The inevitable cell phone

A few friends and I took a trip to Las Vegas, and our second day in Sin City I went for a well-deserved day at the spa. Many people don’t know of the awesome day spas in Las Vegas hotels – a simple entry fee for luxurious hot tubs, steam rooms, dry saunas and more; clothing optional, of course.

Just before I drifted off in the hot water jets, my eyes caught something worthy of immediate attention: A handsome Hispanic man beneath the hot tub’s waterfall, letting the water cascade over his muscular body, wearing nothing but a rosary.

The rosary meant that he was Catholic, I thought, which meant he was straight, which meant he might kick my ass if he caught me staring at his unintentional exhibitionism. I yanked my mind out of the gutter – it wasn’t that kind of spa.

After a couple more hours trying to keep to myself, I decided to shower and call it a day. Just as I was about to enter a stall, I saw the man with the rosary a few rows down. I thought I’d been busted, but he smiled and nodded, signaling for me to join.

I normally didn’t do the “risky sex in public” thing. But I also didn’t normally come across guys who looked like him. It was Vegas; I needed to gamble. I stepped into his stall and he immediately pressed me to the wall, kissing passionately. We tried to make as little noise as possible. Limited by not having a condom, we did everything else.

As we innocently dried off in the locker area later, we talked. I learned about Tavio, an actor from Los Angeles that had been in several roles on TV and film, just getting his foot in the business. Normally this would have intimidated me even more, but he was calm, friendly and unassuming.

“I leave town tomorrow but I would like to see you again… tonight if possible,” he said.

I agreed almost too eagerly.

“What is your cell phone number?” Tavio asked.

Panic. “My phone just broke,” I lied. “Right before this vacation. I didn’t have time to get a new one before I flew out here.”

I managed to wrap up the tall tale by giving him one of my friend’s phone numbers. Only slightly wary of my story line, he shot that perfect grin, and left.

After the sun went down, my friends and I took a walk down the strip to take in the lights. My friend, Alisa, turned to me – “I almost forgot to tell you,” she said. “Your hot tub boy-toy from earlier called and said to call him back at this number.” She produced a piece of scratch paper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I hollered. “I need to call him. Give me your phone.”

“My phone’s dead,” Alisa said. “I swear, Scott, you need to get your own fucking cell phone.”

I begged the rest of our group for phone access, but everyone had left theirs at the hotel. I embarrassingly found a payphone.

Tavio answered. But the reception kept breaking up. He told me to meet him at a bar – I couldn’t understand when or where. The call dropped and nobody had change for a second attempt.

I stuck around another hour hoping my friends wouldn’t sense I wanted to abandon them for sex. Once I’d put in some time, I jumped in a taxi and escaped to the nearest gay bar.

Three bars later, I felt hopeless. But as I sifted through a dark crowd, Tavio’s face miraculously appeared. He grabbed me, teasing that I nearly stood him up. I tried to avoid any talk of phones and made out with him so everyone around us would see. He suggested going back to his hotel. And I got to enjoy Tavio the way such a man should be enjoyed: loudly, destroying a mattress.

Without touching a single slot machine, I left Vegas knowing I’d struck it big with a steamy actor – but wouldn’t always be so lucky. I had to buy a stupid cell phone.

First, though, I’d have to visit the video store to rent everything Tavio had been in.