By Terrence McCoy
By Scott Fishman
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Allie Conti
By New Times Staff
By Ryan Pfeffer
By Deirdra Funcheon
By Kyle Swenson
The Girls Gone Wild tour bus had pulled up to the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino, and inside Legends Theater, the video outfit had installed a small battalion of cameramen, a bald-headed host, and an old-school ploy to get women to expose themselves.
"Who was the genius who first convinced women that beads were the currency for showing their tits?" an angel-faced, smiling cutie asked me when the woman across from him flaunted her cheap, plastic baubles. He had come out to see local metal outfit Dark Star Revolt kick off the GGW event.
While the band played, metalhead women tossed their long hair in circles and conducted the musicians with devil-horn-shaped hands. None of the rockers, male or female, seemed to be interested in the bimbo ball that followed.
"So what exactly is supposed to happen tonight?" I asked. "Is it a show?"
"Nobody has any idea," Cutie Pie said. "It's just a vague iniquity of possible nudity."
Someone had been spending time with a thesaurus.
"It's a recruiting trip," Bauble Babe said. "They have professional girls that go from show to show."
The drink-slinging hotties were all dressed in GGW boy shorts and tank tops. I guessed those were the pros.
In the lobby bar, a jiggly Pocahontas sported gourds so ridiculously enlarged that their weight bowed her back. She was plainly using her ass as a counterbalance. She jittered the long fringe on her flesh-colored bikini top into a perpetual swish as she exuded a self-absorbed nervous energy that fed on attention. I pegged her as an amateur hoping to go pro.
On the dance floor, a hot-bodied honey in red velvet, hot shorts, and black cami top was going braless. The hardball-sized mounds were immobile even as she danced and strutted confidently in her clear plexi high heels. Surely one in the biz.
Uncharacteristically, I missed it when the first naked boobies made an appearance. On the stage, two slender women were dancing fully clothed while two black-clad camera guys trained their lenses on them.
"I just flashed to do it. I didn't know there were cameras," Tracy, a 35-year-old from Fort Lauderdale, claimed after being "lei-ed" by the Jägermeister girls after her stage performance.
Tracy had danced over and began grinding her ass in the direction of my crotch until her friend Doreen pulled her off.
"What are you doing?" Doreen admonished. "She's a reporter!"
It wasn't long, however, before Doreen herself was confiding details of her sex life, perhaps wanting to be part of an exposé on alternative lifestyles.
"We're swingers," she shouted over the music, putting a hard g in the word as she pointed to Tracy and two other girls on the dance floor.
"He doesn't know it," she said, gesturing to the bald-headed guy with a big, round belly and an even bigger smile, "but he's fucking all of us tonight."
"Well, not all tonight," he countered.
"Yeah, that's my boyfriend," Tracy boasted, still dancing.
Well, good for her.
And her. And her. And her.
Meanwhile, back on the stage, another boob was making an appearance. A young woman had tied her halter-top so that it was a sort of sling beneath her right breast. The exposed nipple glittered with body paint in the stage lights.
As Cyclops Tit and her two fly girls danced on stage, behind me, the guys were one-person deep around the upper level railing for the best view of girls who dared to bare. If I'd doled out 25 clams, I'd have made sure I got a good view of the little action there was too.
Lucky me, I got one of the few benefits that, I guess, helps equalize the wage divide: Girls got in free and could drink all we wanted from complimentary red plastic cups issued upon entry.
"Lose it and you're done," one of the many head-shaved, black-shirted bouncers had said when he handed it to me on my way in.
I didn't have a chance to show how well I could hold my liquor because I couldn't even hold onto the cup. I went to the bar for a beer instead, and when I returned, Pocahontas had been Westernized (appropriate on this Seminole land corrupted for the sins of the White folks). Now, she was wearing an aqua GGW tank (another reward for going wild) and revving an imaginary motorcycle as part of her dance routine.
When Pocahontas jumped onto a table, MC Cyrus saw his chance for a photo op and placed his hairless scalp freshly airbrushed with a Girls Gone Wild logo between the Indian princess' skull-sized orbs. The GGW camera crew jutted their equipment into the action, and Pocahontas grabbed her breasts and raised the left one to give it a lick.
Close to the action, I was immediately lost in a sea of camera phones. I guess it was all right. I mean, the sign on the door read "No flash photography." And since she was topless, she wasn't really flashing. Right?
The night wouldn't be complete without a dance contest. All the evening's wild ones assembled on stage a mere ten participants for this grand finale.