Chicago Sexpo 2009
"Oh, hello. I didn't see you there."
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In its second year, the Chicago Sexpo attracted exhibitors from all walks of sex work—topless maids, adult travel services, porn sites and stars, gentlemen's clubs, sex toy manufacturers, fetish wear, dungeons, and even energy drink suppliers. It's only held for one night a year, so the semi-hush-hush kink community came out in full force, and full regalia. Corsets, garters and platform boots reign. Of course, so did hundreds of Chicago men, hoping to catch a glimpse of a little something-something.
Frankly, the Sexpo made me a little nervous. I didn't feel weird being one of the only women not "exhibiting." I’m 28, a fan of Savage Love, and not shocked by kink. I also wasn't nervous about the dungeons, the topless maids, or the pole shows. What worried me was my father's long-standing Google alert on our last name. (Hi, Dad.) That being said, this year's Chicago Sexpo was a pretty good time—if you’re into that sort of thing. Here's Decider's blow-by-blow (heh) recap.
7:15 p.m. My companions and I arrived at Excalibur, where the event was being held. I’d heard that Dennis Rodman frequently hung out at Excalibur when he played with the Bulls. Judging by the array of barely clothed women in 10-inch lucite heels, and the man in a white suit and matching bowler that checks our IDs, this made perfect sense. With all the lights, strippers, and velvet draperies, it felt like we were communing with The Worm.
7:18 p.m. The Sexpo was still in a bit of disarray. Booths were being set up as people stood around nervously. The line at the open bar was understandably deep, so we grabbed our complimentary pink concoctions and started hitting the vendors.
7:20 p.m. An extremely courteous travel agent extolled the virtue of “au naturale” vacations. Besides booking regular vacations, she also works with Hedonism and a company that recently chartered a Caribbean cruise for swingers and nudists. Don’t worry, cruisers of the future—you have to be clothed in the dining room. I asked.
7:25 p.m. We had our first chat with some dominatrixes. (Dominatri? Dominatrixi?) It didn’t disappoint. They came to “play,” and they brought a dog cage to prove it, setting it up in one of the many dark corners at Excalibur. (No wonder Dennis Rodman was into this place.) Miss B Sharp told us about a recent client whose fetish is morning breath. Her co-worker, a tall woman with a tiny top hat balanced somehow on the side of her head, answered all our dumb questions, including one about safe words. The weirdest one she’s heard? "Margaret Thatcher."
7:35 p.m. There were a lot of booths for strip clubs and massage parlors in the suburbs, mainly by Chicago's airports and Gary, Ind. The woman manning the hotspagirls.com booth, Daisy, looked uncannily like Big Love/Mamma Mia’s Amanda Seyfried; though she didn’t know who that was. Daisy told us she has dozens of outfits for dozens of occasions. She’s got bunny ears for Easter, a patriotic outfit for the troops, and even one for Hanukkah.
7:45 p.m. Chicago-based Sex Work Outreach Project, an advocacy group for sex workers, was there too. We perused the organization's hefty list of who’s considered a sex worker, and one of my friends asked what a “fluffer” was, earning a very matter of fact description. If nothing, the night was educational.
7:53 p.m. Employees from Tulip, located in Andersonville and Boystown, explained the virtues of being tied up to your significant other. I asked if they’d been negatively affected by the economy, and got an emphatic yes. Apparently bondage tape isn’t a must have for the masses in these tough times.
8 p.m. At this point, I’d seen one woman with ginormous breasts wearing a see-through mesh zip-up hoodie, a guy that looked a lot like Phil Spector, a creepy dude in a captain’s hat, and more pleather than I could even quantify. The people-watching at the Sexpo was Grade A.
8:10 p.m. Second group of dominatrixes! These ladies were from Chicago Mistresses, located in Logan Square “right by the blue line.” They have four themed rooms, including one for medical fetishes, and another for “suspension bondage and wrestling.” They also didn't mind telling us how much money they make, prompting my friends and I to seriously consider switching careers.
8:18 p.m. A booth was handing out surgical masks with their company name penned on the front—both timely and kinky.
8:20 p.m. Taboo-Tabou, a sex shop on Belmont, was hocking a pill called “Stiff Nights.” The package featured both a lightning bolt and a note that the effects last two to three days. Two to three days?!? The clerk said it was more like three to four days.
8:32 p.m. The folks from Skyscraper Heels, the stripper shoe emporium located near Belmont and Western, let us try on shoes with a 12-inch platform heel, and they were surprisingly comfortable—or as comfortable as regular high heels. The saleswoman helping us looked like Milla Jovovich in The Fifth Element, with bright orange hair and a top made entirely of strips of fabric. I couldn't tell if it was intentional.
8:42 p.m. Harley, a stripper from Hammond, Ind.'s Industrial Strip (clever!), asked my male companion if he wanted to “come for a ride.” (Double clever!)
8:43 p.m. Two girls posed against a pole in the middle of the room and a swarm of camera phones emerged.
8:45 p.m. We talked to our final group of dominatrixes, the lovely mistresses Sophia and Lily of Holy Mountain, who went on and on about "energy exchange." Their booth was more arty than the other dungeons, decorated with draped scarves and candles—as well as a woman wearing a burqa-styled mask and sitting quietly in the corner. A disturbing video of “sploshing,” or messy food play, played in the background while Mistress Lily told us about her homeschooled kids, ages 11 and 14.
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