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
Or at least that's the perception.
"A lot of these girls have great family lives," observes George, albeit from a tradesman's bias. "They're brought up right; their parents have money. It's not trailer trash. I don't know what it is. I think they just love their bodies. Maybe because there's so much girl-girl now. A lot of these girls will not have anything to do [publicly] with a guy -- just girl-girl."
A recent Inside Edition segment dwelled on Girls Gone Wild's seemingly predatory use of unsuspecting subjects. It featured the plight of a Florida State University student who was filmed topless on Bourbon Street and later appeared on a GGW box cover, for which she successfully sued for a cash settlement. George, predictably, has little sympathy for those who appear naked in public and later claim they are being exploited. He insists that he's had only one complaint in 20 years of filmmaking -- from a woman he filmed at Mardi Gras. "I'm not sure what she did to this day," he says. "I think she was bent over a railing spreading her ass, and she was too embarrassed to tell me about it." Her lawyer requested $5,000, George referred the matter to his own attorney, and that was the end of it.
"If they don't want to be in it, then I'll take them right out," he states unequivocally. "If they want $200, I'll give them $200. If people don't want to be in it and I know it, I cut them out -- they're absolutely not in the movie. Most companies won't do that, but I'll do it in a heartbeat. If it's already out there and someone calls, I'll tell her, 'It's already out there, but I'll take it out of the next one.' I'm not out to offend anyone."
But what about those who are filmed unawares, or who are seized by the buoyancy of the moment and later regret it, or who don't mind being filmed but resent participating in a commercial venture -- especially if they go unrewarded for it?
"Then why did they take their clothes off in a public area?" he asks. "I tell you what. You get yourself an attorney, and if you have enough money -- because I have enough money -- then we'll fight."
"I LOVE IT WHEN A PLAN COMES TOGETHER"
BACK AT COPPER CANYON, THINGS ARE HEATING UP -- both literally and figuratively.
Here's how it happens:
Kristen and Jessica work the pole. The other girls fan out across the gathered boats -- meeting girls, chatting up guys, posing for pictures. But it's all about the girls. The new girls. George's girls are there to seed the clouds. They are the Judas goats -- trained to lead the other sheep to the slaughter, allowed a side exit at the penultimate second. "Will you show my boyfriend real quick?" Brandy will ask, pointing out the camera. "Let's do it together." It's also vaguely cultlike, to the extent that everyone is made to feel welcome, like they're part of something. Or like coyotes, for that matter, who often send a female in estrus out to lure unwitting dogs back into their circle, where they are then attacked and eaten. Sometimes the new girls come back over to the boat -- to flash, to join in the dancing, to put on a show. Sometimes the effect is just the opposite: Other girls, isolated around the cove, begin to resent the attention these girls are receiving and rise to the unspoken challenge. Anyone willing to toe the line incrementally farther back gets her moment in the sun. Topless becomes de rigueur, then someone goes bottomless. Bottomless loses its cachet, and someone uses a vibrator. Two girls trumps one. A blowjob trumps a solo act. And so on throughout the afternoon.
George's girls cede the attention when it's merited. Their agenda isn't to win the competition they're engendering; it's merely to up the stakes. They are cheerleaders as much as anything, and the dynamic is that of a pep rally. Big hugs every time someone does a crotch shot. Pretty soon other girls make their way over to use the stripper pole -- exotic dancers, exhibitionists, spirited amateurs. The girls in the next boat over take turns fellating one of the guys with them, while another gets it all on tape. At one point, Brandy sprays Cheez Whiz on her nipples and has guys lick it off, but Keith, jealous, puts a decisive stop to that. The men in attendance are relatively uninvolved in all of this, superfluous really, except as members of the gallery, observers at the tennis match. You could follow the proceedings silently just by watching how their necks crane. George and Keith use them as a kind of windsock, instantly calibrating the subtle variations in direction, the invisible rises in heat or pressure, as half a dozen variables compete to find their own level. They both stay on top of the action -- Keith darting in and out between people's legs, shooting low-action, diving into the fray, George tethered to the boat and its immediate surroundings. Willie Jacobs guards the talent.
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