The Exotic Erotic Ball – Day 2 [CONCLUSION] NSFW

WARNING:This post contains photos of a graphic sexual performance. While there is no nudity displayed, anyone offended by such content or otherwise restricted from it should go to http://www.zombo.com in lieu of seeing those photos. You can do anything… at Zombocom.

In our last episode:

Nina talks for a while about her relationship with her husband and working in the business, which somehow segues into the election. She carries herself with the dignity of a true Lady, comfortable in her lifestyle yet clever and polite. I gain respect for her outside of her performances, and realize I really don’t know Jack about the porn business or the people in it.

20:00 – The Ball

8 o’clock sends a crush of costumed Ball-goers into the expo floor and the Main Stage tent. Thousands, as quickly as they can get through the entrance, pour into the hangar which feels smaller by the second. I have never been one to deal with crowds well, so I push through the throng to get to the Main Stage tent and the VIP room.

The performers, I’m told, are asked to spend an hour or so in the VIP schmoozing. I’ve never schmoozed per se, so I fake it and instead jerk and spin through the VIP with my best Hunter S. Thompson mannerisms.

By and large, my costume isn’t recognized. In the entire evening a grand total of about 5 people realize who I’m supposed to be, to various reactions.

“I fucking LOVE that movie, man!”

“HUNTER!”

“JOHNNY!”

One guy in a purple pimp costume with platform boots stops me and compliments me on my outfit. As I mumble and scream my responses to him, he likes my impression. He asks me if I’ve ever seen the documentary on Hunter called “Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride.” I say I have, and with a grin he tells me he owns the website address using that name. I congratulate him and move along.

I take a good look at the crowd attending, and realize with horror that these are not my people. Everywhere I see the same stock costumes: pirates [Jack Sparrow version], pimps [always the same colors, bought from the same store], Sexy WhateverThings, etc. Thousands of people buying stuff off the same racks at Target. Folks with costumes, but no style or imagination. Consumers, not artists.

There’s a chair next to the bar, so I sit down and puff on a cigarette while flipping through my photos. I order a drink and tip the bartender a dollar. Fucking ten dollars gone on a drink I wouldn’t force on my dearest enemy. Goddamn capitalists. Another $10 lighter and slightly more drunk. I slide into the VIP to get photos and see Danny Bonaduce getting interviewed by some random prat with a microphone.

If Bonaduce is threatening on a television screen flipping reality stars over his back, he is terrifying in a dark VIP room. He’s wearing a leather vest and eyeliner, pupils like basketball hoops. I take two photos and run for my life from the gingerkid colossus, hoping he doesn’t smell my fear.

The Smash-Up Derby is on stage in crazy stylish costumes, belting out mashup covers of unusual song combinations. I have a nice time snapping photos of their performance and decide to get back to the VIP.

For a room meant to house nothing but “Very Important People,” the sights are pretty dull. It’s set up like the interior of a side-show tent, but the only shows going on seem to be some body painting by a dude with a paintbrush shoved through his septum and a few bondage displays with different themes. The corral of small tables in front of the mostly vacant stage is populated by random Ball people drinking overpriced cocktails and not talking to anyone.

The Zombie Strippers in the middle of the floor capture my attention, and I enjoy watching them attack the bloodied businessmen clutching at thier feet for a while.

I head for the door, and a cute blond girl tagging along with Carnival of Sin points at me and gives a “Hell yeah!” sort of something I can’t hear over the din. I ask her and her three friends for a photo with me, and they oblige. Unfortunately some other chick in a blue dress wedges to my left side, blocking the woman who recognized my costume.

It isn’t until I get home a few days later that I realize the wedgey blond is Heather Chadwell from Rock of Love, and that some putz stuck is stupid mug in the photo just over my shoulder.

I head for the Main Stage and see Bonaduce headed my way with the speed and aura of a freight train that has lost it’s brakes. I turn sideways to let him pass, and see that he’s rubbing his gums¹.

I shake my head and, in looking down, I see the horrible truth that comes with letting drunk people in costume attend a festival such as this: a man, about 6’2 wearing a Guy Fawkes mask and a leather motorcycle jacket without pants, walking around playing with himself as if this were his kitchen and we were his large collection of housecats.

Mortified, I decide to get back to the green room by way of the main stage. Immediately I see a man in his 40s wearing just a beach towel around his neck choking the bishop with the Smash-Up Derby finishing along with him in the background.

Unsheathing my flyswatter, I lose all sense of manners and shove through the crowd in a desperate urge to preserve myself from the dubious amounts of wiggling penises and dragging balls peppered in the crowd like organic party-poppers. To my credit, I get back to the green room without a single brush with Adam’s Pride.

The green room which had previously been my sanctum is now commandeered by a group of “Big Booty Babes” and their handlers taking photos in, of all the damn places, the fucking green room. In the corner, I see some other performers dressed up like Rocky Horror, looking a bit sad that they didn’t have a proper dressing room.

This is no longer my domain, I think. Never was. The VIP is my only safehouse now, and it’s full of Tuggers. I head to the Main Stage, hoping to catch Ancilla’s show and the Twinz soon after.

Just as I enter, the MC is asking if anyone wants a lap-dance. I get to the stage just as the lucky lad chosen by the girls steps up, and his expression makes me laugh. Looking at the photos, I can’t help but realize this is probably the happiest guy at the whole event. I cheer him on and wait for the other acts.

Ancilla gets on stage and is, in a word, stunning on the main stage with the spotlight on her. I roll my tongue up and tuck it back in my mouth, jumping into the photog pit and holding the shutter down. The crowd is sweating hard, yelping cat-calls and hollering. She throws a glove into the mass and continues her act.

She’s a goddess in the spotlight, as much at home there as on the smaller Burlesque stage in the Expo. In the midst of throttling my camera to capture the moments, I realize the incredible duality between the person that I met in the green room and the performer on stage. These people don’t know a thing about her, and they are just fine with that, I think. But I know the sweet person she really is, and I still can’t believe she was nice enough to let me see that.

After Ancilla’s act is finished, the MC decides to do a special act. His co-host, porn star Mika Tan, sits in a chair without so much as a scrap of cloth over her moneymaker. I, and a few thousand others, watch in amazement as the MC in cavalier fashion shaves this porn star’s crotch with a straight razor in front of us all to great effect.

But the Twinz go on, and they are magnificent as always. I’m perpetually in awe of their costume work and theatrics, grateful for the chance to photograph them in the pit at the base of the stage.

After that, Nick and I are pretty finished with the whole thing and decide to slide back to the hotel. On the way out, I get a good photo of the Centaur [complete with Centaur dick] in the VIP area getting lush on $9 hooch.

I remember I’m wearing Ancilla’s glasses and make a detour to the green room to give them back. She’s still at the main stage, though, so I leave them with an expo worker stationed in the green room on a blood oath that they get back to her safely.

I’m nothing if not ready to leave and get some rest. After two days of this madness, my feet are bitching like videobloggers in a blender and my eyelids are setting up for a sit-down protest. The crowd, however, has filled to insane proportions and like all crowds is hell-bent on moving as slowly as chilled molasses.

My frustration reaches a boiling point, and I almost lose Nick in my charging-bull run to the door. We escape, grab a cab with a college-kid-cabbie, and make it back to the hotel just in time to collapse on our beds.

16:00 Sunday, Oct 26th – Home at last.

I sit down and begin the work on my photos, and decide to do a bit of research on some of the people I met, particularly Ancilla. I do a google search and laugh so hard my head feels like it’s going to explode.

Turns out Ancilla is a Dutch Playmate and fetish model. I was escorted by, and borrowed the glasses of, a true-blue international fetish model and European playmate.

It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?

Final Thoughts

The Exotic Erotic Ball was, far and above, the best time I’ve had in my life. I met some incredible people, saw things I never thought [or hoped] I’d see, and had one hell of a true adventure. In spite of some of the creepiness, it was a well-executed event and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

I’d like to thank:

Emily for inviting us up to participate and taking such good care of us.

Ancilla for not scaring the shit out of me by telling me her accomplishments.

The Porcelain Twinz for being so kind and understanding, in spite of me being just some random dude at their dressing-room door.

Nina Hartley for being such a wonderful, intelligent woman and keeping us all company while we waited for the Ball to start

Halcyon and Ashley for being completely awesome and becoming my newest friends. You guys rock like granite.

And Nick, for being a great person and confidant. I couldn’t have had this much of a good time without you, man, and I’m glad we’re friends.

Thanks for reading! Now I’m off to work on Haberdashery.

¹: I am not saying I know for sure why, but I have an idea. For all I know, he was brushing his teeth… or maybe he swallowed a bug. I have no proof of this event and I make no assertations beyond stating what I saw with my own eyes.

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