Editrix Abby |
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1997 East Coast Video ShowA First Person Account...The weather was unseasonably warm in Atlantic City the first week of October, making it the perfect time for The East Coast Video Show. And although the air conditioning in the spanking new Atlantic City Convention Center was pumping at full capacity, it was definitely unseasonably warm in the adult entertainment section. All the top name stars were on hand to promote themselves--and their videos: Chasey Lain, Shane, Jenna Jameson, Serenity, Tiffany Mynx, Rebecca Lord, Stacey Valentine, Misty Rain and the ever-present Nina Hartley, as well as legends Vanessa del Rio and Ona Zee. The lines of fans wrapped around the booths, frat guys and goombahs alike, all patiently waiting their turn to request an autograph or share a few words with their favorite video vixens.Tuesday was the first day of the show, but it was obvious not everyone had been notified. The turn out of both exhibitors and visitors was a bit off, with empty exhibition spaces and half empty goodie bags. You could feel the temperature go up after the sunny New Jersey sun went down, however. Those in the know trekked to the out-of-the-way Bally's Marina to pack themselves into room 16001 for Swank's party celebrating the release of their new video mag. The brightest star in the crowded room was Christi Lake of Fan Fuxxx fame. Seeing her in person is even more fun than watching her on film: those legs of hers go on forever. Unfortunately, she didn't stick around too long, and her position on the bed--and in front of the flashing cameras--was soon replaced by a string of relatively unknown wannbes. But the bathtub was brimming with cold beer and the bar boasted the new Tattoo blue liqueur, so no one was complaining. As it got closer and stickier, a few revelers spilled out into the hallway, where everyone tried to get a word in with renowned labia-spreading photographer Warren Tang. Chip Maloney, formerly editor of everywhere and currently of a slew of new fetish magazines, was busy telling a joke book's worth of off-color jokes, while freelance writer Neil Wexler was having trouble dividing his attention between the punch line and the pussy on the bed. Things became truly epic when Max Hardcore stumbled onto the scene, camera--and cock--in hand. After attempting to conduct a few private interviews in the john, his attention was riveted by the five-girl lesbo photo shoot going on, with Marc Medoff barking, "Yeah, that's good. Don't let us bother you." Like those girls were gonna let a room full of goggling beer guzzlers get in the way of their snatch snuffling! Well, what eventually did get in their way was nothing short of Hardcore. "This party needs some cock!" he crowed, accommodatingly whipping out his organ. But the faux lesbians were having none of that, and in seconds, poor Max was on the floor, his neck being quite realistically throttled by some pseudo-Sapphic sweetheart's miffed husband. "Don't you ever talk to my wife that way!" he growled, as startled onlookers jumped to intervene. While Max regained his composure--and his breathing--the formerly snatch snuffling supposed lesbians filed out, much to the dismay of everyone in attendance. Hey, if you've got a problem with penises, that wasn't exactly the place to be. I mean, you put five naked babes on a bed in the middle of a room full of guys and you can't be surprised when someone decides to whip it out. Sadly enough for Max, however, the snickering was more in the Softcore vein, if ya know what I mean. That about signaled the end of the soiree, or at least the end of the excitement, and the crowd zig-zagged their way to the elevators, hoping for more tit-filled titillation in the morning. And they were not to be disappointed! With every exhibitor's booth filled and every piece of porno cunt on the East Coast bright eyed and bushy--I mean shaved--tailed, Wednesday was the day to see it all. Shane's line was even longer than usual, with all the video geeks eager to get their chance to squeeze Shane's ample and available boobs. Summer and Skye had more of the breast-obsessed seeing quadruple, with all 80 inches of their cumulative chests stretching the shimmery fabric of their skimpy ensembles. Ruby was bending over at the Buttman booth, giving everyone with a camera a shot at her well-tanned derriere. Stephanie Swift looked sweet as spun sugar in baby pink velvet and soft, fuzzy white faux fur. And X-rated auteurs Robert Black and Tom Byron cruised the convention floor in their shades, checking out the talent, looking suave and tres L.A. The one gal who let it all shoot out, so to speak, was Mila, promoting at the Outlaw Productions booth by spreading her thighs and playing with herself, utilizing the many plastic toys proffered by her many palpitating fans. Plunging the probes into a variety of orifices--and no doubt breaking a law or two--Mila brought herself to climax and proceeded to spray her resulting issue all over gaping onlookers. The mob was thick as lube, and people were scrambling to see the action, but probably the luckiest guy was the one who got to lick Mila's cum off his fingers. "I'll do it for you!" many other drier, and less fortunate fans offered. Female ejaculation--Is it real? Is it piss? What the hell is it?--was the topic of all conversations for the remainder of the convention. After a grueling day of walking around in circles, hopelessly hoping to be positioned front and center the next time Mila decided to jerk off, it was time for all concerned parties to drag their asses to Rich Kunis's patio suite at Caesar's for the International Adult Entertainment Association cocktail hour. The hors d'oeuvres were gobbled as fast as a cock on camera, but the cheap American beer was in good supply, assuring that everyone would be good and greased for the following event: Bill Margold's third annual Team Up Against Censorship fund raiser at the Trump Taj Mahal Diamond Room. All proceeds were to benefit the Free Speech Coalition, and people coughed up forty bucks a piece for the cash bar, complimentary dessert buffet and the promise of more (hopefully flashing) porno chicks. From the first few minutes, their were drooling clumps of fans crowded into every corner, cameras snapping away, each one trying desperately to capture the not-so-private moment on film. Two proud exhibitionists in patriotic red, white and blue made it easier for the shutterbugs by continually climbing onto cocktail tables and showing their wares. This simply couldn't go on forever, though, and soon the head waitress/evil catering queen became visibly irritated, which may or may not have had something to do with the blatant display of boobs. As the witching hour of 11:00 loomed, cross words were exchanged between Margold and Senorita Grapefruit Mouth, and the party was forced to close down, causing plenty of frustrated grumbling about, well, the censorship of tits. Much to everyone's disappointment, the Cheri/Swank Banana Deep Throating Contest was canceled, hopefully forcing the many enthusiastic would-be contestants to substitute the real thing for the flaccid fruit. From there it was back to Rich Kunis's suite, where a platter of sandwiches lasted about five minutes (Granted, Margold's bash was a benefit, but who had time for dinner?) and the booze supply was a serious BYO situation. There was a pool playing dog and a patio full of lounging hangers-on, with most of the not-quite-nude entertainment being provided by the provocative Poison. Basically everyone was pretty much waiting around for some excitement to present itself, but there would be no Max Hardcore-style scene this evening. It seems that most of the conventioneers were more or less running out of steam. This was even more evident the following morning, when the East Coast Video Show wrapped up. Hungover honeys squinting against the bright lights tried to grin through those last few autographs and exhibitors started packing up their wares, all looking forward to meeting up again in January at the really, really big show: C.E.S. in Las Vegas. But for those of you unable to make it out west for C.E.S., better book your room for next year's East Coast show. It's threatening to become a worthy rival for C.E.S., and in many ways it's even better. Without the awards show to distract them, everyone's much more relaxed and ready for a good time. Yup, the E.C.V.S. was a casually fabulous affair! [Written in 1997, I guess!] |
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