2010 Adult Entertainment Expo

Photography Courtesy of AEE

Kurt Broz explores porn and his soul at the 2010 Adult Entertainment Expo.

I am 26 and I am bleeding onto a kitchen floor. Drunk on Flouxetine, I have thrust a steak knife into my subcutaneous tissue. I realize what I've done. Sobriety replaces Wild Turkey. A certain pain swells up between my radius and my ulna, but not a terrible pain. Almost like a bee sting. Almost.

I am 26 and I am at the AVN Expo. A sex robot stares at me, coldly and blankly. It does not move. It does not love. It is just fodder for semen with an expensive price tag.

I am 17 and I am having sex with Jessica. She stares at me, coldly and blankly. I wonder if she is thinking anything or if she might be a robot. I would ask Will Robinson if he were here. 

I am 6. Jetfire stares at me from his new packaging on Christmas morning. Jetfire is a giant robot, fighting for good against evil giant robots. Good and evil all make sense when I am 6. But why is it, I think, that the bad guys get the better costumes? The better colors? Dr. Doom gets a steel mask and a castle. That would be awesome, I think.

I am 26 and I am trying to rewrite an article about my trip to the AVN Expo. A place littered with discarded, fat men trotting around and sweating onto me. There are many beautiful women and men, standing around. Their vapid expressions curdle the bacon cheeseburger deep in my gullet. How I have loved them, and yet they don't know me. They don't look at me. Many of them just seem to look past everyone on the floor. All the pushing, shoving men and the several, obese women. I see a woman dance in a glass menagerie and I wonder, who broke her? Whose unicorn was she? And why can I only think about her perky nipples and not her soul?

The chicken soup is getting cold and my wrist aches. I suddenly recall Galen, the father of western medicine. He operated on Roman soldiers in the throes of death. Blows of flies would cover the corpses on the battlefield. Roman soldiers would salt fields so that nothing would grow again.

A cunt is being thrust into my face on an aging television set. Two women mimic the act of love on one another. A strip club has been set up, velvet and airy. This is no strip club. The air isn't thick with smoke and the women don't reek of shame. The men are enjoying themselves. The drink minimum has been erased. A woman stands next to me, her chest tattooed with something indiscernible. She is huffing and wheezing, screeching that she and her husband have come here for the first time. It has been a lifelong dream, she squeaks, to come to the adult Expo. Her top sags slighting in the midsection, hiding her one, lone wedge of extra subcutaneous tissue. I stand there, somewhere between disgust and enjoyment. I do not know that in a few months, a steak knife will be in my hand. Blood will swell and bubble on the floor. Blood is the color of the interior of a 1985 Buick. Deep, dark red but somehow still shiny. Still new. It only seems to bubble on the floor.

My friend Kenny put a sewing needle into his arm on purpose when he was 16. It was the kind of needle with the big, red knob on the end. It looked like a clown nose and that made me smile. What kind of person puts a needle into their arm, I waxed quixotically. Ten years later, I will put a steak knife into my arm. Ten years and three days later, I will rewrite my article about the AVN Expo. A place where a porn star unveiled her support for PETA. PETA is an organization that claims they are for the ethical treatment of animals. They support terrorists, through charitable donations, by paying for their legal counsel. Kenny probably supported terrorists, too, through charitable donations. He probably bought marijuana from a dealer who got that marijuana from Mexico. That grower in Mexico probably masturbated to the porn stars declaring their love of animals. I also ate veal at a dinner with biologists that work to conserve desert species. That veal had a terrible, short life.

I am 17 and I am having sex with Stephanie in the back of a big, rear-wheel drive Chevy Caprice. The interior is light tan. I wish it were dark, deep red. The car is big and beautiful, like Stephanie's breasts. But her breasts handle better and may have aged better. I wouldn't know. But I do still love a big, beautiful Caprice. Although we have sex and a tender embrace, I go home and masturbate to pornography. There is a white girl telling a black man that she loves him. When he comes, she makes the same expression as the sex robot at the 2010 AVN Expo. Empty and vacuous. It looks as if Hal sent her out of the pod bay. She is stuck in space, forever in the split second of passion. I spill cold chicken soup onto a foot stool.

The pattern is faded and may have been sent through a sepia filter. Flowers form bands. Ovals, kind of like an owl's face, ensnare them. They remind me of the owl from "The Secret of Nihm." At the AVN Expo, there is a petite girl chatting with an older gentleman. Her frame is fragile but her nose is strong and featured prominently. Her hair waves slightly, an almost blood color. She perches in high heels and cackles when she smiles. She reminds me of the owl from "The Secret of Nihm." Her eyebrows point up on the sides and in bed, she coos. They are playing videos of that behind her. Less than 50 feet away, a man demonstrates sexual positions on a woman. They are both wearing clothes, sadly. He reminds me of Billy Blanks, but whiter and quieter. I don't think I could do many of these positions. They seem as if one would need a prehensile penis, long and filamentous. His shirt is blue and tight over his muscular frame.

I am talking to Jake on the phone from the hall of the center where the AVN Expo is. People shuffle about. A woman walks by in a skirt that I cannot, in good conscience, call a skirt. It is tiny and her chest is big and fake. One side of her makeup is a bit darker, a bit brighter. It smears down her cheek, creating a slight purple streak. Does she have a cataract, I wonder. Maybe she was doing methamphetamines when she put her makeup on. Or maybe, just maybe, she's a whore and doesn't care. The man on her arm is 4 or 5 inches her junior. He hunches as he walks and his shirt is too big. I believe he's wearing his father's clothes. Only the back of his shirt is tucked in, but it must have been done feverishly. There is no order to it, no thought. The girl, she trips a little over her own heels. They are big and clear. I wonder if she would love me for money tonight.

I am 21 and masturbating on the freeway. I touch my penis as I drive, remembering the beautiful girl I just kissed. She was young and gorgeous. I come quickly and put it into a tissue. When I do have sex with her, it is in a religious school's parking lot. Awesome, I think, because it is so wrong. It reminds me of a porn. Her large breasts, my hairy ass. Just like a porn. Her hair is the color of the metal rivets on the handle of my steak knives. It doesn't shimmer much in the dark. Cars drive by, stuttering on some pavement stones.

At the AVN Expo, I people-watched. There was also a dildo in a glass case. I once tried to date a girl who was kind of a slut, but then she found religion. Unfortunately, she found religion before she found my purple-headed warrior thrust into her juicy slit. We don't even kiss. She is beautiful and I am so frustrated I cannot speak. I would have loved her for several minutes. That's more love than most people get in a lifetime. But not porn stars. They last hours, it seems. Maybe it's just really, really good editing. I am not a porn star. We met because she liked my red, spiked hair. I like her thin, curved frame. Or at least I might, if I saw it outside of clothes.

I'm not sure I'm seeing what I am seeing. Maybe it is some kind of drunken cataract. A lawyer sits in a tall chair with no back at the AVN Expo. Behind him, his name and information. It is printed on a large tarp, the background being some kind of cat. It might be a jaguar. I assume it has something to do with how he defends pussy. I remember that Max Hardcore was in jail. I remember that I had sex with young, beautiful girls when I was young and not-as-beautiful. I understand why people like barely legal videos. Some of these people are bumping into me, sticking to me. I walk by a woman in a bikini. She is wearing large, furry boots. The bikini is dark blue, almost black. It reminds me of Batman's cape. One stray bit of stubble stings the inside of her leg, rubbing against her vagina. She is choking down a large sausage but sadly, this one is on a bun with onions. Her feet are crisscrossed with veins and shoved into tiny stilettos. There is a plastic knife next to her. She smells sweet and I can't quite figure out what kind of smell it is. It's vaguely fishy, but nice. She must taste like taffy.

The Vegas strip is sad during the day. A few Asians scatter from the light, into whiskey-stained casinos. Electric light is stifled by real light. Solar energy seems to burn everyone. They fear it. They dread it. When I drove to Vegas sober for the Expo, the light was soothing and warm. When I drove back from Vegas, half-drunk and in a cramped back seat…then I scorned the light. From hell's heart, I would stab at thee.

There is a bloody steak knife in the sink and I am a fool. I remember there was yelling. Early that day, I looked at pornography on my computer. Beautiful, pale women, closed eyes and open vaginas. One was bent over a kitchen table and tilted her head sideways. Her hair was wispy and fine. One of her ankles had a deep blue vein on it. A cacophony of emotion fills my brain. Love and hate vie for center stage. A girl tap dances and sings about how in heaven, everything is fine. I am in a maudlin and somber place.

I am 20. I am having sex with Allie in a tent. We are camping and having fun. The sweat glistens just a little on my chest hair. It is warm and humid, with just a bit of sun. In a few days, we would break up. I remember crying just a bit. An effusive swell comes to my paining cheeks. It is then that I do not know love. This is reassured when Erin and I break up in a bar, two days after Valentine's Day. I go home and masturbate to a porn where a woman tells three men that she loves them. They are fucking next to a pool, somewhere in Van Nuys. The audio is poor and the film skips around. It looks like someone with Parkinson's edited it with a hedge trimmer.

I am being driven to the emergency room by Kendra. I still do not understand the concept of love or how it applies to me. My arm is bleeding into the kitchen towel. The one that has green stripes over a white, vacant background. The green is almost celery, but more so the color of Gianna Michael's dress in the video where she was trying to sell a house. I don't think her realtor's license has anything to do with the guy she fellates in the bedroom, but who am I to judge? The red blood reminds me of the shirt Allie wore in her senior photo. The shirt was small and cute. Her mother was Jewish. Daphne Rosen is Jewish. She was born in Tel Aviv. After I had sex with Allie in the tent camping, I came home and masturbated to Daphne Rosen rubbing her big, fake breasts with oil. I can't tell if it's canola oil or vegetable oil. Maybe it's some synthetic blend.

The steak knife was jagged, like the jaw of Nikki Benz. The knife was made in China. Nikki Benz was made in Canada. When I am 22, I am in Canada with my mother. We are in an aviary. She takes a picture of me. I'm wearing a shirt that reads "Chick Magnet." There is irony in there, somewhere, but it is lost on the birds. My smile is half-hearted.

I am 14 and I am seeing my first pornography. A girl with small breasts and bleach blonde hair is fingering herself. Her face is contorted and strange. I don't think she is enjoying it and that turns me on more. In 1994, I saw the movie "Nell." It is the first time I remember seeing a naked woman in the same room as my family. I am uncomfortable and squirm in my seat. I was raised Catholic.

I am 21 and on a date with a girl named Candice. I saw a picture of her wearing a Catholic school uniform on Halloween. She is slightly overweight, but perfectly proportioned. She is beautiful and slightly Rubenesque. In three hours, I will be masturbating to that picture. She never has sex with me. One time, she tries to reconnect with me. I am confused and think it is love. I don't remember ever kissing her. She is beautiful, like a porn star, I think.

Kendra is upset at herself. She thinks she might have somehow caused me to stab myself. That's foolish, I think. Awfully foolish. She is beautiful and blonde. I loved her once. I once thought I loved Liz Vicious. She looks at me, through my monitor, with a longing. She longs for my dick. Her eyes are empty, sort of like a sex robot. I bet her first job was at an ice cream stand. Those girls were always so sexy when I was 15. It was like every ice cream stand owner looked at barely legal porn and thought, "Well, that seems just fine. We should hire girls who look like this. Plastic and sweet. Gentle and unobtainable." 

I am 26 and I am getting staples in my arm. Two staples. I remember what Dr. Manhattan said in "Watchmen." That this universe is a clock without a craftsman. Beth and I are breaking up. Kendra and I are breaking up. Sarah and I are breaking up. Molecules are breaking up. I am watching a pornographic video where a girl, whose boyfriend broke up with her, gets revenge by having sex with other men. She videotapes this. I am breaking up with Kendra and she is crying. I feel so very terrible. I feel better when she drives me to the hospital. She still cares, I think. At the AVN Expo, I wonder if any of the girls still care? I walk by a woman. She has pig tails but they hide lies. She has crow's feet and a widow's peak. Her face has a pock mark on the left cheek. She is telling a man at her booth that she loves her husband and her lesbian videos turn him on.

PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF AEE