So after the Fonzi scare, I walk across the bar to where there is a Karaoke room. As I was entering the room, a tanned, green-eyed man was coming out. He grabed my cocktail free hand and said "you do NOT want to go in there." I laughed and said: "No, I think you need to come IN with me." He smile and followed me back in. Among a room full of spandex, bleached hair, toothless smiles, broken dreams and lost hope, I found myself with Mr. Las Vegas. I call him that because as the usual "where do you work" conversation played out, he told me he was an FBI agent. I quickly called bull shit as I work with FBI Officers daily and for the most part, have seen them all. He asked if I wanted to see his badge in a flirty, beer goggle kind of haze. Of course! He busted it out and I verify that yes he is an official FBI Agent. I asked why I hadn't seen him before, and he quickly stated that it is because he works in Las Vegas and is only in town for training. I then show him my badge for comparison and he tells me I win the "pretty badge" award. I agree, ours is very colorful with the Federal Emblem of the Eagle and such.
Anyway, Las Vegas is hot...short, but hot. He shaves his head and obviously works out....I love having an excuse to touch biceps, legs and my favorite "traps." Anyway, after several long island ice teas and after listening to dogs howl, I begged him to sing "Islands in the Stream," with me. I could be Dolly and he could be Kenny Rogers. He refused. I tried again, using my all too familiar sweet whining. I got a laugh, but that was it. The night quickly came to an end and he walked me to my car. I felt 16 again, making out in a parking lot, butterfiles in my stomach and feeling young and sexy. I know I will never see Mr. Las Vegas again, but man what a fun night.
Lesson learned: Going to bars alone is a great way to meet men. If you go with someone else or are in a group, men feel intimidated and are less likely to start conversations with you.
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