Sex and sex and sex and sex...
Thats what makes this town the best.
Things started out a little slowly for me at the Sexpo. I walked in and wandered past a parade of booths that featured art galleries, photo exhibits and a launch promotion for the Museum of Sex (opening next spring, 589 5th Avenue). No doubt, the museum will prove to be a lot more fun than any visit to the Met. Nonetheless, I couldn't help but wonder where all the whips and chains were. Where were all the 7-foot tall Amazonian women with thigh-high boots and hooters like traffic cones? I mean, what's a Sexpo without them?
Fortunately, the day began to pick up as I came upon a few clothing designers. At the Baroness's booth, a number of latex and rubber-clad femmes stood at the ready, showing their wares to the public and looking alluring in their fetish fashions. I spoke with Purvi, a slim, dark-featured girl who was quite fetching in a tight, black rubber get-up.
She explained that the Baroness is a custom design shop located on 244 East 3rd Street which sells their line by appointment only. I listened attentively and then thumbed through the racks of corsets, bustiers and such, before continuing my search for the ultimate sex booth.
I soon came upon the POPsmear exhibit, at which Renee and Abby, a couple of trim and attractive females who are loosely affiliated with the New York-based publication, were taking turns paddling each other's leather-clad behinds. A crowd of mostly male attendees stood around and gaped. Needless to say, this didn't exactly send me up to Sex Heaven, but at least it signaled that things were picking up somewhat in a manner of speaking.
I passed a sex candy stand (featuring the obligatory chocolate dildos and such), a couple of pornographic comic stands, and other provocative variations of latter-day capitalism. A few top-heavy females were loitering about in latex and rubber. They had the outfits, the tattoos, the right anatomical proportions. But it all failed to beam me up. I don't know, I guess once you've seen one girl in a rubber suit, you've seen them all. Suddenly, I found myself at the "Adult" section. The sign made me take pause. Adult section? Where the hell have I been, the Kiddy Park?
I found this area to be pretty much inundated with X-rated video tape vendors, and I quickly made my way to the Bungee Sexercise exhibit, where folks were bouncing about on what looked to be an oversized rubber band. Needless to say, this didn't exactly rock my world either. I began to think that I was too jaded for the Sexpo. Perhaps it was all meant for starry-eyed teenagers and sex-obsessed extremists, the porn business's version of sport fans.
My voyage continued, leading me to the Screw magazine booth with none other
than Al Goldstein perched comfortably at the helm. I said hello to Uncle Al and asked
what he thought of the Sexpo. Perhaps a pro like him could shed some light on the whole
murky affair. Unfortunately, this was not the case. In fact, I'm not sure if Uncle Al
was having a good time since his answer centered more on his fantasy of sodomizing Mayor
Guiliani, while the Mayor performed oral copulation on each and every person who entered the
men's room, than on anything happening at the time in the real world.
Needless to say, there's not a lot of love lost between Mayor Rudy and certain key
individuals in the sex industry...
Around 2:00 p.m., the Official Erotica Dancers took the stage, much to an eager and ever ballooning crowd's delight. The sound of African drums blared through the sound system as a platform full of babes in multi-colored rubber dresses began twirling about with the assistance of a couple of guys in black-leather hot pants. It was okay but nothing you wouldn't see on the Academy Awards or a Bob Hope special. I figured it was a good time to continue my search for Sex Nirvana since the bodies were now mostly congregated in this general area.
I soon realized that I was on my last leg of the Sexpo, which was fine since my feet were beginning to ache. All this sex can really wear a fellow out. The last few booths I visited featured Countess Vladimira (the alluringly provocative daughter of Prince Vlad V of Wallachia); NYC's premiere dungeon Pandora's Box (the most respectable place in town to go for a good beating); and "Europe's leading house of fetish fashion" Demask (which recently opened an outlet at 135 West 22nd Street).
As I walked out, I felt not a sense of disappointment but a feeling of enlightenment. I realized that I had been looking for Sex Heaven in all the wrong places. (When I find the right places, I'll let you know promptly. I promise.) And although the Sexpo may not have been the thrill of a lifetime, it wasn't exactly root canal either. Should it return next year, I'll probably give it another go. What the hell, they say these things are often better the second time around.
More Erotica on NY Rock...
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