It’s like a sticky, sweaty Christmas in July
It’s that time of year again: two weeks from now, the Sydney Sexpo will be up and running (well, grinding in a bored sort of way to “Milkshake”) again. Since the Big Porn company that owns my tits and soul is running the thing, my work is planning a few events in connection with it. Belladonna (of “Cock Pigs”, “Cum Buckets! 4”, “Ebony In Ivory” and my personal favourite, “Gee, Your Ass Stretches Terrific!”) will be doing a signing at the main shop one afternoon the week after next. I’m torn between trying to get that shift to score off the crowd that’s going to be there and wanting to stay as far away as possible, because any gimmick they’ve run in the past- bringing in a girl from Melbourne to pose as a “porn star” who just finished a shoot in LA was the latest hare-brained scheme, I swear they’re like the Bobsy Twins with extra fisting- seems to end up fucking over the regular girls one way or another.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Belladonna just fine and she seems like a cool lady. It’s just that with all the fuckery going on at work at the moment I’m starting to wince every time the boss says “Oh, before you go, one other thing I forgot to tell you…” I’m still not sure if the girls are going to be wanted to work at the Sexpo main event. They have in years past, and it’s been quite a good earner for them. But…I just plain don’t care for it. I’ve been twice before, mostly out of curiosity, and each time it just weirded me out. The whole thing is a weird, uncomfortable mix of a country town show day (minus the cow shit. Unless you pay extra) and a suburban middle-aged swingers’ meet. I know, it’s great for the industry people, and that we’re lucky enough to live in a country where adults can admit publicly that they actually (oh gosh, tee-hee) have sex and enjoy it. The whole thing just leaves me feeling the same way I do when we get the Porno Turistas in at work: they shuffle along and giggle and prod and poke things, they mill around handling the merchandise and snickering in awe at the fact that someone would actually BUY a vibrator. It’s prudish and immature and I hate that shit.
On the up side, World Youth Day grows ever closer. With any luck, the presence of thousands of young people who are living in close quarters in a strange, big city for a week but aren’t allowed to stick their bits in each other will mean an upturn in business. if the lapsed-Catholic guilt wasn’t still running so strongly in my veins I’d get myself a nun’s habit.