By Michael Goldstein
By Dennis Romero
By Sarah Fenske
By Matthew Mullins
By Patrick Range McDonald
By LA Weekly
By Dennis Romero
By Simone Wilson
"There was a time when I felt like I owned the river," George says today of this part of the Colorado. Situated along state lines, the river has no shortage of police presence -- and no clear lines of jurisdiction. Overseeing it all is the Lake Havasu City Police Department; the Mojave County Sheriff's Department, which polices the Arizona side in a reportedly perfunctory fashion; assorted U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and Bureau of Land Management agents; at least one Coast Guard boat; and the dominant presence on the lake, the San Bernardino County Sheriff's Department, with whom George has a long and complicated history. He makes no secret of his disdain for their "Gestapo" tactics (he once read from Mein Kampf during a court appearance to make a point), or for the "far right Christians" whose bidding they presumably do.
"[The Christians] put pressure on the authorities to make a lot of arrests up here to stop people from coming. A girl may be flashing up and down the river here, and the police will pull up immediately and threaten her with jail. Then all of a sudden she's labeled a card-carrying sex offender," George says, working himself into a mild lather. "Now, everybody knows not to do that under London Bridge, where there are children. Of course not. We're talking down the river . . . Gladiatoris one of my all-time favorite movies, which I've seen about seven times. They cut a lot out because they didn't want to show the Christians being fed to the lions. [But] I really think if history was a little different, and more of them had been fed to the lions, we wouldn't have the problems that we do today."
OPERATION: ENDURING STAMINA
FOR A PORNOGRAPHER, GEORGE SEEMS A FAIRLY reluctant one. He is fond of statements like "Not bad, an old fart like me running around with all these young girls" or "Most guys don't see this much pussy in their life," but you can tell his heart's not really in it. Get him started on anything technical, though, and you're in for a welter of horsepowers and calibers and payloads. That goes for the car he drives -- a 260-hp Acura NSX with a V-Tec engine and 6,500 miles on it. It's true of his pride and joy, a pair of matching .44 Desert Eagle pistols (he used them against Arizona's indigenous coyote population when he lived in Sedona, but was forced to leave them at the border when confronted with California's more stringent gun laws). George's politics seem of a piece with the "Live Free or Die" banner that flies from the bow of his 26-foot pontoon boat, atop the flagpole that currently doubles as a stripper's pole. "I'm a staunch First Amendment advocate," he declares. "I think it's worth all the other amendments put together. But without the Second Amendment, it doesn't mean a thing. If they take the guns, they can interpret the other amendments however they want." Left to right: “Amber” and “Rosanna” and “Kristen”
The son of a Navy weatherman stationed in Point Loma outside San Diego, George also has an affinity for rocketry and pyrotechnics that goes back to childhood. A rocketry exhibit at his seventh-grade science fair landed him a meeting with Edward Teller, the father of (and chief apologist for) the hydrogen bomb. His experiments making bathtub nitro or C4, or launching a hamster to 25,000 feet from the Anza-Borrego Desert floor using a mixture of potassium perchlorate and powdered aluminum -- "the same stuff they used in the SRB (solid rocket booster) on the shuttle" -- got him assigned as a Palmer tank commander with the 108th Cavalry during Vietnam (although his division never saw combat), and later, the R&D position at General Atomic. (The hamster, alas, was not so lucky: It died from pulling too many g's, reaching 2,000 miles per hour.)
It's not surprising, then, that George approaches his video work with a warlike mindset. "This is a military mission every time we go," he says. "We usually join forces with a houseboat, because it's a bigger platform. It's usually guys having a bachelor party or something, and we'll help them out -- beer, whatever they need. We come bearing gifts." In addition to the girls themselves, these gifts include Mardi Gras beads, the standard currency in inducing toplessness; plenty of Coronas and Smirnoff Coolers; and surprisingly little food (one surmises the girls perform better on a liquid diet). There are also certain specialty items -- in this case, an assortment of brightly colored dildos and, for reasons we will discover later, a white inflatable pig. As we load up the boat with provisions on Saturday morning, Natalie silently inventories the tools of her trade. She has her hair in side pigtails, which accentuates her kewpie-doll appearance, and she's wearing a GM halter top that reads "Party Girls -- Wanna See My Tits and Ass?" The guy in the next boat takes the bait.
"Hey, can I see your tits?" he tries to ask innocently.
"I'll tell you what," Natalie says without looking up. "I'll let you see my tits if you'll let me fuck you in the ass with this vibrator."
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