Chapter One: An Innocuous Plea to Get You on My Side (Even Though I Have Nothing to Offer, Like the People I Will Be in Immediate Contact with Might)
I am neither saint nor devil. I am not here nor there. I don't exist in the classical sense, yet I am part of your peripherals. I am nothing and everything. I am Herman Hesse's Abraxas; Earth Mother, troglodyte and demon deity. My predictions on football (read: soccer) are top notch, bar none and all-encompassing truths. I know a thing or two.
I also know that light switches need to be clicked up and down at least three times before we are sure they are properly turned off. Maybe I have some compulsions, maybe I don't. Whatever I got, works for me.
I've had the small journalistic fortune to be awarded certain jobs by my sheriffs that stem completely out of my norm. As much as I'd like to liken myself to Stephen King's "Gunslinger" in the Dark Tower series or to Zane (Xanathos) in Pierce Anthony's Incarnations of Immortality opus, I'm but a shadow cast in late August.
Bottom line is, I'm the last guy you'd like involved in the midst of violent gonad purges. Aside from ostensibly pretentious musings of the high order concerning pornography; know this my sweet readers, all three of you: I have nothing against this multi-million enterprise.
See also:
- Photos: Exxxotica 2013 at Broward County Convention Center (NSFW)
- Ten Best Stripper Dance Moves of Exxxotica 2013 in Animated GIFs (NSFW)
I just thought there would be a certain "industrial freezing" concerning my involvement. So as I type these words at two a.m. on the first Friday of the EXXXotica Expo convening upon our Fort La-Dee-Da shores, I'm more worried about the germs brought on by convention-goers than the seemingly "petri dish" disasters the featured entertainers might harbor.
Those bathrooms better be clean!!! I hope I don't implode from my obsessive compulsive disorders, and most certainly, not before I register a photo-op, or two with some of my favorite (albeit at a safe computer monitor distance) adult entertainers!
Chapter Two: Maybe I'm Not as Obsessive and/or Compulsive as I Thought I Was (Following My Instincts, I Eventually Learn How to Shut the Fuck Up)
With my youngest brother Chaz in tow, I made my way to the Convention Center at around three in the afternoon on Saturday. I was very impressed by the security measures in place at Port Everglades, and was feeling a little better about the whole affair, though I did have my trusty black jacket; you know, so I could keep my hands to myself.
The media check-in was a smooth operation, and in no time at all I was walking around the many booths within the expo area, enjoying the sounds of what seemed like two or three different DJs and taking in the sights. Note that my original apprehension to visiting this event was in the people that I'd encounter therein. To my surprise I did not detect anyone who could fall into the "I live in my mother's basement and the only light I see, is the soft glow of computer monitor titties while I rub one out" category.
That was reassuring since I had a highly ridiculous sneaking suspicion that everything was covered in jizz.
Well, everything was not covered in jizz, per se, but there were a lot of cocks in the midst. Consider the following images:
Which is okay, I guess... Not necessarily the friendliest apparition there on the left. And then I encountered this misleading family friendly piece:
No chorus of scantily-clad women could ever convince me to ride that thing. Sorry. Giant pink dicks are not my thing.
Slightly flabbergasted by the menacing visuals, I made my way through some of the booths, keeping casual contact with Expo-goers to a minimum by maintaining my hands inside my jacket pockets at all times. And then a Q&A panel came aboard on the main stage featuring our pal Gianna Michaels and Evan Stone dressed as an officer of the piece. The strip-dancing version, I guess. All the faith I had conscripted to the diligent BSO deputies upon entry was beginning to wane.
The Q&A was interesting, nine actors and actresses shared a microphone and answered questions from the crowd and everything was moving along at a rather brisk pace, until some genius decided to ask something along the lines of "craziest" or "weirdest" experience.
Gianna reiterated what she had told us about her clumsiness on heels and then the microphone landed in the hands of Bonnie Rotten. Well, if I had managed to course the expo until then without having a serious attack of the "germies," that was going to come to a violent and sudden end.
The scenario she relayed to us involved strawberries and whipped cream crammed into her ass, getting some anal action and then shitting the enterprise unto someone else. While I understand that there is a fetish for everyone, this one is not it for me.
And then the other shoe dropped.
Apparently, homegirl had some strawberry particles up her bum for approximately three days. "Hey hon, did you spray a new Febreze scent in the bathroom? It smells like summer in here!," she recounted.
When my bro commented that I was turning blue, I knew then that it was time to go, but not before Sean Michaels mentioned the dreaded "rim job" and Evan Stone closed it with the "double vag, double anal" all while gesturing and scowling his maniacal and all-knowing expression letting the attendees reflect on the consequences of double-dick matchups in close quarters.
Final Thoughts
I clearly have an unreasonable expectation of germs and people. Porn-lovers are not squalid orcs who mine away in dungeons covered in their own excretions. I should've not allowed such a ridiculous a thought the time of day in my brain. For that, I apologize. On that same token, the industry does take safety and precautionary methods to ensure the well-being of its stars. Clearly, regardless of what bukkake mess I've stumbled upon in the past, they too are not continuously covered in jizz. As far as to how the bathrooms fared after Expo-goers converged on the Convention Center, I'll never be able to report.
My strategy of not consuming liquids paid off and potential dehydration was staved off by the numerous, luscious visuals that maintained a controlled and tactful amount of salivation going. Next year, I'll leave the jacket at home, shake some hands and make some new friends! However, it will be a while before I enjoy myself a nice and cold strawberry shake.
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