The Making of Many
by Barrymore Dennison
Reminiscing about the last big convention, and anticipating the next one. Zest and Pizzazz are the warriors in this life of lust, love, and lofty luxuries...
The iridescent lighting radiates off the painted faces of the pornographic passersby. Flash and Splash provide a formidable flotilla of fanfare and flourish. Everything's for sale, and yet nothing is real. It's just another convention, but the stakes are high, and for many it will be all-or-nothing. The wheelers-and-dealers disregard their own display of delectable derrière. While others look-on oblivious to the parade of erotica, there are those shocked silent and still, at the sight of the splendid spectacle that surrounds them.
They are the onlookers, the bystanders, the uninvited, and the part-time crashers. They just happened by, and cause no concern, and raise no suspicion, preferring to be hidden, blending into the frenzy and frolic. An industry veteran can spot them a convention hall away, and I often observe these slow-going souls amusingly unnoticed. Their blank astonished stares further fuel my enchantment. They are from Kansas, and Idaho, and Arkansas, and Minnesota. They are nameless, faceless, innocent entities, strolling into a circus-of-sex, by mistake or by fancy. Some, caught up in the cavalcade of luscious legs, titanic tasseled tittys, lipstick and liposuction, stare slack-jawed in wide-eyed wonderment. They seldom engage us, and when addressed, slur their words in excited but down-played anxiety.
On this day, a retired mid-western gentleman curiously approached me, carefully clutching a handful of sex-ridden trinkets he'd picked up along his route. Obviously dumbfounded by the exhibition, he tightly held a Gay Mega Sites souvenir tee. "Howdy, uh, so... what kind of convention is this?" he inquired in slow, western tones. I obliged him with an oration on the seductive nuances of this most famous tradeshow, in tacit eye-winking detail. Silent, his mouth contorted into strange formations as he replicated my sentences and hung on my every lurid word. "We flew in last night," he volunteered. "First time in Vegas," he continued, "I saw some news reports once, about these types of functions and all, but I didn't know it was...like...this." I asked him what he thought about all this - about all these glamorous girls. "Oh, I like it...them...yup, sure do!" and whispered that he'd have to somehow convince "the wife" to start scheduling their yearly vacations to coincide with the wild Vegas January activities. Then, as cautiously as he approached me, he was gone, tottering along behind a group of half-dressed Adult Stars on their way to model for the masses. Oh, the sights he would see that day - I envied his naiveté and newness to it all!
Later, when the lights dim, and the garish tradeshow is put to bed for the night, the real party starts and the bona fide freaks come out! Here come the cokers, the smokers, the pornographic pokers, the Barbies, the banshees, the jokers and leaking lezzies. The money rolls...roll out the red carpet, and playfully display their peacock feathers, but as beautiful as they may be, they are fully armed. Their weapons of choice: succulent suites serving top-shelf alcohol, cigars and cigarettes, de-clothed debutantes dancing, earsplitting groove music, adult stars and prophylactics, and free product in nearly every conceivable size, shape, and color. Here, the girl you first saw when you were thirteen in the centerfold of the magazine under your dad's bed, now dances in a sea of sweat and laser-light next to a dynamic display of rainbow-colored dildos.
Click HERE for Part 2 of The Making of Many
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