Las Vegas – Early 2014.
This lay report is taken from my textbook Street Hustle.
It had been a long weekend. The scorching desert heat had made short work of us. First the dusty drive from LA to Vegas to teach a six-man bootcamp, then two days running up and down the Strip hustling with the students in the Nevada sun.
As alluring as the ringing of the slot machines or a full flush in poker was, we were all there for a much more exhilarating game altogether. It wasn’t about hustling the casinos for their cash, but hustling girls for sex. Sin City has it all – tall, short, blonde, brunette, plastic or real. A Street Hustler’s jackpot.
The six students, two other instructors (Dave and Jon) plus myself had kicked off the weekend training with a briefing around a table in a small conference room at the back of Paris casino where we were staying. I felt like a General planning the D-Day landings as I poured through my flip-chart, explaining the seduction model and key logistics.
By the end of the second day, we realised that we’d overestimated how many daygame sets there’d be for the students to open on the Strip. During the day there were far too many families and elderly couples shuffling along the pavement. We decided to extend the bootcamp by taking the students to Château nightclub in our casino, to finish with a bang.
To get into the club we had to reserve a table and hire suits, because they weren’t keen on letting nine guys in as regular punters. None of the instructors were fans of club game, but we needed to find more girls for the students to practice on. We had to queue up to get in, queue up again for the privilege of buying drinks, and I quickly remembered why I didn’t like night game – all that shouting to be heard, the high energy needed to entertain the girls, and the provider guys sitting at their tables like fat hippos in the mud trying to lure girls in with champagne. It all seemed like a mug’s game.
It must be said, though, that the club was full of hot targets, so the students had lots of opportunities to open. Coaching was easier on the outdoor terrace of the club where the noise was low enough to run verbal game and I could demo and critique. The view from the terrace down onto the Strip was spectacular, with the dancing fountains of the Bellagio opposite, the faux Eiffel Tower in front of us, and Vegas twinkling with a million neon lights.
By 2am the bootcamp was winding down. The instructors and I had cigars and whiskey to celebrate how far we’d come in the three years we’d been teaching pickup – from humble beginnings cobbling together clients in London, to a sold-out tour of the USA. My co-instructor Jon suggested going across the road to the Cosmopolitan casino, so that he could flex his poker playing muscles. In its own way, poker had brought him to this strange lifestyle, and now with a beautiful girl he was dating at his side as well, he had gotten his cake and was thoroughly enjoying eating it.
Dave and I were up for some Gutter Game on the late night casino floors whilst Jon played his poker. Watching the students open so many hot girls all weekend had gotten us hungry for targets ourselves. The three of us walked into the Cosmopolitan, with Jon’s girlfriend in tow, like men on a mission.
Our spirits were high as we moved between the gambling tables and the bars under the glitzy chandeliers and mirrored walls. Within seconds of entering, Jon pointed out a slim brunette who was heading from the casino nightclub towards the exit. She was stunning, with high heels and a tight skirt (Jon always did have good taste). All eyes were on me as I started moving in her direction. “Just a warm-up” I thought.
The commanding front stop worked well. She paused dead in her tracks as I appeared directly in front of her. Our eyes locked, and there was a spark of sexual tension from the start. The CCTV camera operators in the casino must have wondered what was going on.
Her eyes widened as I delivered the compliment, then she giggled as I accused her of walking like a bird because of her heels. She said she was impressed by the boldness of the stop and the cheekiness of it all. Soon enough, the conversation evolved. She’d been in the club all night with friends from California, and had been approached a lot by an endless stream of drunk guys hitting on her. She had left the club because her feet were hurting and she wanted some air.
I thought I’d struck gold when she seemed so dazzled by my approach. I presumed that it was in the bag, and I just had to ride it out. But an experienced hustler should know never to predict the outcome of a heist, however straightforward it seems. My first mistake of the night.
I suggested a “quick drink”, she agreed, and we headed outside as my smiling friends looked on. I soon learned that she was staying at the Planet Hollywood casino across the Strip, next to Paris, so the bounce was simple.
We sat at a bar in the middle of the casino sipping cocktails amongst badly-camouflaged hookers and guys grabbing one for the road (in both senses). I began dialling down the attraction material, running standard rapport and getting her to tell me about herself. It turned out that she was in her early twenties and a yoga teacher in LA. She was in Vegas for a weekend with a group of friends who were still in the club. So far so good.
Gutter Game is always a fine balance between escalating fast and building necessary trust. Imagine it like running around naked on a frozen lake: unstable at best, blue balls at worst. I made sure of spiking things out of comfort every so often, using Strawberry Fields to take things from social to sexual fast, constantly checking to see if there were any amber lights to move things towards seduction.
She seemed into it one minute, then distant and closed the next. I had to start getting things physical to see how much compliance I really had. Inspecting her tattoos and jewellery was the perfect way in, and – because she didn’t back off – I moved on to holding her hand and laying on some deep eye contact.
There was a possible spanner in the works though, and it wasn’t all that surprising when she mentioned that she had a guy back home. I could see the mental battle between her forebrain and hindbrain written all over her face. Loyal girlfriend or Secret Society adventure? I had no idea which one would triumph.
I felt things slipping away as the clock moved towards 3am. My instincts told me to pull; to lead and escalate. Holding deep eye contact I moved forward and kissed her, making out as the other bar punters grinned around us. It was definitely time to bounce.
For plausibility I suggested “one last drink” in Paris casino next door, knowing that there I’d have control of logistics with an empty room. As soon as we reached the door of Paris, she shook her head and said she wanted to go back to hers. Sometimes in Game you have to lose the battle to win the war, so I grudgingly agreed and we retraced our steps back to Planet Hollywood.
The window of opportunity for the lay was getting shorter and shorter, like the skirts of the girls falling drunk into taxis with guys at this time of night. As we found ourselves back on the casino floor, she told me about her gay friend who might well be sleeping in her room by this point in the night. I knew I had to give it a last shot and burn the set to the ground, so in true Vegas style I put all my chips on one final move.
I gave no reason, but I told her to show me her room. She didn’t verbally respond, but just started heading to the back of the casino. Giving the girl the power to lead is usually the wrong move, and in this case I immediately thought I’d messed up as we seemed lost in the intentionally confusing maze of slots, tables, corridors and lifts.
My luck changed as the elevator doors opened and we were just feet away from her room. So she did know where she was going, after all. I was so tantalisingly close now that I could almost see her naked. We just had to take the key, open the door, and rip each other’s clothes off. Easy.
I waited for her take out the key from her purse… then I waited some more…only to then get a sheepish shrug and a wry smile as she presented her empty bag to me, as if she was some sort of shitty magician. She didn’t have the key. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!
Defeated, she slumped against the wall and decided to wait until her friends came back. If there is such a thing as a “walk of shame” after sex, there also is a walk of horniness before sex—where you will move oceans if necessary to get laid. I snapped to my senses and took the reins once more. “Let’s go down to reception and get another card” I said, pulling her up.
It felt like my luck had run out. The seductive bubble we’d had when flirting and kissing had burst. She was agitated about getting into her room, and I was trying badly to look composed and hide my horniness as we rode the elevator down to reception.
More bad luck—her name wasn’t on the hotel register; only her friend’s was. Staff said they’d accompany her upstairs and let her in if she could identify some of her luggage. Two burly female security guards came up with us, both of them staring suspiciously at me. I played the White Knight, and added that I was just making sure she got back safe from the club.
Back at the room one of the security guards opened the door, went inside, and came out seconds later with a puzzled look on her face. “Maaam, there’s a male sleeping on one of the beds, do you know who that might be?” she asked. As I heard this, my brain had gone to DEFCON-4 and was melting under the pressure. She went with them inside to identify the mystery male.
Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be the prophesied friend, now smelling of every liquor to be found on the Strip, lying nearly-naked face down, completely oblivious to the world. Fortunately, though, the room had two double beds.
After identifying some of her cosmetics in the bathroom, the guards finally left. “Let’s wake him up and carry on drinking” the girl beamed, once again self-sabotaging the lay. Girls will often try to derail the train at the last minute as their forebrain-hindbrain conflict kicks into overdrive. She shrieked with joy as she tried to wake the gay guy up by spanking the bright orange retina-burning speedos he had on. I got ready to walk.
Luckily the guy was completely out for the count, and she’d burnt herself out with all the giggling. I went over to the large windows looking down onto the neon madness of the Strip and closed the curtains. Time to pull the trigger.
We collapsed onto the second double bed, her kicking off her heels and snuggling up to me. “Only sleeping” she said with a smile, at the same time initiating kissing and hand wandering. Classic token LMR requiring two steps forward, one step back. The make-outs turned to biting and hair pulling as I pressed my leg into her crotch, hitching up her skirt. The small moans and groans signalled that it was time to put all my cards on the table.
I took off my trousers, telling her I was “too hot” as we got under the duvet. Pulling aside her panties I fingered her until she was gasping. With my boxers off, I entered her, soaking wet, her tight yoga instructor body underneath me. The sex was loud and explosive after all the build-up.
As dawn broke over Sin City I picked up my crumpled clothes from the floor, got dressed in the half light leaving her sleeping and stumbled out of the room into the elevator. Glimpsing my dishevelled state in the shiny mirrored panels, a wide victorious smile broke across my face. Gotta love the hustle.