Earlier this week, we chatted with Fleshbot editrix Lux Alptraum about ejaculate omelettes, NYC porn and exactly what brand of debauchery the first-ever Fleshbot Awards at the Box might entail. And last night we sent reporter Ada Calhoun to find out.…
“Shut the fuck up!” yelled a woman who stormed onstage wearing a vagina T-shirt. She was ignored. In fact, the roaring, uh-perhaps-you-didn’t-notice-there-is-an-open-bar crowd ignored everyone, including presenters and winners, the gyrating, lingerie-clad Box dancers, and even porn star Belladonna as she got naked onstage and deep-throated a dildo.
There is kind of nothing more depressing than posturing sexiness that goes unnoticed. When someone spends the time hooking together all those bustiers and garter belts and rolling around looking sultry and pretending to make out with other girls also wearing black underwear, you really should pay attention to her, just to be polite. But the crowd was not polite. They were drunk and loud and teeming with chubby, giddy dudes who made Levi Johnston (winner for the Porn Crossover Award for his appearance in next week’s Playgirl) look like George Clooney.
The live-blog on Fleshbot is way funnier and hotter than the event itself, and Alptraum would have been a more appropriate host than Justin Bond and John Cameron Mitchell. (She could be seen in the audience jumping up and down with rapture as Belladonna did her blow-job routine. Bond at the end simply deadpanned: “That was beautiful.”)
The porn industry has always been a West Coast thing, and the Fleshbot Awards drove home why: New Yorkers suck at faking things: boobs, pleasure, interest. We are a city of real bodies, and real volume. Our minds are not blown by Prince-video-without-Prince-to-redeem-it ladies dancing to “I Touch Myself” or stripteases to “You Can Leave Your Hat On,” or even a woman dancing—in a very Judy Chicago moment—in a giant vulva costume.
The New York sex industry will never be able to compete with L.A.’s, and so the Fleshbot Awards were unable to compete with the roar of an audience full of drunken New Yorkers just trying to get laid.—Ada Calhoun
See the winners after the jump…
Too much craziness and now, finally, the sweet relief of a weekend involving movies smart and dumb. As you may have noticed, I have a post-Marty glow. (Thanks.) It happens when you become the target of Scorsese’s gigantic cinematic insight. Our chat—which is very inspirational—is 
