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Bless me, Vegas, for I have sinned

The other week, in a room at the Rumor Hotel, I punched, slapped and choked a man for fifteen minutes straight, despite his pathetic begging and pleading for me to stop. In fact, his desperate mewling only served to irritate me, and cause me to hit him harder. Then I stepped on this throat…with my full weight, feeling his vocal chords crunching beneath the arch of my foot.

Granted, he was paying me to do it – it was a photographer who had hired me to shoot for his muscle fetish site, where guys who are into strong women can watch videos of chicks crushing men between their steely thighs, etc. He was in town for the Mr. Olympia bodybuilding show, hoping to lure professional female fitness competitors into his studio/hotel room. Instead, he got me.

Lucky bastard!

Our shoot started out innocuously enough, with footage of me in cute gym clothes, flexing my girly biceps and smiling at the camera. But by the end of the shoot, you could see he was all worked up, and that’s when he asked if I’d do him a special favor and kick the shit out of him for 15 minutes. Of course, there was an additional fee involved.

Hells, yeah!

When was the last time you got paid to beat up your boss?! This poor schmuck served as a stand-in for all the seedy, pervy photographers I’ve dealt with over the last few years, and I really let him have it. I’m here to tell you: Crossfit ain’t got nothing on a good beat-down. I was totally winded and drenched in sweat by the end of that 15 minutes. And so was he. He didn’t get off or anything – he told me afterward he was in too much pain to be aroused – but he definitely enjoyed it. So much so that he asked if he could call me next time he’s in town. LOL!

But I still felt bad about it. I mean, I’m a lover not a fighter. Even though I’d done it as a favor to him, my karma felt all messed up after that, so I thought I should use this forum to air out my sins. And while I’m at it, let me confess to a few more sins I’ve committed in various Vegas hotel rooms.

Forgive me, Alexis Park Resort: I kicked a man in the balls in one of your rooms about six months ago. Repeatedly. The sound of his bare nutsack slapping against the toe of my black patent leather pump is a sound I won’t soon forget.

While I’m at it, I also owe the Westin Casuarina an apology, for it was there that I kicked another man in the nuts last year. Believe it or not, ball-busting is a popular fetish for some guys, one for which I get hired with astonishing frequency.

In fact, let me go ahead and offer a preemptive apology to the MGM Signature Tower. I’m headed there next Friday to kick some new sap in the scrote. See ya soon!

While I’m at it: sorry, Imperial Palace – I mean Quad – for karate-chopping that French Canadian dude over and over in one of your delightful penthouses.

Sorry, Luxor, for dominating and abusing that poor shlub under your gently sloping walls.

Sorry, Palace Station, for….everything.

It’s not all lollipops and nut-kickery, though. I also owe many hotel rooms an apology for perching my bare ass on various furnishings – furnishings which are not routinely cleaned by housekeeping – over the course of my four-plus years as an “artistic” nude model. I can’t tell you how many aspiring Helmut Newtons have had me pose on the windowsill, the desk, the desk chair, the headboard and pretty much every other spot you can think of. So here’s a bulk apology to all the hotels whose rooms I’ve ever modeled in: Mandalay Bay, Excalibur, New York-New York, Monte Carlo, Aria, Cosmopolitan, Bellagio, Caesars, Treasure Island, Circus Circus, Stratosphere, Hard Rock, Palms Place, Rio, Plaza, Palazzo, Harrahs, Bally’s, Paris, P. Ho, MGM…and countless timeshares.

And Hooters. How could I forget Hooters? Forgive me, guys.

The truth is, there aren’t many hotels in town I haven’t befouled with my naked presence (I always say I’ve been in more hotel rooms than a hooker, and it’s true). Looking back at the list I just typed, I see I somehow skipped The Mirage. Well, not to worry…I have a shoot booked there on the 22nd.

My apologies in advance for what ends up happening there.

SARAH JANE WOODALL is a one-woman culture festival. Read more at her blog,