Sonja's Sojourns – an Irreverent Look at Internet Dating

By Sonja Katz 

A Rose by Any Other Name …

Just before I left town a few weeks ago, I bought a reciprocating saw to cut up some firewood. I finally concluded that it just wasn't the right tool for the job, and returned it to the store. 

Maybe I should have hung on to it. 

"Well, have fun at the sex convention," a friend of mine chortled just before I took off to Las Vegas a week later for Internext 2002, an exposition for Adult Web site owners.

 "It's not a sex convention!" I bristled. "I'll be working, trying to sell some writing!"

I was excited to go. I'd be meeting many new people, but most of all, I was looking forward to seeing the folks from SexyAds, who were coming all the way from Australia. It's not unusual for me to write for people whom I've never met, but these folks were sure to be much more fun than the editors from Antiques & Collectibles Magazine.    

I was right, but I also had cause to worry: Internext was chock full of safety hazards!

Take the woman in the spiked chrome bikini, for example (as I'm sure many would have liked to.) Oh, sure, people were having a blast popping balloons on her breasts, but I shuddered to think what would happen if her parents had dropped by and given her a little hug of encouragement. "Double jeopardy," I mumbled to myself as I walked by.

Somehow, though, I didn't think it required a parent to know you could poke your eye out on those things.

The Latex Nurse was very pretty and sweet, and generously handed out business cards with colorful condoms attached. A couple of men approached her while we were chatting at her booth, and when she asked what she could do for them, they said they had only the desire to touch her dress, which was completely fashioned from latex. While she was more than happy to let them fondle her little uniform, I just had to protest.

"Wait just one second, Little Miss Nursie!" I hissed at her harshly, pointing directly at the four hands gripping her ass through the fabric of her rubbery frock. "Don't you know that some people are allergic to latex?!" She looked right though me, a little on the chilly side. No matter, I thought, and secretly fantasized a nice, rosy rash growing over those rounded globes held captive by their four unsuspecting paws. 

Safety aside, there were many curious sights to be seen at Internext. Probably the most striking, was Erna, a hugely-tall transvestite with an orange bubble hairdo and Barbie-Goes-to-The-Prom black sequined dress. Erna's hair changed each of the three days I was there, from orange, to purple to a bright green. She was a stunning, if flashy chameleon, and very friendly. Always had a group of men around her, but I don't think they were asking for makeup tips.

There were a couple of stages at the convention, with varying types of entertainment. One show included two barely-dressed young women, who were tied up with thick cords by a pony tailed  man who then limply swatted them with a cat o' nine tails. Then, he'd untie them, re-arrange the girls under, around or over each other, re-tie them and start all over again. Photographers encircled the exhibition, snapping away, as the girls' position changed over and over again.

"Tie them, untie them, tie them, untie them! For crying out loud, pick something and go with it, Man!" I begged their indecisive torturer. Lord love a duck, I can't stand a wishy-washy sadist.

 Everywhere, there were images of people plunging, lapping, squeezing, riding and otherwise enjoying others in an Ooohhhed and Aaaahhhed frenzy. While there was no real sex going on in the exhibition hall, there was T&A everywhere you looked – with beefcake on top. And, if you weren't out there wagging your private parts, you were taking pictures of those who did.

Oh, to have twenty minutes with just one of the security guys standing watch and talking into their collars at the very intimate, exclusive nightclub party for about 3,000 called "Sex in the Rain." (It may easily have turned into a fireman's ball, as the chandelier spewed flames and smoke.)

After all this excitement, I could only imagine what the people from SexyAds must look like. Would they be sporting Day Glo cock rings? Had they tattooed their asses with personal ads? Would they be flashing passersby with their pulsating perkies?

Not exactly. I found owners Maureen and John at their understated booth, looking like regular middle-aged human beings. There must be a trick, I thought. They're going to start doing a sit-and-spin right here on the table, right?

Wrong. They were handing out little, fuzzy Koala bears. Yup. Koala Bears.

"You missed the guy having sex with the chair," chorused SexyAds' Deb and Di, as soon as our introductions were out of the way. "They had him right there, on stage!" No wonder they were excited; with similar equipment being touted as, "The Fucking Machine." I made a note to make sure to visit their booth as soon as possible.

The Fucking Machine guy told me he first started making the machines out of reciprocating saws. I gawked at the video behind him, which was showing a woman getting nailed (not sawed) by one of the more advanced versions of the machine. It was quite engaging, to say the least. Unfortunately, they weren't giving any live demos.

"You'd think that she'd be tired out by now," observed Deb. "She's been at it all day."

I should be so lucky. I finally limped up to my room -- alone, laden with bags of logo'd T-shirts, coffee mugs, condoms, and Neoprene breasts, in case I lost my own somewhere during the show. Did people really take the time to memorize the company imprints on these things?

"Wait a minute, Honey. Let's study the logo on this condom for a second before we use it, just in case we want to do some business with this credit card company!"

Meanwhile, when I finally unloaded my loot onto the spare bed, I realized I was horny as hell after all this titillation, and had been eyeing my electric toothbrush with a new perspective.

Thank goodness, someone was distributing sex toys to the masses the next day. The models handing out the goodies probably wondered about the woman with the press pass who practically wept with gratitude when they offered her a logo-imprinted vibrator.

Truthfully, by that point, I was beyond caring. This wasn't just a toy; it was a necessity.

And, now that I had a temporary fix, there was also some comfort in the thought that I could always re-peruse the personal ads, and go back to Sears and get another reciprocating saw when I got home from the "sex convention."

You can write to Sonja at sonjakatz@sexyads.com if you're a SexyAds member!