The Bangover Diaries: Night One In Nirvana
By the time I was finally introduced to the pleasures of San Jose, Alfredo had made 2 or 3 trips and knew the scene pretty well, and this tale begins in it’s best known house of ill repute, the Hotel Del Rey, home of the equally famous Blue Marlin Bar, with adjoining casino, and a restaurant opposite the casino from the bar.
The rooms are older looking but nicely appointed, clean and just upstairs; the upgrades available at the bar and casino mean that one can stay one night with as many upgrades as a man can stand, so long as he doesn’t have to explain the nature of multiple up-charges to a wife, girlfriend or boss, or pays in cash to avoid the paper-trail.
When the action is in full swing, walking the gauntlet from the bar to the men’s room is a totally mind-fucking role reversal of human nature, with lots of hot young girls trying to catch your eye, brushing your crotch with their hands, your arm with their tits, or even grabbing your ass.
It’s not for the feint of heart, let me tell you, observing capitalism in it’s purest form; it’s the law of supply and demand in action, and the war between the sexes raging. It’s the New York Stock Exchange of whoring, with pussy the supply and money the demand, and eager buyers and sellers fully engaged.
In a normal setting, women control the pussy, and yet, men often forget that they control the first move; which is generally required. In the Blue Marlin, Rookies soon come to realize that every woman in the bar is there for one reason: to sell the one asset they have to a willing buyer. And, It’s a buyer’s market, no error.
Of course, some of the ladies sit quietly in a corner, waiting for the men to come to them, as a normal woman in a bar would do. But one should never be afraid to beckon one over, because they’ll always come, or welcome you to sit next to them and buy them a drink, if you prefer. But don’t get roped into buying one for her friend; unless you’re negotiating a threesome, of course. Aside from the obvious, normal bar etiquette applies in the Blue Marlin, and a man should never get too loose with his money; respect is part of the game, and self-respect is the most important kind.
For the randy rookie, the inclination is to drag one down at first opportunity, but after a beer or two one is relaxed enough to simply enjoy being the hunted, for a change, and wait for one you click with; learning to say no thanks is also a part of the acclimation, and there’s absolutely no need to buy a drink, or let one you’re not attracted to linger too long, and discourage the others. They can get jealous, they can, and a wise man never gives them the chance to stake an unwanted claim.
As always, for younger, taller, better looking fellows (and especially those who speak a little Spanish) the pickings are better still, but even an average looking older man can feel like a rock star in the Blue Marlin Bar, and every man should have that feeling at least once in his life.
Heed my warning, though: It’s addictive as hell, and after a strong taste, it’s hard not to get hooked.
And, as with any vice, it has to be enjoyed in moderation lest it get out of control. At the time I was dating a very hot little gal from work and resolved not to feel guilty about it, after all it was no great romance, and I hadn’t stallioned her, so upon our arrival at the world famous Blue Marlin, Alfredo gave me the same briefing I’m giving you, dear reader, but in real time, beer by beer, and blow by blow (no pun intended).
He’d chosen a hotel a mile or so away, against my protests that we stay at the Del Rey, but so concerned was he of leaving any paper trail that he booked another hotel for us, one in a bad part of town, and surrounded by barbed wire and armed guards out front.
Never again, thinks I. Although the hotel itself was fine, I’m one who always wants to stay where the action is, and damn the paper trail and the price so long as it’s reasonable; It’s always worth paying a premium to me, and this philosophy has served me well in all of my travels.
It was also in San Jose that I learned a valuable lesson: When you ask whether you can walk in the area and the locals tell you to take a taxi, TAKE A FUCKING TAXI. The locals know which areas are safe, and which aren’t, and wise is the man who doesn’t question the local’s knowledge of such things.
As we arrived, the early afternoon pickings at the Del Rey were slim indeed, and for a moment I feared disappointment.
A lovely young American bartender, though, consoled me in perfect English: ”Don’t worry, it’s always slow like this in the afternoon. We’ll have a full bar tonight, and plenty of pretty women” “As pretty as you, we hope?” said I, as she smiled back. Probably the owner’s wife or girlfriend, we assumed. We also made a quick walk to the Key Largo, an outdoor bar that at that time was equally notorious for hobbyist activity, and likewise seeing the cupboard bare, we went back to the hotel to relax, shower and nap until supper,
Fortunately, Alfredo had briefed me to expect the afternoons to be slow, but the evenings to be lively, and so they were, far beyond my expectations.
That evening I witnessed the spectacle I’d heard so much about, and imagined so often, and like many exotic places, the expectations where only a small fraction of the intense reality. For a man in his mid-thirties that had experienced many a disappointment with women, there was only the pleasure of being the one in complete control, and in a room of sure things, all of them young, healthy and willing, no, eager, to offer their company and favors for a few drinks and a few dollars. There’s just no other experience like it.
Naturally, some of them were more attractive to me than others, but from off-white to as black as the night, all with a strong Latina flavor, from trim to plump and everything in between, the selection was plentiful, the mood was jovial, and the beer was cheap, and good.
“This place is a man’s paradise” said Alfredo, and indeed it was. One could think of it as a harem for the common man, or any number of other descriptions, but for me it was a night to remember, and there was no place else I’d have rather been.
After a beer or two at the bar, and having a strong taste for brown sugar that evening, I struck up a conversation with a perfect little spinner of a Dominicana who was quite dark, but had the face of a model; in fact she reminded me very much of a girl I’d known in college that I was similarly attracted to, but far too afraid to ask out, the black-white taboo having been a major barrier to me.
But, in San Jose, the atmosphere was strangely liberating, and such inhibitions simply didn’t exist. I was to lose track of her that evening, but not to worry, dear reader, she and her buxom friend were engaged to give me the OREO treatment the following evening; but for those first few hours at the Blue Marlin Bar, Alfredo made sure I didn’t jump the gun and grab the first thing I clicked with; Patience pays, said he, and I put my faith in him completely that evening.
He has a tradition that the first night out is always a late one, and we hit every bar and club within walking distance, including the Key Largo Bar as well as a strip club just across the street. We probably shuttled back and forth a time or two from all of them and I began to pace myself with beer, making certain not to over-do it, but he could drink beer by the keg, and as the party wound down the pickings dried up just enough to notice, and so by the time we each picked up a girl, the hour was early in the morning.
Mine was another Dominicana whose looks were no doubt enhanced by the alcohol; not nearly as pretty as the one I’d chatted with earlier, but I felt the tingle as I saw her shapely body outlined in a small red dress. We had a couple of drinks together, with her occasionally squeezing my arm, and looking aside as if to say “Lets go”. After a while this was starting to get annoying, and she seemed to be anxious, finally telling me she needed a trip to the ladies room.
As soon as she walked away, a pretty little Tica (local) with jet black hair and blue eyes walked over and started chatting; soon we were really hitting it off, but Ms. Dominicana soon returned in a jealous rage, threatening to scratch my little Tica’s eyes out (or something like that) if she didn’t leave her man (me) alone.
For a moment, the sight of two women fighting for my attention was a heady one indeed; but what I should have done was send Ms. Dominicana packing, and take my little Tica back to the hotel; Instead, she said in passable English, “It’s OK baby, I’ll see you around….” As she took her leave. (Alas, I didn’t see her again)
At that point I was ready to punish either of them with a good ass-pounding, and presently I told Alfredo I was taking Ms. D back to the hotel; He was having a good time at the bar so she and I grabbed a taxi outside and off we went to our hotel, which was a mile or two away, and once up in the room, I experienced the sweet taste of brown sugar for the first time.
As gallops go, it wasn’t that memorable, to be frank; for this reason I will leave out the gory details. When I think of it, I think of how I missed out on my cute little Tica, who reminded me of another lost cause in my college days, and I regretted very much not taking control of the situation and kicking Ms. Jealous to the curb.
I managed to make the best of it, however, and after a solid, if average evening of pleasure, when she left the next morning (after a kiss and a little cab money atop her agreed upon donation), I felt like a far more worldly man than I had the night before.
The real fun, though, was yet to come (no pun intended) that evening with the OREO girls.
Continued……..
