Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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As I am writing this, I have not yet had a full night of sleep. Well, it’s more accurate to say, I haven’t had more than two hours a night for the last 5 days. You can do the math, cause I’m too tired.

Rewind to this past Friday night at the Adult Entertainment Expo in Las Vegas. At least I think it was Friday night.  I called my friends at Fleshlight to see what they were up to. They were having a private soiree in their suite at the Palms and invited me over for dinner and drinks.

My buddy called out my name from across the room as I entered the suite, “Lawrence!” It was a strangely triumphant moment - I had arrived; at the party at least. Stoya gave me a big hug. Evan and his girl Ruby said hi. There was a sea of porn stars milling about. There’s nothing like arriving at a private event, chock full of porn stars schmoozing with wealthy, frisky buyers. It’s a smooth combination of characters who are used to having their way.

The view from the suite is breathtaking.

There are little pockets of people. I was thinking about who to talk to next when Stoya introduced me to a porn star who expressed a ton of anger at AIM still being closed. I told her that I would like to interview her for a later blog. She said “absolutely.” Her boyfriend came up to us and said, “sorry man, there’s someone here from Wicked Films I want her to meet.” She was obsessed with her glossy lip line being perfect. She smiled at me, “how do I look?” Her hair was over colored, over teased. Her eye liner was way too strong, eye lashes too long. Overall, she looked like a porn star, but I don’t think that’s the question she was asking. “Your lips look fine.”

Actually, I love looking at details in faces. My mom taught me the ancient Chinese art of face reading. She learned it from a Chinese master who taught her all his secrets before he died. To entertain myself at the party, I began doing some random face reading and telling people what I saw.

I saw a business woman I chatted with earlier, surrounded by her friend and a porn star. They were a perfect target for my self amusement.

I started with the porn star since my friend was chatting intensely with another buyer. After about 5 minutes, she said she was getting nervous and that I “nailed” her perfectly. She said, “You’re my new bff.” She clung onto my arm tightly.

She was so vocal about her face reading that soon, I was encircled by ravenous partiers seeking insights into their past and future. I nailed them too.

A a wealthy buyer from Texas, in a huge cowboy hat, with hands twice the size of mine - asked me if I would read his face. He wanted to know if a porn star he was talking to was getting along to the point where a relationship would ensue. I assured him it would.

I felt like a little kid when his massive hand grabbed mine and pulled me to the pool table. My pool partner, my porn star, lifted her skirt and showed her ass every time she made any shot that required even modest bending over the table - which was pretty much every shot.

One of the buyers kept shooting photos of her exposed ass. She asked me to take a picture of her playing. I set it up, got the light right, and shot. “Wow,” she said, “you really know how to shoot.”

Everybody was pretty drunk so the pool games sucked. I don’t drink so I have no excuse; I just sucked.

Suddenly, my pool partner walks out the door as if she’s leaving. I go to the door to say goodbye, and she mouths the words silently - “come with me, now.”

“But I don’t have any of my stuff,” I protest. She looks at me pissed, “ do you want your stuff, or do you want this?” I find it hard to breathe for a second; I feel as if I'm being sucked into the eye of a giant porn-tornado. 

As I am swept into the center of the elevator by a stream of 10 porn stars, no jacket, no money, no bag, and no car keys, the noise was deafening from the screaming girls. My pool partner climbed the shoulders of one of the bigger guys with us to take a picture of an elevator full of porn stars - and me.

“Is my pussy showing?” she asks. I said “no, but I can see your cervix.” “That’s not funny,” she says.

Little did I know that “is my pussy showing?” would be the battle cry of the wee hours of the morning for a limo full of wasted porn stars.

In the limo, on the way to the first club, my porn star climbed head first into the limo driver’s passenger seat through a hole in the front. This time, I really did see her cervix.

Up in front, she pretended to be giving the driver head as the lights of the strip swept behind her silhouetted form bobbing up and down. It was epically cinematic. The driver laughed like a guy who just won the lotto.

The 10 minute ride was filled with squealing, screaming, and camera phone photos for Facebook. Every time a porn star moved from one part of the stretch limo Hummer to another, she’d scream, to no one in particular - “is my pussy showing? My pussy better not be showing.” They seemed quite serious about that question.

The funny thing is, as soon as the Hummer stopped, all 10 them stumbled out, one by one, and climbed up some steps. They grouped together, hiked their skirts up, and showed their pussies for a bunch of photographers.

A group of passers by stopped and gawked at the centipede of exposed ass. I put on my British accent and said to them “move along now, there’s nothing to see here. Move along.” They dispersed.

We get inside the club a few minutes later. At the front door - they asked me for ID. Of course, all my stuff was somewhere far away from me. Fortunately, I had just bought a fake ID with Brad Pitt’s picture on it as a joke to pull on the bank next time one of the tellers asked me for my ID. That’s all I had, so I just put it out there thinking to myself “These are not the droids you are looking for.”

The door guy looked at the ID, and he looked at me like I kinda looked familiar and waved me through.

Inside, the girls got more and more screechy and drunk. Men in alcohol drenched pussy trance, paused in front of our VIP area, waiting for something to happen, though I’m not sure what. It never did.

It got really interesting when my porn star got so drunk, she couldn’t stand on her own. She made me take her to the dance floor with some of the other girls. She held onto me like an injured football player hobbling off the field. An injured football player who grinds wildly against my thigh every time we stop moving, that is.

Some part of the motor cortex region of our brain - a part that keeps us breathing, and keeps our hearts beating as everything else begins to slow down before it all shuts down in a passed out sleep state - apparently is also responsible for keeping the skirt hiked down. My porn star did this on cue ever minute or so. Earlier she slurred, “is my pussy showing?” but now after shots and straight vodka from a bottle, she just slurry-giggled as her autonomic nervous system pulled her skirt down.

It was 3:30 in the morning when I finally got my porn star back to her room. I lifted her limp body into her bed, covered her with a blanky, and politely said good night. She mumbled something to me as I headed out the door, but I have no idea what.

I arrived at the fetish party at 4am. Several of my friends were there and very happy to see me. Greg from Njoy was showing his prototype anal probe - and there was heated discussion about whether or not the probe would feel good in a pussy.

A porn pal of mine, decided that she would determine if it was marketable to women through field research. She grabbed me and Greg and sat her butt on a little marble table. She had some blase guy hold her leg like a foot stool. She asked me to give some support to her stretched out, toe pointed other leg. She looked like an archer drawing the bow back with a stainless steel arrow.

Suddenly, she plunged the stainless object in and out, in and out, until finally, she began to moan, scream, and bang her head against the wall. A crowd gathered as the platinum, plunging, piercing, anal pleasure-wand made her scream. Her stretched out leg and pointed toes shook wildly as she kicked and bucked into orgasmic spasms. She kicked the guy holding her other leg into the wall.

Afterwords, she could barely speak.

Greg judged this test to be a great success, and people clinked their drinks all around.

All this orgasmic leg-holding wore me out, and it was already 5 am. As I’m saying goodnight to my friend Vera, a 6 foot tall Swedish girl, stumbles out of the bathroom and right into me - like a locus spattering against a windshield. It’s kinda startling. She’s begging me to fuck her right there. When I don’t respond in the way she wants, she slides off of me onto Vera, and starts radically humping her. “Can I touch your beautiful tits?” she says to Vera, after already mauling them for a  what seemed like hours. “Will you fuck me, please?” she says to Vera.

In the hallway, on my way out, I run into a group of 6 wildly dressed dominatrixes who ask me where I think I'm going.

“Uh, no where, I guess,” I said. “That’s right, bitch,” one of the girls said to me as they ushered me back down the long hallway and back to the party. “This party isn’t over till we say it’s over.”

Inside, they proceeded to tie, flog, wrestle, and slap one another around. The party was definitely not over.

One girl began to cry. She told me they were tears of joy that she could be pushed to her edge by people she loves so. “It takes me to someplace really deep inside,” she said. Then she asked me if her eye makeup was smeared. I told her it was. She just said, “oh well,” with blissful resignation.

A friend of mine ran up to me an gave me a hug. He seemed genuinely happy to find me still here at 7am. “I’m so happy,” he said. “I can truly be myself here. These are my people.” Then he paused, looked me directly in the eye and said, “you are my people.”

Sharing an exhausted, bleary eyed hug, looking around the room, the pink and blue hues of the sun rising outside, the Swede finally finding someone to fuck her in the corner, the dominatrixes slapping an Asian girl on the breasts, thighs and ass, while she passionately made out with her girlfriend, moans and laughter filling the room, I thought to myself, “yes, indeed, these are my people.”