars on Las Vegas Boulevard.

She sauntered up to me. She was much taller than I’d thought she’d be–a few inches taller than me in her clunky heels. She had an awkward gait; I couldn’t tell if it was discomfort or self-consciousness. When she reached me, she appeared oddly apprehensive, as if she were planning her next move in a game of chess.  Her erratic laughing had transformed to a half smile. She adroitly got on her knees and pulled down my now belt-less pants while looking up at me seductively. The whole scene had me believing that perhaps some pornos were real accounts. Something was too surreal for this to be happening.

 When my pants reached the ground, my already moist non-discriminating penis was making its rendezvous with her mouth. Unlike the initial shock I’d felt in the car, I was preparing to actually enjoy this blowjob. And I did, at first. Suddenly, the blowjob felt awful, her teeth venturing in. I’ve had some biters in my day, but this was something else. It almost seemed like she was doing it on purpose, as if it were some new pleasure tactic. I grabbed her by the hand–which was bigger than mine–and pulled her up. As she regained her heel-wearing balance, she grabbed my hands and put them on her breasts. I felt the urge to finger her, so I reached for her skirt, which was held up by some sort of waistband. She was slightly resistant, leaning away from my reaching hands, but I managed to yank it down anyway.

My life was about to change.  

I felt numb, in limbo. The movie of my life was on pause for a moment, as if I were watching the scene in slow motion. It didn’t feel real. 

But it was real. I pulled down her skirt, and through a pair of white panties I saw a distinctly unfeminine bulge. I saw a flash of the last scene from Ace Ventura when Lois Einhorn turned around and everyone witnessed the bulge in the back of her panties–Finkle is Einhorn. But this bulge was in front. Situations like this hadn’t even been in my nightmares until this night, terrorizing my senses, haunting my future. 
She stood there waiting for my reaction, staring at me as if I were a child who’d just spilled a large soda. She didn’t try and kiss me. She didn’t reach for my dick. She was a guy. I freaked out. I didn’t need to vomit. I just wanted her/him to go away, so I could put my hands on my knees, put my head down, and maybe cry. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT?!” I blurted out in disgust and anger. “Hmf” she replied haughtily–the same noise rich girls make when their daddy didn’t buy them the car they wanted for their 16th birthday. She walked hurriedly–in that same awkward guy-in-heels walk as before–around the van, slammed the door, and drove off quickly.

I was an emotional wreck, my pants were around my ankles, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. My dick was so limp it may as well have hid beneath my balls. Had my dick been a separate living organism, it would have detached itself from me and run into the street to get bashed by a car. I had betrayed its trust.

I walked back to the hotel in shame, horrified at the incident. It was the ultimate humiliation to my manhood. Despite my buzz, I could sense how I would feel the next morning when I woke up. I reached into my pocket; something wasn’t right. I only had one chip left. I pulled it out, and it wasn’t even a green $25 chip. That girl…guy…IT…had stolen $65 from me. The night had spiraled downward into an abyss of nightmares, continuing to get worse. Why in the hell did IT leave me with $5? Was he/she nice? Did it have feelings? I tried to salvage any positives to take from the night, but came up blank.

To recap my night: I went 0 for 20 at the club, I lost at the craps table, and I got head from a GUY who stole $65 from me. It had gotten to the point where I half expected to get hit by a meteor.

Traumatized, I kept the incident to myself the remainder of the trip. I’m not a homophobe, but sexual contact with a man had caused the synapses of my brain to fire off lightning bolts of guilt and self-deprecation. I was convinced I was not only a bad person, but an absolute buffoon for not being able to discern woman from man. I wanted to tell my friends, but it was just too embarrassing. At least I had never kissed IT. That would have quadrupled the shame.

I had to tell someone. Had my life been condensed into an essay, that night was in parentheses, and it was the last thing written. The experience was eating away at my insides. Finally, a week later I told four of my friends the story. After laughing for two minutes, they asked me how I didn’t realize she was a dude. To this day I ask myself the same question. It’s always the same three answers: She had a cute face; she had long hair; and she had big tits. How could I turn that down? 

My friends and I brainstormed some plausible alternatives and came up with a few possibilities:

1)      IT was an alien.

2)      IT really was a girl but had some sort of deformity in her pelvic region.

3)      IT really was a girl, and she didn’t have a deformity. She simply planted some bulgy-looking object down her panties to freak guys out so they’d run. All this occurring after she had already stolen their money.

4)      IT was a dude.

         I can only pray that it was anything but scenario 4. Shit, I’d rather get head from an alien than a dude. Wouldn’t you?



The trauma I suffered from that night lasted over two months. Within that time frame, I met a model, normally an ideal prospect, and we went on a couple dates. I was quite attracted to her, but she was six feet tall and her voice wasn’t very feminine. One night, she slept over. We didn’t get naked, but the next day I was a paranoid basket case. I thought she had to be a dude. I saw her one more time. As we were making out, I stuck my knee in her crotch to see if there was anything bulgy. I felt nothing, but then I thought about all the advancements in genital transformation. What if she’d had a sex change? The question replayed in my mind hourly. I was out of control with my theories. She was obviously a girl and serious about me. She never let me get her naked in the three times we hung out, which didn’t help matters. I theorized she was only doing that so I would buy into her personality, and I’d see past all the sex change shit. I couldn’t take that risk. The trauma was too much. I ended it.

Months passed. I got to thinking about her again and found her on MySpace. I messaged her, and we went on another date. She even ended a fling she’d had with some guy because she liked me more, but it was all for nothing. Even months later, just looking at her brought back memories of that awful Vegas night. I reluctantly made out with her when the night ended. But I was done; I couldn’t go through with it. The 1% chance that she was a dude was just too much. She messaged me and messaged me, but it was over. I needed a girl who was guaranteed to be a girl. She is still a MySpace friend and is now married to a guy who is clearly straight, and normal. Maybe I should have taken a chance on her. Or maybe not.


Be careful. IT can happen to you.

Published inDave Glenn