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
Eventually, a natural stage emerges on the roof of the houseboat. Kristen dances in a leopard-spotted cowboy hat, and soon Brandy and Rosanna join her. Three girls onstage for the first time gets the crowd's attention, and at least one enterprising reveler climbs up on the railing below so that, by lifting himself up with his arms, he has a ringside seat. A roar goes up from the crowd when Kristen unwraps a 10-inch strap-on dildo from a beach towel and begins to secure it to herself with various harnesses and leather straps. First she enters the white inflatable pig from behind, resolving at least one of the day's unanswered mysteries. Then Rosanna wriggles out of her bikini bottoms and lies down on the deck, allowing Kristen free access. Soon she's on all fours, and Kristen works her from behind -- first vaginally, then anally. At the end of their little show, Kristen kneels in the face of the guy on the railing, proffering up this imposing flesh-colored strap-on as a spoil of war. The crowd begins to chant: "Suck it! Suck it! Suck it!" The guy takes a moment to decide, weighing his various lingering motivations (e.g., fear versus desire), the reptile brain overloaded with too many impulses working at cross-purposes. Finally he shakes his head. He can't do it. From the back, someone shouts, "Pussy."
Then it dissipates again, and attention spins on around elsewhere, until the next thing. This is when George and his crew go to work. Word comes down that there's a porn girl in the crowd, Paige, who has her own Web site. Various runners are sent back and forth, then Paige pays a social call, accompanied by her boyfriend. She has purple hair, nipple rings and a huge butterfly tattooed on her lower back. Her boyfriend huddles with George for a second. It's agreed she'll do a scene. She poses with her ID to verify she's of legal age, as per Title 18, USC Section 2257, and then goes down on Brandy, at Keith's encouragement, within a natural pit formed by cheering girls, apostate cameramen from Temecula Ken's crew, and zealous oglers hanging from the riggings. The effect is roughly that of a cockfight on a pirate ship. Brandy moans and writhes believably, until about halfway through, when her moans lose their theatrical quality and border on high-pitched screams. It's clear to everyone when the scene is over.
"She is so good!" Brandy gushes to anyone who will listen. "You have got to try this." George arranges a second scene, this time with Rosanna, and halfway through Rosanna leans over and bites Keith, who is close in to get the shot, on the shoulder.
"Ow! She fucking bit me!" Keith says.
Throughout all this, Paige's boyfriend loiters off-camera and tries to look casual. "It's okay, we're swingers," he says, fingering the St. Christopher medal on a chain around his neck. Later, after Paige disappears somewhere, he can be seen forlornly holding her purple nylon bag, awaiting her return.
Meanwhile, on the houseboat, an altercation is brewing off the port bow. Five Latino gentlemen, drawn into the spirit of camaraderie, decide they'll climb up onto the boat. Mike and his friends, white guys from San Diego, beg to differ. Things get ugly quickly as they shout at each other across an invisible line drawn in the water.
"Yeah, bring your punk-ass up here -- bitch!"
The threat of an all-out fight subsides after several tense minutes, but not without recriminations, and the incident continues to marinate in an unhealthy brew of shame and vengeance. Mix alcohol with nudity, and the mechanism for forward momentum is going to operate independently of the capacity for reasoning. That's why you have giant guys working at strip clubs, to enforce the one simple rule: Never, ever touch the girls. They keep the rule simple because they want you to remember it.
"Most people are very cordial about boarding other people's boats," says George. "Then they get drunk and they forget. They don't mean to do anything bad, like trip and fall or spill beer everywhere. They're just having a lot of fun. And there's a lot of tolerance about that. It's just when you get people who force themselves onto your boat because they want to watch the action from a better vantage, and you ask them to leave and they don't, then somebody like Willie has to throw them off the boat . . . Our girls are pretty tough anyway. They're pretty wild out there, but don't mess with them. We've got some that like to be messed with, and sometimes we can't figure that out, so we just kind of back off. As long as they don't get in a situation where it gets real nasty, because we'll put some weight on whoever. Or the guys will. I won't anymore. I'm out."
"Hey, you -- big guy," says one of the girls who administered the blowjob earlier. "Come over here." The biggest of the Latino guys approaches her boat, glowering. They quietly exchange a few words, and then he climbs into her boat. Immediately, she pulls his trunks down and gets busy. His friends erupt in hoots and shouts, while he stands there smiling sheepishly. After the money shot, she slaps him on the ass and smiles, then goes back to her friends. Spotting the cameras whirring, he gives the tiniest of shrugs, almost apologetic, then puts his hands together in front of him as if in prayer, and dives into the water. And so another incident dissipates.
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