That's right. I went to the Sex Expo held here in Chicago on Wednesday.
I have a picture of this event, only one picture. I can't post it online because frankly I don't know how to get pics from my phone to my comp, but I will do my best to describe the picture now. Everyone in frame is in silhouette including the crowd, which sifts around the outside of the picture like ghosts, the whole shot made possible by a single white blast of light coming from the direct opposite side of the room as my camera phone. This would have caused a white out effect if it hadn't been for what lies in the center of the frame. Blocking out the main source of light and yet at the same time being bathed in it, are two beautiful, curvy women. The first woman hangs from the rafters of the ceiling, her muscles tight, her back curved, her legs pulled up and wide open hanging on either side. In between those legs is another woman, even in the dark the swell of her breasts is evident. Her face is leaning down towards the woman's crotch with the shadow of a tongue bridging the gap between the two.
Even though this picture was taken on my cellphone, the epic nature of the photograph can not be disputed, it single-handedly captures everything that we would expect sexpo is and should be. It has the perfect balance of dramatic staging, lighting, and a broad sexuality without simply being a picture of a flashed cooze (cause let's admit it, in a picture, the come-and-get me-eyes is always hotter than the exposed vajayjay).
Needless to say I'm pretty proud of this picture.
What makes me even more proud of said photograph is the fact that it in no way represents how the sexpo really was; which if it had to be described in a word that word would be...disappointing.
First it needs to be stated that I paid no money whatsoever for these tickets, I literally stumbled upon them and it was my curiosity that lead me there that night. I understood fully that this would be the only Sexpo I would ever go to, so I saw a chance and I took it. However, like someone brought up under a strong Jesuit education I did my research first. The myspace ad, plus multiple flyers, promised the top strippers, escorts, gentleman's clubs, sex stores and clothes that the city had to offer. A flyer that I found on site promised, FREE full nude, full contact dances where you could and I quote:
"Grab tits and ass and lick whipped cream off of the nipples of the lovely ladies."
Now I am one who loves to exaggerate, my mind likes things to be Big and Loud (thank you darla dimple). And so in my mind I painted a picture I'm sure many of the men reading this blog have already painted for themselves. I saw huge floor room filled with red velvet. I saw Eyes Wide Shut, beautiful women everywhere, walking in outfits pulled from men's dirtiest fantasies: schoolgirls, librarians, Cheerleaders, naughty nurses, cops, judges, vice presidents. Women covered in leather, feathers and masks.
I was expecting to walk into backrooms and see piles of flesh squirming together, stomachs and thighs, and asses and hair tangled with other hair. I expected for the floors to be carpeted making it easy for people to kneel down and go at it wherever they saw fit. I expected the place to smell like vodka, sweat, sex and cigarettes.
These expectations killed me.
When I first arrive at Excalibur, Spike and I give each other a look. We have recognized the fact that this is a party being thrown in a club which hasn't been relevant since the day it first opened. But on the way to the club we pass by beautiful woman after beautiful woman and I don't mean beautiful as in Penthouse beautiful, I mean that I'm wearing a T-shirt and green sweatpants and still look good kind of beautiful. That I don't have to show half my tits to get your attention kind of beautiful. And for some reason I think,
"Well look at all these gorgeous classy ladies, surely they are coming from the Chicago Sexpo."
Needless to say they weren't.
When we get to Excaliber, there is no line, no fuss. A few frat boys in button down striped shirts are out front smoking. Spike and I flash our ids to get in. We stroll through the revolving door to see...absolutely nothing. There is music playing and lights twirling, but the chairs the tables, the couches all of them are empty.
"This is the Sexpo?" I think to myself. But my eyes wander to the top of the stairs, leading to the second floor, A set of stairs I failed to observe because of the overwhelming emptiness of the first floor. A big white sign with big red sinful letters reads: Private event upstairs.
Spike and I rush up the stairs and after getting our hands stamped we are greeted by four half naked women. All but one is a blonde (the brunette is the most attractive) they are wearing white tops that are being stretched to the limit by their breasts and short black shorts which don't cover their asses at all.
"Now this is Sexpo"
To be Continued. ...