Porn king's breast laid plans wither in Wellington

By ROSEMARY MCLEOD

OPINION: I've never been as proud of being a Wellingtonian as I was at the end of 2008. Delightfully, fittingly, to our eternal glory, porn king Steve Crow spat tacks at us for not being sleazy enough. He came here with his usual braggadocio and his sexpo, his trusty Boobs on Bikes parade, his travelling salesman's kit of ticklers and thrusters - and we all yawned.

The chilly weather wasn't kind on the boobs, though the girls were game. There were blokes happy to drive them through the city to grab the attention of slavering hordes. Only there weren't many more hordes about than usual in the lunch break, and sushi bars would have seen more slaver.

Men around here won't willingly be seen gaping at sad little women's mammaries - they realise how sad it would make them look, and in this city we women have mammaries of our own. We're not Auckland, where they haven't realised that yet.

Oh, some people objected. Some always do.

That's what drives Crow. He likes to grandstand about tolerance and freedom of expression, though where flashing your tits falls into that category I don't know.

And if boobs, why not other dangly things? And when we're all totally bored by that spectacle as well - what then? Armpits?

Crow plastered an ad over the sexpo venue declaring: "Your sex life is every bit our business." Actually, it isn't. For normal people, sex is a private arrangement; it's only the insecure and the unimaginative that need to turn it into a tap dance with feathers.

Naturally, there was the usual pitch that tinkering with bits of plastic is where it's at, but in Wellington we prefer tinkering with people, not some random assemblage of gadgets. There's no money in that - you know, real relationships with people who talk and think and feel - for a porn king. More power to us.

Blessedly, Crow promises he'll never be back. Only 6000 people attended his erotica expo here, less than half the number he expected, and it was the first time he'd made a loss. "I had people complaining that it was too expensive. If $20 entry is too expensive, then it is ridiculous," Crow moaned, little realising that Wellingtonians wouldn't go even if it was free, and he handed out edible knickers. He'll keep schlepping his bag of tricks to Palmerston North instead, he says, where people are in more need of distraction. Maybe it's the flat topography.

Central Wellington, where Crow aimed his business, is a zone of high incomes and high educational qualifications, as they tell us every election, though I seem to be the exception.

BUT good things come to those who lead a pure life, and there was a surprise in my e-mails this week. I've been "nominated", the message said, for a PhD.

My birthday has been, Christmas is past, yet here was the very thing I've always craved, though my pleasure was somewhat undercut by the sender saying the offer applied to "anyone with sufficient work experience".

All I have to do is call a chap in the United States and someone will get back to me "in a few days". But why rush? There's something - maybe Crow knows about it - in delayed gratification. You don't want all your Christmases at once; you don't instantly eat every chocolate in the box; and even Crow can't watch 87 porno flicks at once.

Some things are better for being delayed, lingered over and anticipated. And while I anticipated, a generous impulse washed over me like - oh, warm massage oil into the belly button of a fat man.

Who better to receive this offer than Crow? He's put the hours in. Armed with a PhD, he could tackle this city again, this time with a genuine certificate. That could make all the difference, couldn't it?

But nah: not even if Crow himself rode through town in the nick - though by the look of him, he'd sure as hell empty the streets.

- © Fairfax NZ News