Uncle Bob Ch. 18

We hiked some of the rim and a little way down Bright Angel Trail, but the problem with the Canyon is that, unlike hiking in mountains, the hard bit is on the way back, so we returned around six and drove to the rather tacky 'Village' for some indifferent pizza, before turning in. What I didn't tell them was that, at ten the next morning, we were booked on a flight over the Canyon. They loved it. They loved it so much that I got a fantastic double deep-throat blowjob as soon as we were back in the RV. And I didn't even need to consume pussy in return. (In fact, they did that to each other while I fixed us a late lunch).

Then we drove on to Las Vegas. Me, I hate the fucking place. Back when I was eighteen, I'd visited and enjoyed the all-you-can-eat buffets, subsidized by the poor saps who thought they could beat the odds and win big. Me, I'd converted ten bucks into quarters and played the slots. I calculated how many coins that was, separating anything I'd won from my stake money. After around a half hour, I'd played every coin I'd started with and ended up with twelve bucks, so I walked away a richer man.

But I'd been back a few years later to a friend's bachelor party. I'd enjoyed watching the stripper - I would have enjoyed fucking her, but it seemed she was off limits, at least considering the amount I would've been able to pay her - but everything seemed so expensive and cynical. It felt like the whole atmosphere had changed, from 'hey, why don't you come in, eat the food, watch some of the free entertainment and maybe gamble a little' to 'just give us your fucking money and fuck off.' But the girls were determined to see the place, so I took the detour.

We parked the RV on the edge of town and took the Beetle in, touring around a few interesting places. The Bellagio's fountains were fun, and I paid for the three of us to go on a gondola at The Venetian. It was weird to hear a black guy singing Italian opera arias, but the girls loved it. We also ate there - the food was surprisingly reasonable - and listened to the opera singers in the 'piazza'. But all the main shows were expensive and booked for weeks ahead, so we just drove around the Strip, and down to the 'Old Vegas' area, taking in the lights. Finally, back in the RV, I managed to ply my two nymphettes with alcohol - some cheap Napa Chardonnay - and fuck their brains out, so it was good night. What happens in Vegas, as they say, stays in Vegas. At least the semen-soaked tissues that I used to mop up the various fluids ended up in the Vegas trash.