Girl Gone Wild

Driving Miss Loki

By Loki Ferris

Someone's getting lucky tonight, I thought, as I sidled my way toward the three J. Crew winter catalog models who stood shoulder to shoulder with welcoming faces. The drizzle of snow that surrounded them disappeared along with my inhibition...

It was the First Friday of last November, and my gal pal Shawna and I had decided to hit up the Ice House Lounge to hang out, since we missed the earlier activities of the evening. It was a mixed, interesting crowd, and I was immediately at ease among those wearing polo shirts or concert tees. And no, it was not snowing. And no, they weren't really models, and they looked more Abercrombie than J. Crew, and I didn't sidle up to them. I actually overheard one of them speaking in a thick, sexy British accent.

I made eye contact with the Brit. Really cute, crystal blue eyes and a little dimple when he smiled. He had me as long as he kept talking.

"Check him out," I nudged Shawna. "The one in the middle's a Brit."

"Uh, oh. I didn't know you were an accent whore." She surveyed the trio. "They're all cute. But they look really square."

"Square shmare," I said, approaching their group and introducing myself. I immediately focused on the Brit, and he quickly became cuter, without the assistance of a third cosmopolitan. They all were quite cordial and funny, and I kept trying to get Shawna in on the action, but she wasn't as amused by them as I was. I couldn't understand it--they were all cute, clean, intelligent and smelled great. And they weren't local, so we didn't have to worry about running into them afterward.

As Shawna and I made other friends, I kept finding my way back to my trio of travelers, as if it was my duty to make sure they were enjoying Las Vegas. Shawna stayed away, chatting with some guys at the bar, none of them remotely attractive. I secretly wished for my friend Kate to appear, for she makes a great winggirl. It had been a month since I'd been laid, and here it was in abundance, but my friend wasn't helping.

The night was winding down and I stopped looking at my watch. Time was running out. My three menz were preparing to leave and so I regretfully said goodbye.

Oh well, I thought, it wasn't meant to be. Shawna was getting tired, my attempts at getting laid squelched, I had no reason to stay.

On our way out, the same three guys stood there, and I instantly lit up.

"What are you guys still here for?" I asked.

"We've been waiting all this time for a cab, and they're not stopping."

"Where are you guys staying?" Shawna asked.

"Monte Carlo."

"We'll give you a ride," she said.

Oh redemption! Shawna proved true. I'll give Mr. Brit a ride, all right, I thought.

The next sequence was a blur. I sat in the back seat with Brit and his friend, and we all flirted fabulously. I wondered who Shawna was going to pick. I don't remember what we were talking about next, but we were halfway to the Monte Carlo when she blurted out, "I can't stand when I go down on a woman and the bitch won't kiss me!"

I heard that record needle scratching abruptly on the vinyl. Dead silence.

The guys were gracious enough to laugh it off, but I was left feeling like perhaps she could have said something earlier. Here I am on my way to Big Ben and no quicker than I could say "God Save the Queen" in my best Cockney, Shawna had managed cockblocker status.

"I suppose you could have told me this at some time, your bisexuality," I said. Or is it lesbianism? The guys were quiet with anticipation--they were hoping, much like me, that it was the first.

"I've dated girls before," Shawna admitted.

"I see," I said, knowing very well that wasn't quite the answer we were waiting for. We sat in the driveway of the Monte Carlo and the guys got out. I said my goodbyes as Shawna sat behind the wheel.

"Are you coming up?" Brit asked. "My friends are going to the bar."

I looked at Shawna, looked at Brit, looked at Shawna with my best sad-puppy-dog look to no avail, and had to tell him no. I like to think it was still a ride he'll never forget.