Sirens of Treasure Island

Bonus story from “Weird Las Vegas”

   Lip-synching, dancing, acrobatics, and explosions of fire and light, be damned. There was a man there on the deck of that haunted pirate ship - A living breathing man.

   Perhaps it’s just the heroic empath in me, I’ve been accused of being such things before, but I was wishing with all my might that it were me that wretched moonlit night, and not him.

   No man should be made to suffer such atrocities, but if the fates commanded some hapless individual be sacrificed, then I would have selflessly traded places with this man.

   The poor soul I speak of is Eros, a simple skiff sailor. The innocent Eros was out at sea one dark night meaning no harm to anyone, when suddenly he became an unwitting captive - a victim of hypnotic effects of the Sirens of Treasure Island.

    There he stood, helpless against a dozen young nubile temptresses. Trapped under whatever fiendish control these women wielded over him. My heart ached for him. If only these hellcats had grabbed me, and not that sad unfortunate bloke, perhaps I would have had a chance. A chance poor Eros never had.

   I would have given those saucy sea wenches a good what-for had they tried any of their salty shenanigans on me. I can only imagine the kind of comeuppance I would have delivered on this bevy of briny beauties, had they the audacity to dance suggestively around me, ripping my shirt open, and running their long and stylishly manicured fingernails against my heaving, masculine chest.

   “Do your worst you lascivious lasses,” I would bellow courageously as they wound the thick rope around my wrist, and over my head, attaching it securely to the ship’s mast, “You can try night after night, all at once, or one at a time, but you will never get me to satisfy all of your cruel and lusty desires! If it takes 50 years of this torture, and it very well may, I will escape, and you will all come to know me as a man not to be taken lightly!”

   The fact that their hard taut fresh bodies were poured into short shorts, tattered skirts, high-heeled boots, fishnet stockings and leather bustiers would only strengthen my resolve to escape my bonds and report these lawbreakers to the Coast Guard.

   Their long silky hair would beat against me as they pranced around in unbridled exuberance, yet never would it weaken my doggedness to take on the entire girl gang and march their barely thonged behinds to nearest brig, as soon as I had given each of them a severe tongue lashing.

   At some point during the night, some male pirates from a distant ship swam over, and there was a lot more dancing, fire and loud music, but it was hard to pay attention to all that because my mind was so transfixed on not allowing these determined hussies to make me a slave of their carnal whims.

  I was horrified to learn that this wanton lawlessness goes on every night (weather permitting) at 5:30, 7:00, 8:30 and 10:00 pm in the Siren’s Cove outside the Treasure Island Hotel and Casino.

   I looked around at the crowd as the Sirens left their ship, and sashayed into the casino, and I saw the same fiery fortitude in the eyes of most men in the crowd as my own eyes surely displayed. Good stout men, all.

   It was a relief to know that there are men like me out there. Brave men, fearless men, men who would be rushing to the nearest fantasy lingerie store to see if they can’t get their significant other to wear a little something different in bed that night.