Ireland
“Oh my God, Ireland! That is the hottest bathing suit I have ever seen you wear! You weren’t kidding when you said you were ready for some action,” my best friend exclaimed as I slipped off my white eyelet cover-up and tossed it on a lounge chair partially situated outside a high-ticket cabana. Montana had insisted that we go all out on our Vegas trip. Bottle service everywhere and a poolside cabana that was much too spacious for just the two of us. I wasn’t sure about needing to purchase an abundance of alcohol, but the shade part was welcomed with the hot sun bearing down on the pool deck. The idea of sharing had to be on her agenda, knowing my friend.
“You should talk, look at you.” Montana’s champagne bikini was smaller than mine and had a shimmer to it that was sure to blind some poor guy or at least attract even more attention. She was like a shiny lure on a fishing pole. Not that she needed a flashy suit to bring the boys, she is absolutely gorgeous with long, blonde, wavy hair. While people paid big bucks to get her beachy waves, she came by them naturally.
Situated on two coral towels perfectly placed for us, Montana produced several colorful brochures with various menu items.
“Last trip as a free woman. Oh, before we leave, you can get your skin evenly tanned to erase the effects of being out in the sun.” I raised an eyebrow when she looked my way. “Your future husband-to-be will find no tan lines on your body to be very sexy—an allover tan.” She winked. “Trust me. Every man likes the thrill or hint of an adventurous woman.” I shook my head. “At least get your tits tanned.”
“Spa treatments I could go for.” I grabbed one of the pamphlets and opened it. There were millions of services; some were à la carte, while others were bundled and packaged together.
“Get the works and they include taking care of your hooha with laser services.” I had always neatly groomed myself but I wasn’t sure about completely eliminating my pubic hair.
“I’m not extremely hairy—”
“Good. With very little hair…It is dark still?” I nodded. “Laser machines work better with darker hair and if you start while we’re here—” She stopped to count on her fingers. “Every two weeks, you will be ready and never have to wait for the waxing hold time.”
“Hold time?” I had never waxed anything.
“You have to wait twenty-four hours after a Brazilian wax,” our cocktail waitress announced, “before you can have sex.” I wasn’t sure how long she had been standing and listening to our conversation. She didn’t stay longer than the time it took to give her two cents, take our bottle order, and sashay over to two very attractive men in the pool.
“Like something?” Montana asked and turned to see what or whom had captured my attention. Good thing my dark, oversized sunglasses didn’t give me away completely—allowing me to be able to gawk and speak at the same time.
“I think I might need sex treatments…lessons might come in handy.”
Our waitress totally knew how to play those guys and, most likely, every other heterosexual man at the pool when she bent and exposed her naked buns that were smuggling a bright red G-string under her very short white skirt. She must make big tips and probably got plenty of action when she was off the clock. I imagined them lined up at the “employees only” door, waiting to pounce on her purrfection.
“They might have those too.” Montana laughed. “We’ll have to ask Tushy Tina for a special menu for those.”
“Good name for her,” I agreed with a grin.
“We are in Sin City, Ireland…Vegas, hiring man candy is legal.”
“One Virgin Deluxe with the works.” I giggled, imagining the description.
“How have you not lost your virginity?!” She really didn’t need to ask, but she did from time to time, and often at inappropriate times.
“Shhh. Please no announcements about your freak of nature friend.” I crumpled and tossed the brochure I had been perusing at her.
“You are not a freak.” Montana gathered all of the brochures, including the ruined one, and shoved them into her bag as a plate of cheese, fruit, and other goodies arrived. “You are freakin’ gorgeous with curves that stop every living and breathing man dead in their tracks.”
“Doesn’t do me any good.” I grabbed a bunch of grapes and plucked a few off. “Remember, I’m promised to a rich man,” I said as I was about to toss some red grapes in my mouth.
“Too bad you didn’t have a choice about when and where you wanted it to happen.” Montana, too, was diving into the platter that looked almost too good to eat. I loved that we were in sync with so many things, even if she was a bit more adventurous than I was.
We had been friends for so many years that I couldn’t ever remember not being with her. We even had trouble with the exact date when our friendship blossomed as so many fab times blurred together, not to mention that we were so young—in diapers when we actually met according to our parents. Practically inseparable until college, we were once again going to be living close when I made my upcoming move away from our hometown. Montana had gone off to a college in Manhattan to be in the midst of the fashion world. Once she graduated, she decided to stay after procuring a dream job and an amazing loft space in Brooklyn. We both had dreams of becoming career girls only it hadn’t quite happened for me as I had wanted it to since my desires were being railroaded with decisions being made for me.
Wasn’t that the truth? Montana didn’t even know the whole story because I was being asked to sign a non-disclosure statement, as well as a prenup. To my friend, it was a merger between two prominent families, but really it seemed more like a business transaction. How quickly things were moving had me wondering what the big rush was. I had always expected my parents to push for an arrangement of sorts as they had been and their parents before them. However, I hoped that I would have a little say in the matter. Like maybe they showed me a catalogue of prospects. That wasn’t the case in this matter as I was to meet my future husband at the altar.
Complying with my parents’ wishes, I did my part and made sure my hymen was intact. Not to say that I didn’t have some intense make-out sessions over the years. I did also supply a few hand jobs and a couple of blow jobs that were nothing to be proud of as neither of them lasted for very long. I had no real technical skills to brag about. I did almost get talked into a bit of backdoor action in college but chickened out. Some of my dorm girlfriends encouraged and partook in anal play often so that they could remain virgins, along with not running the risk of pregnancy—they said it was the thing to do.
Montana never pushed me or bothered me, but was always shocked by my virginity that was a selling point for my pending marriage. My groom-to-be was going to be the one to deflower me. That word always made me laugh and made me wonder; did men really still look for that prerequisite in a wife? It wasn’t like I was marrying into royalty and I definitely wasn’t a princess. Thank God there were no certificates or tests necessary…or required to make me feel more pathetic. A virgin at twenty-nine years old was not something I wanted to announce and especially not when I was secretly contemplating giving it away over the weekend. If things went my way, my mother wouldn’t be able to proudly tell people that I was a good girl.
I had always heard that Vegas was the place to really let your hair down—hair might not be something to mention—and get wild. Not that I believed for a minute that what happens there, stays there, but I was far enough away from my home that just maybe I would never run into anyone I knew.
Everywhere I looked, poolside, attractive men lounged at various bars, on the vast deck area, or waded in the twinkling blue water. There was a wide selection. Some were definitely more appealing than others and the two that were close by had me thinking naughty thoughts that I didn’t dare mention to Montana. She would, for sure, wave them over to join us and I hadn’t consumed enough liquid courage to help get my flirt on.
“Oh, they are very yummy.” I heard Montana purr like a cat ready to pounce on her prey or one in heat looking to mate as she looked over the rim of her fancy plastic glass compliments of our server’s generous pour.
I had not voiced my own thoughts out loud but the hunky specimens were hard to miss and they almost mimicked us; a blond and a brunette. Was brunette the proper term for a man with the “ette” ending? It sounded a bit feminine and he was anything but female looking with his nicely bronzed, big, muscular arms, and well defined pecs. Since he was standing in the pool, the water level deterred me from assessing the rest of his anatomy, but something told me it would be equally impressive.