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Hawaiian Punch: Exquisite Pleasures on Sunset Blvd.
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WEST HOLLYWOOD, Calif. - Sunset Boulevard may be the stuff of fantasies to people who don’t have to navigate it on a Saturday night, but it loses it’s romance when the traffic crawls and the heavy police presence is a intimidatingly sober sight. But sometimes it’s just worth the hassle and the risk.
Exquisite Pleasures cordially invited me to their Hawaiian Summer Bash at the Cat Club with hosts Justin Slayer, Rodney Moore, Max Hardcore and Bionca, which seemed like a guaranteed worthwhile night out. Besides, when I get invited cordially, I take it seriously.
The Cat Club is a few doors down from the Whiskey a Go Go and across from Hustler Hollywood. The much-ballyhooed valet service around back filled up quickly, so I had to squeeze my way back onto Sunset and pull into what seems to be an apartment complex parking lot with a sign saying PARKING $7 and some random guy taking money. The guy parked the car for me, telling me as he returned my keys to have the car out by 2:20. No problem, it’s 8. If I’m leaving after 2:20, I shouldn’t be driving anyway.
Walking down Sunset I spy a pretty young blonde standing in the doorway of a pizza place, taking a break, watching the traffic go by. I wonder if Rodney Moore will be eyeing her for a future scene. You can never have too much fresh talent.
A few people are outside the Cat Club, smoking and talking. Max Hardcore is there, looking a little like the Marlboro man in his cowboy hat, sucking on a cigarette, talking to a couple guys with his cowboy-booted foot up on stair. I think of chatting him up, then figure I’ll be better off getting a drink first.
Rodney Moore assistant Stevie is working the door, greets me with a smile, a lei, a bag of DVDs and drink tickets. I ask if there’s anything I should know. "Drink tickets are good for anything, lap dances are upstairs, have fun," she tells me. A girl with few rules. I like that.
There’s still room to move, so I’m able to get a drink quickly and immediately head upstairs. I figure if this is where the action is going to be, I might as well get a good view. Porn starlets Lauren and Amanda are on a couch with about a dozen guys standing around, I push and prod my way to a decent vantage point and one of the girls is encouraging a guy to wipe her ass with a towel. I wonder what the hell I missed, but I’m not sure I want to know. Whatever it was, the crowd seems very pleased.
I head back down and check out the courtyard in the back. Courtyard, perhaps, in a technical sense. Despite the Max posters, imported Hawaiian-style decorations and pretty girls, I am still reminded of alley boozing in King of the Hill.
Max is hanging out with Summer Luv and I stop and say hello. "Do you know Summer Luv?" he asks. I tell him I don’t and put my hand out, and she touches it lightly with a dirty smile. "You want her to give you a blowjob?" Max asks. "She’ll give you a blowjob for a good review." I look at Summer, who doesn’t seem opposed to the idea. Max then offers her ass. "You want to fuck her ass? You can fuck her ass, but you can’t use any lube."
"Is that a Max rule or a Summer rule?" I ask.
"A Summer rule," Max says.
Well, everybody has to have rules.
Caroline Pierce walks by, she’s playing shot girl tonight, and I spot Gia Regency in the corner behind a small bar where she’s selling bottles of Bud, Bud Lite and Corona. Umbrellas not included. I learned as a boy that it’s important to have a well-informed bartender, so I decide to make sure that the green-eyed sex machine has a proper background in liquor consumption.
We chat for a bit, me trying to lull her into a comfort zone before - bam! - the hard questions start flying. She tells me that her corner drink dispensing station has been pretty quiet and that earlier she didn’t even have a bottle opener. I ask her if she just busted the tops off on the edge of the bar, like in the movies. She didn’t.
I ask her what drinks she prefers and she rattles off Sex on the Beach, Orgasms and Blowjobs like she’d been waiting all night for someone to ask. Porn star answers all the way. Man, she’s good.
We discuss the highs and lows of drinking and driving, and Gia whispers that she knows a secret to staying below the legal limit. "Not drinking?" I ask. "Better," she continues. Seems she has some inside DMV-type information that says she can have one drink each of her first two hours out, and a third drink over the next two hours. Teasing one’s liver with the sweet, sweet taste of liquor seems much more cruel than not drinking at all. Still, I find her theory intriguing.
Oh, and for sipping purposes, Gia recommends a Black Russian.
We see Rodney Moore down the alley and Gia admits that she didn’t recognize him earlier. "I’ve fucked over 300 people and I can’t be expected to remember everyone!" she insists.
On that note I leave Gia to handle the small line that has formed and go find myself a real drink.
Back upstairs, the girls are getting loose and the crowd is getting worked up. Always-present photographer Dr. X is shooting Catalina and group of big-titted babes. First they’re all topless, then they are spreading, licking and playing with themselves and others. Catalina sits on the back of the couch, pulls up her flowered skirt and pulls her white panties to the side, exposing her furry little snatch. "I have a hairy pussy!" she says and a blonde turns around, her face only inches from Catalina’s muff and squeals, "Oh, you do!" She gives Catalina a lick and Cat lets out an enthusiastic "Ay!" One blonde starts going down on another and it quickly becomes obvious that the cameras are the excuse, not the reason, for the pussy-chomping. One male observer calls out, "Catalina, pee on them!" One of "them" shoots back, "That’s extra!"
Back on the stairs things I can see the place is getting packed. Justin Slayer and HJ are holding court near the front door, Max is at the bar, girls are going down on each other and the Beach Boys’ "Help Me, Rhonda" is playing. If Mike Love were dead, he’d be spinning in his grave.
I run into Robert Herrera, director of production at Simon Wolf Productions. We talk about the Extreme bust and he says he’s thankful his company didn’t start doing some of the nastier scenes that they had considered doing. We agree that the legal hassles just aren’t any fun, even if you win.
Steviee bounces by, presses more drink tickets into my hand and takes me to say hello to Slayer and HJ. We talk about the pummeling Slayer gave a girl in scene I saw a few days ago. They tell me they’ve been shooting hot and nasties in Brazil and Eastern Europe and to keep an eye on the new Black Pipe Layers line, which features three brothers plugging the trio of holes on white chicks.
Back in the alley for a smoke, things are suspiciously quiet. A spy whispers to me that I should stay put for a minute. I suck on my Marlboro and try to figure out why all the tension. I spot a pissed-looking Catalina. Apparently I’ve walked in after a verbal catfight between her and Summer Luv, the crowd waiting for the heels to come off and to see these girls come to a whole different kind of blows. Instead, some words are exchanged and Catalina struts off, shaking her ass, waving her finger in the air, saying, "I’m the best. I’m the best. I’m the best." Summer stays behind, telling friends, "I’ve always supported her! I love her!"
Ahh, some friendly competition among the Max girls. Feeling the spirit of Rona Barrett coming over me, I find each when they’re alone later, ask what’s up, but neither wants to tell AVN Guy nothin’. Smart girls.
Back at Gia’s corner bar and bistro, I chat up Rodney Moore for a few minutes. We talk about the travails of a male porn star dating norms. Said one time he met a girl who wanted to take him for a test drive, but was so paranoid about diseases that she demanded he wear two condoms. They fucked for about five minutes, she came and then literally pushed him off her. Got what she wanted and got the hell out. I suggest that, still, he’s in no position to complain. The guy sees more than his fair share of action.
Next stop: Pat Myne and Wicked contract hottie Stormy. Myne takes a couple minutes to tell about the time when he was little punk rock Pat Myne and was photographed by Andy Warhol, which appeared in a 1982 issue of Rolling Stone (Mick Jagger cover, page 72). Says he met a bohemian-brand chick one time who wouldn’t shut up about Warhol. He told her about his Warhol portrait and when she didn’t believe him, he put a wager on the table: pic proof for pussy. He took her home, showed her the Rolling Stone and she paid up.
"You talking about other girls?" Stormy chirps in with a smile and I leave the lovebirds to their lovin’.
Rodney Moore assistants Steviee and Franne happen by, Steviee still carrying a ton of drink tickets. Somehow the topic of leis comes up and I realize that they are actually color-coded. Yellow for the directors and producers (and free drinks). Rainbow for talent. White for the innocent. And I have red. "Why red?" I ask. "Is that so they know to stop talking when I approach?" They play coy. Touché.
-Acme Andersson
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