Savana’s AEE Blog: Day Three

AVN Day 3: G-Rated Girlfriends, Doing My Part to End the Cold War, and a Love Letter to Erik Everhard

Obviously, after spending the second day of AEE in the company of all people fantastic from Aurora Snow to Chris Alexander to Jim Powers, I had a pretty good idea that the third day would leave plenty to be desired. Part of my cynicism resulted from the reality that, as a Vegas virgin, I hadn’t really had a chance to be properly introduced to the City That Never Sleeps, much to chagrin of myself and my traveling companions. Understandably, the demands of paling around with Rog and the industry buddies had trumped the amount of time I was spending with them, and the complaints about both abounded.

So, we struck a compromise: I took the morning off from the floorshow to spend instead with my girlfriends. We decided hang out in the pool of our hotel. I wish I could pretend that something worthy of a PG-13 or greater rating occurred, but since the Cliffs at Peace Canyon prides itself on being a family establishment, I couldn’t even preview some of the free merchandise I had procured from generous merchants anxious to have me review their products (on camera, of course) or show off my Aurora-autographed Anabolic calendar. However, for all you foot fetishists out there, you’ll be happy to know we did experience some bonding over painting each other’s toenails fire-engine red.

Still, I was jonesing for my AVN fix and decided to resume my resident toy reviewer-pournalist duties and catch the last half of the AEE floorshow. Returning to the Sands Expo Center, I felt the sleep deprivation start to kick in. Rog was already hard at work interviewing a number of Anabolic girls I hadn’t gotten around to, which left me the freedom to wander and network with the manufacturers who hadn’t yet figured out that I was the only registered toy reviewer in attendance and what a little freebie might do for their business.

While browsing through the booths on the top floor, I encountered a mini-game show that involved three AVN staff members offering people money to do overtly sexual (but ultimately, rather humiliating) things. A large woman was offered $50 to go around without her shirt on and then another to hit her man in the face with the second-largest dildo I have ever seen (the first, a Hustler Real Man, is located discretely beneath my good friend Clay’s bed and has since been re-christened Bubba). Although I had seen a few side events which struck me as worth getting involved in, ‘What Would You Do for Money’ wasn’t among them, and I was happy to sit back and observe other participants compromise themselves for the crowd’s amusement. Of course, the irony in this is that I quickly became a source of amusement for those around me as well.

Jeers, however, to impromptu love connections. It would appear that AVN, in addition to functioning as America’s largest gathering for porn and all other things oriented towards adult entertainment, is also the place to arrange for hasty marriages (paging Britney Spears) and romances. Not only was I approached by representatives from two separate companies about possibly getting into pornography (including Black Market, whose representative Caesar assured me that “a little white girl like you is exactly what we’re looking for” while his buddy Armand asked for my digits so he could take me home to meet his mama) but I also managed to solicit a marriage proposal from a 6-foot-2 tall Russian who stumbled drunkenly into me.

“Tonight,” he announced, holding my hand up the way I might expect if we had just won a tag-team wrestling match, “we make love, and then tomorrow, we marry. You will be the mother of all my children. But first, we go to my room and get to know each other better.” This elicited several grunts of approval from the other men gathered around us, who were likely just as intoxicated as the Russian and more interested in watching this Tom Byron look-alike attempt to woo me than the couple on stage, who were now being encouraged to take turns swallowing the sudsy dildo for even more money.

Not surprisingly, the idea of my new Atlantic friend carrying me off, Neanderthal-style, to the room that would apparently be doubling as our honeymoon suite didn’t appeal to me, especially as he dragged me away from the floorshow. Fortunately for me, the Jack Daniels he had been consuming was definitely on my side and he tumbled down some stairs into the Emergency Exit. A security guard who had all but choked on his tongue to keep from laughing looked at me for what I wanted to do. I asked him to inform my new fiancé that I had unfortunately died but that my final wish was for him to move on and have a happy life with somebody else.

In a frantic attempt to escape before the Russian revived, I dove behind some booths that featured some sex toys I had never seen before. Which leads me to the Gadget Girl favorite of the day, a handy little product called the Fukuoku Finger Massage Glove. Right away, the Glove impressed me because it was applied by a very attractive blonde in a nurse’s uniform who insisted on massaging my neck and back personally. What really sealed the deal for me, however, is that the Glove’s individual fingers contain a gentle enough vibration to be used for clitoral stimulation and as an extra bonus, the Glove (made from nylon and Lyrca) is also waterproof. Maybe the benevolent folks in charge of the AEE will be so kind as to send me a few to review, or just as a gift for my bachelorette party.

While the Russian might be worthy of some jeers, special cheers to Erik Everhard, whose little bit of infamy was denied this weekend when the female fan he had planned to have an on-camera rendezvous with had to return home on some family business. Ever the good sport, I jokingly offered myself as a replacement and Everhard allegedly agreed! The interview never took place, much to the disappointment of my girlfriends, who heard the juicy gossip later that night as we traipsed over the Old Strip. Still, thanks Erik–you sure do know how to make a girl blush.