Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

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It had been a little more than a year since my hip replacement surgery, and now that I could walk again pain free, I'd been making up for lost time working hard and having fun. When Annie Sprinkle called and asked me to be on her panel at the World Pornography Conference, I'd declined, wanting to spend August in the Pines at Fire Island. Then over lunch with Candida Royalle, she asked if I planned to attend. When I said no, she said I'd been out of the loop far too long and that I owed it to myself and the people in the sex industry to show up at such an important event. She can be very persuasive, and I finally agreed to be on her panel. Next I called Annie to tell her I'd join hers, and then made my reservations.

The Conference was sponsored by the Center for Sex Research at California State University, Northridge. James Elias and Vern Bullough, the Center's Directors had the adult entertainment industry's Free Speech Coalition as their cosponsor. They wanted to bring academics and people in the sex industry together in the hope that everyone would all benefit from meeting and talking to one another. I straddled both categories. Since I'm a sex educator with a Ph.D. in sexology, I qualify as an academic. Teaching sex by doing sex and making videos about my work, also qualifies me as a person in the sex industry. This fascinating combination of people would be together at the Sheraton Universal Hotel in Universal City, Los Angeles from August 6 to 9,1998.

Annie Sprinkle was my roommate, and we had a lot of catching up to do since she'd moved to Sausalito. For years she'd been my neighbor in New York City so we saw each other a lot in the hood. Our splendid hotel room overlooked the swimming pool and the valley with mountains off in the distance. One side of the closet was filled with Annie's elaborate Drag Queen's gowns, and very high heels. The chest was covered with her exotic wigs, gobs of makeup, lots of jewels and feather boas. My side was Ms. Virgo Simplicity herself with only three very smart interchangeable outfits. Our contrasting styles tickled us both. [PIC Annie Sprinkle and Betty]

Annie and Candice were hosting the opening night entertainment called, Pornocopia: Our Body of Work. Veronica Hart was the Production Manager and she did one hell of a job. They all did. There was a star studded cast with performers like Nina Hartly, Veronica Vera, Carol Queen, Richard Pacheco, Geoffrey Karen Dior, Dr. Susan Block, and singer Candy Kane, who turned out to be a delight. When I got on the elevator to go to the roof garden, a very large woman dressed to kill with her abundant tits pushed up under her chin was standing there. One look, and I said, "I bet we're going to the same place," and she smiled shyly. Later when she opened her mouth to sing, Candy belted out a couple of songs with a dialogue about what it was like to be fat, openly bisexual, and determined to make it in show biz. She was great.

Getting off the elevator, I moved into the swarm of people who embraced me with hugs, and kisses-all happy to see me again. After nearly six years, it was thrilling to be back with my friends and colleagues. Sandra Cole of academic fame bought me a drink. When Nina Hartly and her wife Bobby Lilly saw me, Nina dropped to her knees saying, "Why couldn't you have been my mother?" When I went to enter the large room, a security guard asked to see my badge, and when I said I'd left it in the room, he said it was okay since I was Nina Hartley's mother. Later in the conference, I was mistaken for Annie Sprinkle's mom who was actually at the conference.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the conference was the mixture of porn stars, academics, sex educators, therapists, and first amendment lawyers, all of us fairly isolated in our work. Even a doctor or lawyer who specializes in the field of sexuality is held suspect by his or her other colleagues. In America, sex remains on the level of a dirty joke at best, unmentionable at worst. We are a nation of sexually embarrassed wimps. So all of us getting together was more like a love feast than a conference. We totally approved of one another, we admired our efforts, we mutually honored the valuable front line work we were doing, and we knew sex was at the heart of the freedom to choose. The people I spoke to from Australia, England, Germany, and Poland had their problems with sex too, but not the hypocritical stuff we put up with here in America.

There I was with all my old friends, many of whom I'd had sex with, and being a slutty Grandmother, making dates with the ones I'd missed. Marianna Beck and Jack Hafferkamp from Libido were there to present the history of porn. Since Jack had grown his hair back, several times during the conference I cruised him before realizing I knew him. Burton Joseph, one of Playboy's first amendment lawyers, was there with his attractive wife, so I was cruising both of them. Carol Queen was performing and her faithful partner Robert Morgan was by her side. Besides loving and adoring them, I consider them family. Surrounded by my favorite sex positive people was heady stuff indeed. I'd love to live like that all the time.

The performers in the opening show were wildly applauded by the audience who was prepared to have a good time. Also there was a full moon. When I saw Richard Pacheco on stage that night, I remembered meeting him in New York at one of Gloria Leonard's parties. We'd had a conversation about the possibility of my making some porn movies. Instead, I'd ended up doing erotic sex-ed videos, so I made a mental note to catch up with him later and tell him I'd followed through with some of his suggestions.

My gal friend Kim Airs who owns and runs Grand Opening, a sex shop in Boston had brought her exotic wares to sell. She's a master cross dresser. Her male persona is a big rowdy guy with a black mustache who smokes cigars, and wants only one thing from a woman-a blow job. Kim had shown me pictures of herself as Leo DeGennaro, but I'd never met him in person. After the show was over, Leo and I started an impromptu performance of our own. He came up to me leering and cupping his crotch, so I asked if he wanted his dick sucked? Down went the zipper with Leo holding his latest penis. It was made out of this new stuff that really feels real and stretches like mad. Taking hold of his dick, I pulled it three feet up to my mouth, sucked a bit, and then let it go. The pink thing snapped back into place as people howled.

After the show, Leo and I went to a party being held in Jeffrey Douglas' room; he was one of the noted first amendment lawyers. As we entered, I saw Richard Pacheco sitting in an easy chair in the corner all alone. Instantly, I moved through the crowd of people, climbed into his lap and snuggled down. "You may not remember," I said in his ear, "but we met at a party in New York where we had an interesting conversation about porn movies."

Richard asked my name, and when I told him, he claimed I was one of his heroes, or something complementary like that. When I introduced him to Leo, I commented on his fabulous stories in Spectator. When I asked if he was working on a book, I heard an all too familiar story-the goddamn conservative publishing industry wouldn't take a chance on an autobiographical book by a porn star. In the eighties, I hadn't been able to get my sexual memoir published either. Seems the corporate publishing world is scared shitless of a sex professional revealing what a real liberated sex life could be and what sexual crumbs most people have to be satisfied with.

Leo, my fickle date roamed off looking for trouble so I began describing the process of self-publishing to Richard. If he took that route, I promised to guide him through the maze. Now with the Internet available, books could be sold quite easily. He listened, nodding his head in agreement. Then my dear friend, Kat Sunlove, publisher of Spectator, San Francisco's sex newspaper, joined us. For the next hour or more, the three of us sat together simply telling sexual truths:

Kat reminisced about the night a group of women came back to my place after a NOW conference where we'd all shown up to represent sex positive feminists. There were at least twelve of us, and at Veronica Vera's urging, I broke out a case of electric vibrators so we could celebrate with a few orgasms. Kat said she remembered that night well because she'd had her most profound orgasm ever while making eye contact with me. Her memory had us coming at the same time, standing up, dancing with our vibrators.

Since we were telling the truth, I admitted I didn't remember. I'd done that with literally hundreds, maybe thousands of women in all the workshops I'd run for nearly three decades. Perhaps one of the disadvantages of sharing sexual intimacy with so many is that the memories start to blend together. Oh, I can pull out visual snippets, vignettes, and I recall some parts of that evening like when Nina made a comment as to what exactly was the proper sexual etiquette to interact with a woman when she was vibrating? I said watching was always great, sometimes touching could enhance her pleasure, but to make sure, you'd have to ask. A visual memory was looking across my living room and seeing Dolores French's beautiful large abundant white thigh quivering just before she came. And I do remember making eye contact with Kat, but I had no visual memory of her "best orgasm." We all agreed not remembering each incident was a small price to pay for the grand reward of having shared so much sexual intimacy with so many women.

Then I had a wild insight as to a possible reason I'd worn out my hip joints. All those years of standing up, going around the circle, stopping in front of each woman and making eye contact while I pulled up my sexual energy to encourage her to do the same was putting out some marathon energy and major psychic vibes! Woman after woman, I was bringing up my sex energy without grounding it. Looking at sex energy as electricity, I was circulating the current between my clit and my third eye while I pumped with my pelvis grinding those little hip joints forward and back, forward and back, until I'd gone to everyone in the group which ranged between 10 and 15 women. Afterward when I lay down to have my orgasm, it was a minor event because by that time, I'd used up most of my juice. Add that to getting up and down off the floor a zillion times. Another small price to pay for the grand reward of having shared so much sexual intimacy with so many women.

Well, my theory is pure speculation, but we agreed we'd all paid a price to do professional sex. Richard as a porn star, Kat as a Dominatrix, and publisher of a sex newspaper, and me as sexual workshop leader. Once you get paid for sex, everything changes. We're ostracized by polite society, and while we're idolized by some, having a public sex life makes us different, not quite legitimate. I admitted sex was better when I got paid for it, but both Kat and Richard said only sometimes. They're both living with significant others, and Richard's raising children, so their lives are far different than mine as a committed single. Still we shared so many things in common that my love for them was profound.

The next morning when I woke up, my first realization was, "I'd confused Richard with someone else." Instead of feeling embarrassed about my bold behavior of climbing into his lap, I simply smiled. There was something about the vibes I got off him that could only be compared to unconditional love. Times like that make me believe in past lives. Richard was my darling little boy, my best friend, my adoring sexy prince. That afternoon when I ran into him, I learned he thought my girlfriend Kim was really a guy! This sophisticated ex-porn star hadn't picked up on a female to male cross-dresser. Then I doubled over when he told me he thought Leo was my son. I seemed to care for him so much, and he was so homely, it was a face only a mother could love. Later when he met Kim, and we told her the story, we all had another great belly laugh.

My first panel was moderated by Candida Royalle titled: Women and Pornography: Victims or Visionaries. Several times already, I'd thanked Candida for insisting I show up at the conference. Sitting with me were Nina Hartley, Annie Sprinkle, Juli Ashton, and Veronica Hart. My opening statement was how I'd gotten a late start in the biz by having my first orgasm in front of the camera at age sixty. People loved an older woman who was still sexual. As became evident, all of the porn stars including Granny Dodson were definitely visionaries.

My last panel, moderated by Annie Sprinkle, was called: The Pleasure, Profits, and Politics of Creating New Genres: Visionary Erotica and Pornography. This panel was my favorite because we actually talked about the business of distributing our own products. Since I'm the distributor of my erotic sex-ed videos, it was inspiring to hear Joseph Kramer, Debi Sundahl, Candida Royalle, and Nan Kinney share their experiences of having to get their products out into the world because no one else would. Brave little independent companies forging ahead through the maze of business and red tape believing in their message. We not only inspired each other, but others in the audience as well.

There was a wide variety of other workshops going on from "Victorian Pornography" to "The Scope of the Internet Market." At the Awards Luncheon in the Grand Ballroom, Stanley Fleishman was honored as a pioneer in the area of First Amendment Rights. That was followed by a keynote presentation by Nadine Strossen, National President of the American Civil Liberties Union. She has been one of my heroes for years, and I got goose bumps when she gave us a pep talk. She said we were the people who had for decades, been battling for free expression, not only for the benefit of sexual entertainers, but for all the rest of society as well. She would keep defending pornography as long as people kept attacking it. What a woman! [PIC Betty, Nadine Strossen, ACLU, In Defense of Pornography, Kat Sunlove, publisher of Spectator, San Francisco's sex newspaper]

Later at the big cocktail party held on the lawn of the Hotel, I went up to Nadine to say hello. In her book, In Defense of Pornography, she'd mentioned me, so I figured she'd remember me, and she did. As we talked, I teased her by offering to be her humble assistant anytime-carry her bags, take notes, or help in anyway. She laughed and said knowing my expertise, since she was often away from her husband for long periods of time, perhaps she could benefit more from a few of my sex techniques. Nadine is so beautiful and smart and real, I admire her more each passing year.

One night we all went to Susan Block's house to do a radio and TV shoot. (See PORN-STARR! A Pornographer For Our Times.) Max, her partner had produced such outrageous X-rated material that, in the past, he'd been busted time and again. Now as Susan's producer, he was having a longer run. Susan is so damn intelligent it sometimes scares me. But I also worry about her frivolous attire masking the brilliance of her mind. To be interviewed by her, you have to climb into her messy bed that's filled with too many pillows, lots of sex toys, and femmy crap that was a bit off putting to a neatnik like me. Anyway, Richard and I had agreed that on my signal, he'd crawl up into bed and give me a blow job over my tights during my interview. It was goofy fun, and Susan loved it. Who wouldn't love a feisty old lady getting her crotch chewed on by this cute forty-something stud.

On the last day, there were over fifty porn stars on the stage and each came up to the mike to share something. Several people had said I should be on stage too because I'd had an orgasm in front of the camera when I shot the video about my workshop. Maybe it was because porn stars are so seldom honored that I didn't want to detract from their moment of glory. I'd been acknowledged plenty of times so I was comfortable remaining in the audience clapping for all these unsung heroes who had provided America with years and years of sexual entertainment and inspiration.

When Richard reached the mike, he told the audience the conference couldn't have started off better for him because on the first night, I'd fallen into his lap. Then he went on to say, "I think Betty Dodson is the most provocative woman of the twentieth century," whereupon the room broke out in applause. As I stood to wave at everyone, grinning, Richard up on stage, suddenly dropped his pants, took off his shorts, and threw them to a guy on the front row. "Pass these back to Betty," he said. "I don't want her to forget me."

As his black Fruit of the Loom briefs reached me, I held them to my face and inhaled deeply. The audience went wild with laughter. Then Richard went on to read, "The Death of Richard Pacecho" which was a piece he'd written about his retirement from the industry. This time he got a standing ovation, and I was clapping louder than all the rest.

Afterward, I made my way up to the front of the room to thank Richard for giving me such a wonderful public acknowledgment. Grabbing him for a big hug, I said I owed him a least a handjob. As we stood talking, he calmly unzipped his fly and pulled out his cute dick. Just as calmly, I took hold of it and held on as we continued our conversation. Right at that moment, a well-known older academic came up, introduced himself, and said he wanted to shake my hand.

"It would be my pleasure," I smiled, but first, I have to let go of Richard's cock." He looked down just as I released Richard penis which was then tucked back into his owner's pants. "I hope you're not homophobic," I said, reaching for his hand. The older gentleman smiled, and shook my hand with such enthusiasm, I suspected he'd fallen into love with Richard like I had-- like the entire conference of over a thousand people had. Richard Pacheco lives on in the hearts of many.

That Sunday night, a group of us went to Veronica Hart's home for a farewell party. Her husband is a great cook and the table was fabulous. There were a lot of techies from the film industry mixed in with the conference folks. Some were watching clips. Ron Jeremy had a slew of footage of him with different rock stars. At one point, Annie put on my forthcoming video, called Viva la Vulva, for those interested in watching. Candice came up to me and said Veronica's nephew was at the party, and she didn't want us to play any explicit stuff. She wanted to know what was on my tape?

"Pussies," I said. "Women talking about the relationship they're having with their genitals. I think it's the ideal material for a fourteen year old boy. If he's embarrassed by it, he'll simply leave the room." It was a huge three level house with space to move in. As soon as the first vulva filled the screen, my tape was quickly ejected. I had to laugh. I'd been censored at the World Pornography Conference by my sister porn stars.

When I got to New York, I was still so high from loving and being loved by everyone that I sat down and did a final edit on my memoir. My talk with Richard seemed to have fired me up as well. This time if a big publisher doesn't offer me a couple of hundred thousand dollars on an advance, I'm self-publishing once again. As I told Richard, the Internet is one big ongoing giant ad for independent publishers. For someone who's spent the best part of her life promoting independent orgasms, being an independent book publisher again would be very logical. Thanks to all the wonderful perverts at the World Pornography Conference for giving me such a shot in the clit. It was a time to be remembered.