I'm not usually one to masturbate in the tub, mainly because that means I'd have to use my hands, and my arms would get tired. (What it boils down to is that I'm very lazy.) I've tried some other waterproof vibes in the bathtub before, with varying results, but I'm always looking for the easiest solutions to life's little problems, so I was enthusiastic about the Fukuoku. That enthusiasm didn't last long.

First of all, when I turned it on, I got freaked out, because the noise the vibes made sounded like a swarm of futuristic alien insects flying toward me. It sounded even weirder when I wiggled my fingers. (I guess I couldn't hear it on the convention floor since everything was so loud there.) But whatever, I plunged it down there and moved it around different parts of my vulva to see where it felt best, not wanting to put it directly on my clit before it had the chance to warm up a bit. I could tell within 20 seconds that it was gonna suck. The vibes moved way too fast and steady, even when switching up the settings. There was no interruption or variation, so the vibration almost became like white noise — something mildly annoying that you learn to ignore.

I figured that I wouldn't give up on it yet, and that I'd try it out with some visual aids. So I got out of the tub, dried myself off, got in bed, and started watching some videos on XTube. (If you get the chance, you should watch this one, not because it's hot but because it's really funny. It's these college kids in a room at a party and drunk people keep coming in and interrupting them. NSFW, natch.) That plan didn't work out too well. I couldn't get anywhere even in the neighborhood of an orgasm with it. And on top of that, my fingers started going numb from the steady vibe.

I took off the Fukuoku, threw it across the room — it's so not worth $50! — and grabbed my trusty Hitachi. Will they ever make something that rivals the best vibe in the world?

[The following is not necessarily safe for work...or eyeballs (it's epic, but well worth it). -Ed.]

On Friday night, Team Fleshebel had two parties on our schedule: A Burning Angel party at a strip club and the Fleshbot/Vivid Alt party at Beauty Bar downtown in Old Las Vegas. I was just sorta following the crew, and since Fleshbot was co-hosting the Beauty Bar party, we decided to go to that one first. The problem was that if we arrived in a cab to the Burning Angel party, and not the party bus, then we'd have to pay a hefty door price. (Even though I'd already paid my dues many times over, having dated and lived with BA founder and co-owner Mitch Fontaine for years until like two months ago. So that sorta stung.) We were stuck with just going to Beauty Bar and making the best of hanging out downtown.

I thought we were taking a party bus there or something. Other people in our group were under the impression that we were taking limos. I was wondering why we had to trek all the way over to the parking garage of the hotel, instead of the main entrance where everyone normally gets picked up. I was to soon learn that instead of one big car, a calvalcade of sedans — driven by employees of Beauty Bar — were our means of transport. Okay, I'm not a snob (well, at least not about cars and shit), but I was so pissed. If I knew about that janky operation, I would've just done my own thing and sprung for a cab to take me over there later. I ended up having to ride in a Nissan Altima with four people I didn't know, one of whom — a Vivid Alt girl — was talking about how she didn't know you were supposed to shave your asshole. Um, are you? Am I? Dude, I can't even think about taking a razor to that spot right now, with how wrecked it is, but I'll get to that in a bit.

It was kinda dead at that party. We were like the only people from the Expo there. There were a lot of locals, which, if this had been a normal vacation for me, would've been really cool, but I seriously had my heart (and pussy) set on meeting a male porn star, so escaping the scene on the strip that was packed with them wasn't in my best interest. It wasn't all bad though. This girl rocked:

Honestly, I've never seen hula-hooping skills like that before. She managed to strip, hold her drink, and appear as though she was merely dancing in a really sexy way. Top notch. Oh, also, just like at Beauty Bar in NYC, I was able to get a manicure, which I desperately needed.

Adorbz pin-up/adult actress April Flores was there. Love. Her. She kept telling me that I'm so nice. I, uh, don't hear that too often.

On the left here is alt-porn star Kimberly Kane. On the right is art star Zak Smith, who moonlights as a porn actor. In the middle is his GF.

See these two dudes?

They're British and they invented that "smart" vibe, the SaSi that I saw at the Babeland party last Thursday and that I'm way excited to try. (Unfortunately, samples aren't going to be out for another month or two and they don't go on sale until May.) The dude on the left is named Duncan, and we hung out with him that night. He said that he had the idea for the product because he truly believed that he knew the key to making girls come: A certain clitoral motion. But then when he did test runs, he learned that every girl likes something completely different. I thought it was cute that, when we toasted a round of drinks, he hushed us, slightly slurring, "You guys...let's drink...to vibrators that also have motion." How could I resist drinking to that?

I was really into this DJ kid with the bandanna. He was busy with his music, so I never got the chance to talk to him. He played Sabrina Salerno's "Boys (Summertime Love)" which meant that he was either gay, or my soul mate. Oh, well.

I was really fucking tired, and mainly just sat on the couch the whole night, texting and checking my email. Actually that's something that Jonno and I did often when we were together. It's like when you can share a comfortable silence with someone — it's how I knew we'd grown close.

Someone gave me a lil' pep in a lil' baggie to wake me up, and I guess while I was in the bathroom self-medicating, these scary, sexual clowns busted into the bar. I vaguely remember seeing them around. But only for like a second.

Team Fleshebel

From left: Gawker videographer Richard Blakeley, Flesbot's Jonno, Gawker videographer Nick McGlynn, Fleshbot's Dash, and me, the chick. The pep I had in the bathroom didn't really work to wake me up and I was still exhausted. The only effect it had on me was to give me crazy bug eyes for this picture.

It was 5 AM, I'd been awake since 8:30 that morning, and all I had for dinner were the extra olives I'd ordered in my Dirty Martinis. What I really waned to do was just collapse into my bed. It turns out that sometimes I'm too lazy to even be irresponsible these days. We went home, and walking through the casino on our way to the elevator, I sunk $3 into some penny slots. That was the extent of my gambling during the whole trip.

"Ugh!" I thought as I made my way back up to my room, "I'm in Vegas and I'm being really boring." But then I decided that it was just a shitty night. I should've gone to the Burning Angel party at the strip club. Especially when I found out that Mystery was there!!! Yeah, as in The Pick Up Artist. Oh, and speaking of Mystery...How much you wanna bet that he made a visit to this booth at the convention?

There were a few seemingly out-of-place booths like that at the Expo. Like one that was selling 400-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets for $20 (I could kick myself for not buying them!), or another one that had really good knock off Chanel jewelry (I got a pair of plastic dangle-y logos for $10). And this booth, which had cars painted with poster covers of classic pornos like The Devil in Miss Jones and Deep Throat.

But the most out of place — and frankly, most irritating — was the XXX Church booth. They're that Evangelical organization that tries to give Christianity an Urban Outfitters-type makeover in order to convince some of us that Jesus really is our homeboy.

Preaching to the perverted, they are trying to "save" porn stars, and by extension, those of us who masturbate to them. They were handing out copies of the New Testament, with book jackets that looked like something from a mid-'90s Green Day album cover. I threw mine away.

One of the great things about being at the convention was that I was in this fish bowl of positivity, where no one judged anyone for what turns them on, and where people are encouraged to be open about it. Even I had my assumptions when walking into the place that were soon proved wrong. First of all, I thought that there would be naked girls everywhere. Not true. While there was hardcore porno playing on the screens of different booths, nudity on the convention floor was not allowed. I also thought that there were going to be swarms of homogenized stick-thin, fake-titted, bleached, tanned girls with frosty, cum-like lip gloss everywhere I went. To be fair, sure there was definitely some of that.

I figured I would be seen as this frumpy journalist among these women with bodies that were primped and operated on to turn on frat boys. But it so wasn't like that. There were so many different types of men and women there, in all shapes, sizes, and colors.

And I mean, I know that this woman isn't all natural, but she's also really extreme, and you could see how this isn't exactly the "ideal."

And this chick had some stretch marks.

I don't mean to be a cunt by showing that. I'm just trying to prove the point that the "porn image" that a lot of people denounce isn't necessarily representative of the industry as a whole. It's not about manufacturing this fantasy of perfection.

And I think that a lot of people who aren't really exposed to — or search out — the aspects of the adult industry that aren't featured on stuff like Howard Stern's show think that is what porn is all about. But really, the thing I took away most from the whole convention is that there will never be a time when we are all turned on by one type of girl, one type of guy, one type of movie, one type of fetish, etc. Oddly, porno is incredibly inclusive. If anything, it's softcore publications like Playboy and Maxim — and hell, a whole slew of women's magazines — that perpetuate that standard of beauty.

Annnnnywaaaaay, now that that's out of my system...I went shopping for a bit on Saturday for a dress to wear to the awards, because I realized that none of the sweaters and crew neck dresses I'd packed were appropriate for the awards show that night. (The ticket for the show said "Dress to impress" on it.) I even stopped by Ver-sayce in the Forum.

I ended up buying this:

It was the most conservative dress in the sluttiest store (Marciano) in the Forum, which worked out much better than finding the sluttiest dress in the more conservative stores. I also felt like that was a pretty good metaphor for my life.

Tons of people were meeting down at the fountain in the lobby, in order to catch their limos or get in the cab line to make their way over to the show at the arena at Mandalay Bay. You'd never believe who was down there. The dude from Drunken Stepfather. He was freaking out that I'd take his picture. I'd never do that though, as I used to have my own hangups about anonymity. I'll say this though: He's shy, young, fat, and has a cute face covered by bad hair.

One of my favorite games to play in the lobby of the hotel each night was "Porn Star or Jersey Ho." Like, some of the porn girls were really obvious to point out. Others weren't. Some of them just kind of looked like the ho-ish girls I went to high school with in New Jersey, with tans, bad makeup, and cheap stretchy dresses from Merry-Go-Round or Deb.

But this was the best: I saw this group of girls all dressed as cheerleaders. During the convention, a lot of the contract girls for different companies would wear matching slutty outfits like that. So at first I thought they were going to the convention. But after a minute I realized that they were actually real high school cheerleaders standing with like their den mother or whatever the head mom is called.

It was really chaotic when we first showed up at Mandalay Bay. There were two versions of the "red carpet." The one for fans, as you walk up toward the entrance, and then a separate one on the level below just for press. This was the fan one:

This was how close I got to the hostess of the awards, Tera Patrick, and her husband, ex-Biohazard bassist Evan Seinfeld.

And I was so excited to see Tamra from Rock of Love. I don't know what she was doing there. I would've asked, but she was drunk. Like having difficulty walking and shit. She's a lot of fun.

This is as close as I could get to Jenna Jameson when walking in.

She's a whackadoo, that one, which is sad, because I always sort of thought she had her shit together. At least she used to. I don't know what's going on with her, but she's incredibly, incredibly thin, and she made a very awkward, rambling speech when she was presenting The Jenna Jameson Crossover Star of the Year. First of all, the media was making a big deal that she said she was retiring from porn. That was announced so long ago, when she sold Club Jenna to Playboy. But anyway, during the speech she said, "There are a lot of rumors about why I'm so thin. And I don't know if you read Us Weekly. I'm just going to say that I will never spread my legs for this industry again." Everyone was quiet for a second and then people started booing. She smiled and then announced the winner: Stormy Daniels. Stormy came up and said, "Thanks! And guys, don't worry, I'm still gonna spread my legs for this industry." Then the crowd roared with applause.

Oh, and the crowd. Ha! Everyone left like after an hour.

The actual show was pretty boring, but I was getting drunk, and at least I was off my feet, so I didn't mind. I really liked how when the girls were reading the stupid little jokes off the teleprompter, they sounded exactly like when they read lines in their movies.

Some of the categories were hilarious:
Best Ethnic-Themed Release, Black
Best Non-Sex Performance
Best Tease Performance
Best Anal
Best Big Bust Release
Best MILF Release
Best Squirting Series
Best Fem-Dom Strap-On Release

For Most Outrageous Sex Scene, Dash and I were hoping that Ass Blasting Felching Anal Whores would win, just so that someone would say that out loud. Anyway, the awards were over and I saw that I had a text from the dude I had banged a previous night, so I arranged to meet him at the Venetian.

In the meantime, Dash, Nick and I went to meet up with Jonno at this fetish party going on in two of the suites in the hotel. As we walked up and I saw the people coming and going from that place, I just knew it wasn't my scene. There were goth-type people in corsets and those extensions that aren't hair but pieces of plastic, and they were wearing purple furry stuff, and shorts with rubber spikes on them. There was a line to get in, and signs on the doors saying no cameras were allowed. They were giving us static about going in, I think because we weren't dressed the part, and they thought we were square. I mean, they're kinda right.

Anyway, I was getting really annoyed because we knew the girl who organized the thing, and a bunch of our friends were inside. I tried to plead my case about us being from Fleshbot or whatever, but they didn't care. This tiny, middle-aged, little gay man with his balls literally hanging out of his shorts (as a fashion choice?) who was holding a clipboard whispered something in the other door girl's ear, looked at us and laughed, and then said, "It's not going to happen."

Dash got pissed and walked away, saying he didn't want to go in anyway, because it looked like it sucked. I felt like the same, but I was too outraged that this little shit was standing there, judging me. So I tried talking to him again, and that's when he summoned a security guy standing at the door, who was trying to grab my arm and escort me away. Then I thought for a second and looked at the security guy's outfit. He didn't work for the hotel.

So I turned around and said, "Hey, is this party sanctioned by the Venetian?" I could feel everyone in the hallway freeze up and Nick tried to cover my mouth with his hand. Realizing I actually did have a little bit of power, I said, "Hey if you don't let me in, I'm gonna call the front desk." Everyone just stood there, and Nick tried to push me away, because I was apparently ruining our chances of getting in. I don't really remember what was said to me, all I know is that I started walking toward the elevator, then stopped and turned around and screamed, waving my finger and rubbernecking, "I'm not gonna let some little 5'2 loser in PVC hot pants and goggles tell me I'm not cool enough to go to your FUCKING PARTY!"

Then I called the front desk and they sent hotel security up there. I fled before that happened. Apparently the security guards went in, but didn't bust up the party. I'm actually really, really glad I didn't get in because I heard from a friend that there was some really crazy sex shit going on in there, like stomping and crushing, and upon hearing that a man get fisted on a table, I was all Valerie Cherish, like "I don't need to see that!"

So I went down to Circle Bar and met up with the boy from the previous night. He ended up not winning for Best Music. Oh, well. We drank there with Jonno for a while and then went back to Grand Lux Cafe. At this point it was like 5 AM. I needed to leave for the airport in five and half hours, but I wanted to get some buffalo chicken fingers and penis in me before then. As we were waiting to be seated, I saw another Rock of Love contestant: Kristia, one of the Barbie Twins.

She told me she still lives with Brandi C. and that she couldn't believe I recognized her, because she died her hair black. I was like, "You don't understand how psychotically obsessed I am with that show." And then I realized that was probably scary for her, so I walked away to my table.

Everytime Jonno would get up and go to the bathroom or go to say hi to someone walking by, the boy and I would French. It was a tradition for us, I guess. Finally, we all went back to the room. The boy and I banged in the bathroom again. I have the worst bruises on either side of my hips from the marble counter top. Also, my tailbone is wrecked from when we tried switching to the marble floor. So we fucked twice, so that was nice. The second time, the condom was sort of dry, so I grabbed some lube from my AVN goodie bag. At least I thought it was lube. It was fucking warming gel! I didn't realize that until the morning when I saw the bottle. I'm currently experiencing a killer UTI from that ish.

So after the bathroom sesh, it was like 6:30 when we went to bed. I passed out immediately, but then woke up to his dick in my vadge. This isn't a gray rape sitch at all. I'm pretty sure that I was responding to him, like sleep walking or something. So then we began banging again, which somehow turned into mutual masturbation. I squirted again (hey, AVN, where's my award?) while he fingered me and then he came on my hip. I was a cum-soaked mess — Ha! Cum-Soaked Mess will be the title of my first release — but it was like 8 AM and I wanted to nap before having to leave, so I just fell asleep without wiping myself off.

I woke up late, natch, and had to pull a Home Alone type freak-out with packing and running through the hotel to the cab stand. The boy was very nice and carried my bags and waited in the line with me until I got a car. We bear hugged each other goodbye. And I was like, "It was fun! Maybe I'll see you...one day." I dunno. It wasn't really awkward, but what was I supposed to say?

I made my flight by the skin of my teeth, which, come to think of it, were feeling really nasty, since I didn't brush them in my mad dash to leave the room. When I finally took my seat, a sadness washed over me. As tired as I was through that whole experience, I was really gonna miss it! I made a lot of new friends, and learned so much stuff. But I never did manage to bed a porn star. I guess that means I'm just gonna have to go back and do it all over again next year. And actually, it might take that long for my perineum to heal.

[Images via Random Night Out, Mojo Republik, Jeff Koga for Fleshbot, and Slut Machine.]

Earlier: You Never Forget Your First Time: My Day At The Adult Entertainment Expo
Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee
Fear And Clothing In Las Vegas
Tristan Taormino: "Porn Is As Cerebral As It Is Visceral"

Related: 2008 AVN Awards: Dispatches From The Front
(Lots And Lots More) AVN 2008 Red Carpet Photos: Still Gagging On The Glamour

Lately, more than ever, there seems to have been a resurgence of second wave-y anti-porn sentiment in feminism — and even on Jezebel — which to me, is weird for many reasons, perhaps most notably because mainstream people seem to be embracing the idea of pornography more than ever. I mean, the pages of O magazine even recommend a sex-positive attitude about porn, for crying out loud. Tristan agreed that it's growing trend, citing Ariel Levy's Female Chauvinist Pigs as an example.

"Porn has always been, and continues to be a huge issue for women. I don't know if the debate will ever be over," Tristan said, "But it's hard to hear from other feminists. They haven't seen my porn, they haven't seen Candida Royalle or Belladonna. So they don't see that porn is not one monolithic thing that's all bad."

When asked how she deals with that, she said that she believes everyone is entitled to their opinion, but that they should watch her movies before expressing it to her. "Porn is complicated. [The perception of it by the public] has been over simplified. Porn is as cerebral as it is visceral."

And that makes sense, considering many of her movies are educational. Her Expert Guides series (for anal, cunnilingus and fellatio) sort of break the porno mold: She's into organic and authentic climaxes. ("I would rather the actors share a part of their sexuality, than have me tell them what to do.") And in the Guide to Cunnilingus, there aren't any penis penetration shots, which, she said, Vivid initially told her wouldn't work, because "if there's no cock, there's no scene."

But changing the way things are done is all part of Tristan's master plan. "Everything I do is deliberate—very deliberate."

[Image by Jeff Koga for Fleshbot]

Earlier: Fear And Clothing In Las Vegas
Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee
You Never Forget Your First Time: My Day At The Adult Entertainment Expo
Related: 2008 AVN Awards: Dispatches From The Front
(Lots And Lots More) AVN 2008 Red Carpet Photos: Still Gagging On The Glamour

Earlier: You Never Forget Your First Time: My Day At The Adult Entertainment Expo
•Last Night I Boned An AVN Award Nominee

So the Village Voice/Babeland party was thrown in honor of the SaSi, that "smart" vibrator that remembers what you like and what you don't and is being trumpeted as the second cumming. And after receiving a demonstration of the vibe — on my hand, not my vagina — I kind of agree. I don't want to say for sure until I actually give this thing a test drive, but think it might possibly rival my beloved Hitachi Magic Wand. It's really quiet, has a strong, adjustable clit stimulator, vibration options, and is super light-weight. It's costs a whopping $175, but I'm pretty sure I spent more than that on Doritos in the last year, and I think the SaSi would make a much better investment.

The party was really fun. It had pomegranate cocktails that, of course, I ended up wearing more than I did drinking — I can never hold a damn martini glass properly — but oddly, the stains managed to dry clear. Go figure. I was very happy to see Tommy Pistol. I know him from his Burning Angel days in Brooklyn, but he works for a porno company out in L.A. now.

You see those crutches? Apparently he injured himself skydiving.


Okay, so how fucking cute are the sexual chocolates they were serving? They have vibrators and anal beads on them!



I got to meet Dan Savage (my picture of him didn't come out, argh) and Tristan Taormino, Voice columnist and Vivid Alt director, who is seriously one of the smartest, coolest girls I've ever met. On Monday I'll be posting the interview I did with her about anti-porn sentiment that's been annoying my ass lately.

I think my favorite part about being there was when I was talking to an industry dude with tons of facial piercings, and he was proudly showing me pictures of his kids on his iPhone and all the while, hardcore porno (from Tristan's Chemistry 3) was on the screen directly behind him. The dude in the scene was actually at the party, and he was staring at the TV, watching himself and chuckling.

Then we went to the "Stripper Sideshow Sex" house party. The hosts chartered a party bus to take us there. That's Gawker videographer Richard Blakeley, me, and Fleshbot editor Dash Bennett.



People were really super wasted. I think it had something to do with a liquor distiller that this guy Jack invented. It takes cheap booze and makes it better, or stronger or something. That's him in the kangaroo costume.



So, like I said, although there was a stripper pole in the room, no one really stripped. At least not to my knowledge. I dunno if hostess Joanna Angel was supposed to strip, but it was cold out and she kept her coat on the whole time. That's her with Dash and Gawker videographer Nick McGlynn.



There was definitely some "sideshow" stuff. I couldn't watch any of it because it was freaking me the fuck out and I didn't want to puke. The clown dude took a shot of whiskey through a syringe into his nose. The other dude was poking shit through his body, and then Burning Angel director Dough Sakmann hung himself from some hooks pierced through his skin.

They had Doritos there. Score!



But better still, they had this dude — the one I blew for a little bit in the bathroom — who was very easy to convince to come back to my hotel with me.

The cab we took back there was pretty awesome.



And walking into the hotel, we saw real live pimps! I'm not just assuming because of the outfits — I asked them, and they confirmed. The Player's Ball is tonight, so I guess they're in town for that.



Back in the hotel, I decided I could use another drink (I really didn't need it at all), and the dude I brought back with me said he wanted french fries, so we went to the Grand Lux Cafe (which is like the same thing as Cheesecake Factory) in the casino of the Venetian. We didn't even touch what we ordered. We just drunkenly made out hardcore in the booth, and then I put my hand under the napkin on his lap and started jerking him off. Nobody blinked an eye. People weren't even looking at us. When I remembered for a minute that I was in public and came up for air, I looked around and saw that people were too immersed in their own 3 AM dramas played out over extra large servings of fried food. One lady was crying next to a tight-jawed man, who was looking anywhere but at her face. The middle-aged gay couple next to us were arguing over whether to share or get their own meals. And the waiters were just happy that we weren't bothering them with requests.

The dude put his dick back in his pants, we got the check and went back up to my room. (I'm sharing it with Jonno and Dash from Fleshbot.) We have an awesome suite; there are two beds and a sofa bed. Since I was the last one home, I got the sofa bed in the living room area, but that was fine for my purposes. Me and the dude went into the bathroom (I don't have a picture of it, but it's pretty grand) and just went at it. He lifted me onto the marble counter top. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, koala-bear style, and he fucked the shit out of me. He ruled and his dick was nice. I told him that he should maybe consider working in front of the camera instead of behind it.

We stayed in there for a little bit more and he finger banged me. I ended up squirting all over the damn place — which hasn't happened to me in what seems like ages. It was shooting out sideways and shit, getting on both of our legs. I'm always a little afraid for that to happen in front of dudes, 'cause it's such a fucking mess sometimes, but he seemed to be really into it.

Then we went to the sofa bed and I had every intention of falling asleep and not fooling around (the boys were just like 10 or 20 feet away), but he kept kissing me, and he was really too cute to turn down. I ended up blowing him again, and then he came on my tits. What the hay! We're in Vegas!

We passed out, but I think I was only sleeping for like an hour before I felt his boner pressing up on my ass again. I pushed back, and before I knew it, we were spoon-fucking. Seriously, this guy is more of a machine than I am. I woke up in the morning with this:



I was kinda pissed about it. I'm not thirteen, you know. But Jonno put it into perspective for me when he said, "Consider yourself lucky that you fucked someone at the porn convention and all you got was a hickey."

In the morning, me and the dude went down to the convention floor and I was so motherfucking psyched when I saw Dennis Hoff who owns the Moonlight Bunny Ranch, and his girlfriend Brooke, from the HBO reality show Cathouse. They were there looking at a dildo attached to a pogo stick. I asked them to pose for a picture for me and they asked me if I liked girls. I was like, "Eh, I mean, I went to college, so I got that out of my system." Brooke said that she went to college, too, but she only got into girls kinda recently. Dennis told me that she's into brunettes.



Check out Dennis' shirt:



So tonight, Fleshbot is throwing a party with Vivid Alt at Beauty Bar, so we'll be headed to that. I think it involves another party bus. Honestly, I don't know if I'll be able to go back to traveling in regular cars after cruising the town in those. I'm really fucking hoping I get a chance to sleep with a male porn star while I'm here, but I was told by someone that they aren't really into "civilians", aka non-sex workers. Whatevs. A girl can dream!

And speaking of dreams, or rather, nightmares, I'm sitting in the press room at the convention typing this post and looked over and saw this:

Rita Rudner: stop terrorizing me!

[Most images via Random Night Out]

Earlier: You Never Forget Your First Time: My Day At The Adult Entertainment Expo

• This week started off with a literal bang when ex-Top Model contestant Elyse Sewell was knocked around by her crap of an indie rock boyfriend, Marty Crandall of the Shins.
  
• We also had some rousing and interesting political discussions in the wake of Hillary Clinton's New Hampshire victory.
  
• Dr. Ruth advised us on period sex.
  
• And Dr. Oz advised us on pinworms, the scariest ass-affliction of all.
  
• We also learned the 5,689th reason why Jessica Alba sucks.
  
• But we learned new words this week! Like Mrs. Dranklesworth and arse trinket.
  
• Uh, those fat hookery outfits we tried on at American Apparel were a far cry from trinket town.
  
• But then Slut Machine gave us a good, ol' fashioned American Photoshop diet.
  
• All the way from Vegas! Where SM's blogging about her Adult Entertainment Expo tomfoolery. Look out for her second diary installment later tonight, and read it while you tipple on some Sizzurp, because after this week, we all deserve it.

Please know that from here on out, most links will be NSFW, as are the images after the jump.

So that picture of me above with that sex doll? That's a knock-off of a Real Doll. They are $5,000 (about $1,500 less than a Real Doll), and it's really obviously a jankier version. Some random dude walked over to us as I was feeling her up and he said, "Looks like my ex-wife. She couldn't cook, but man could she fuck." And then he walked away. I'm thinking those sort of one-way, TMI conversations with strangers is fairly commonplace here.

The lady working the booth wouldn't let me touch the doll's face, but I touched its "breast" instead and found out that it's made out of sticky material. (Either that or someone's already had their way with her). After we walked away from that booth, Jonno pulled out some Purell and I thought, "Oh, damn, good idea."

We turned the corner and saw the real Real Doll booth. The skin on the samples they had around were much smoother. It's kind of amazing to see them in real life, because they're just too realistic. Even the half-body versions were confusing me in my peripheral vision; I kept thinking they were people staring at me. And this display caught my eye:

You can swap out the peens for different lengths and girths, depending on your mood, I guess. When I saw all of them together I couldn't help but think about how everyone always raves about the buffets in Vegas.

Oh and this is the face of the doll that was featured in Lars and the Real Girl. (Not to be a square or a whatevs, but that poster of Ryan Gosling did a lot more for me and my vagina than anything else I'd seen on the floor today.)

There isn't much of a gay presence this year at the convention (or says Jonno, my tour guide), but I did meet these dudes from Naked Swords, an on-demand video site. Check out that bulge in the pants of the tan dude on the left.

Oh, so I've only got one toy so far. They wouldn't give it to me for free to test and review, but I got one for wholesale. It's called the Fukuoku Five-Finger Massage Glove. An older woman dressed as a cop with a badge that read "Sexy" used it on my back and it felt like heaven (I'll let you know how it feels on my vagina as soon as a I get a minute alone), while an older dude dressed in hospital scrubs was demonstrating an electric toothbrush vibrator on my neck and arms. He was a close talker. Oh, and then I caught what his hospital scrubs said:

That's "pussy shaver" in case you aren't able to make it out.

We didn't do the whole floor today, since we still have all day tomorrow. We were kinda exhausted and hungry and had a bit of mall head. But just outside the convention center, in the hallway, I saw these women, who were AWESOME.

They aren't working a booth or with any company. They independently put out a DVD, the name of which I never caught. And they were a lot of fun. I went to take a picture of them, and some hotel security woman came over to me and was like, "No pictures in the hallway." The girl on the far right was like, "She can take a picture of me if she want. Go 'head, baby. Snap. Snap-snap. Snap it, girl."

Tonight we're going to a Village Voice/Babeland party, so I'll be reporting back from that. I'll also be posting some fashion galleries tomorrow. I'm praying that I get into some major shit tonight. I'm thinking it won't be too hard to achieve. Anyway, this is just the introduction to my Vegas Diary. Now that I've got all the boring shit out of the way, we can delve into the debauchery tomorrow.

Oh, and as I sign off, here is the view from my room:

Rita Rudner! Her eyes are freaking me out.

Earlier: All Dolled Up With No Place To Go