Chuck Liddell

My night started out fantastically...there were about 4 girls working, and VIP offers were coming from every direction. I ended up with Chuck Liddell's best friend! I'm not really into UFC fighting or anything, but I knew that connection was a good one. It didn't hurt that it was his attorney (what's with guys bringing their attorneys to the nudie bar with them?) that pointed me out to him. It also didn't hurt that he was pretty fucking hot and had an excellent body. Oh, and the 4 jager shots and 2 vodka cranberries that I downed probably didn't hurt either. Well, besides the fact that they caused me to blow a .06, my highest score ever. Back to Mr. Liddell's buddy. I inquired if there was any way I could get an autograph or something because I'm a whore like that, and Mr. California told me he had one in his room (ha), at the Ritz (double ha), and he could leave it at the front desk for me so I could swing by and pick it up after work. Sounds good. Then we went off to VIP, where it took all my willpower to not throw caution to the wind and have crazy illegal VIP sex then and there. I have never even had the slightest urge to be sexual (in the honest sense) with any of my VIPs, but I really want(ed) to fuck this guy. Augh. After work I was feeling a bit...adventurous, so I decided to stop by the Ritz and check things out. The thing was, I had lost the little slip of paper with the guy's name and (gulp) room number, so I had no idea how to contact him. It didn't help that it was 3:30 in the morning, and I looked like a baby prostitute wearing a June Cleaver dress. The front desk lady was a bit apprehensive, mostly because all I was able to give her was a first name, and I kept asking about an autographed t-shirt. So, the outing ended in failure and disappointment, only slightly remedied by making it home and counting my $100s. Ah well.