Las Vegas Sun

March 28, 2024

Living Las Vegas:

On being Elvis — at a Vegas porn convention

Elvis at AVN 2006

Las Vegas Sun

Then-Sun columnist Tom Gorman wondered if he could attract attention at the Adult Entertainment Expo in 2006 if he dressed up as Elvis. Seems that he did.

Elvis at AVN 2006

Then-Sun columnist Tom Gorman wondered if he could attract attention at the Adult Entertainment Expo in 2006 if he dressed up as Elvis.  Seems that he did.
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Editor’s note: This column, edited for length, was published six years ago and is being reprinted in conjunction with this week’s Adult Entertainment Expo.

For a few hours, I was the King of Porn.

As I walked around the Adult Entertainment Expo, porn industry members took my picture. Starlets posed with me, holding me tightly. Some of them caressed my shoulders and ran their fingers through my hair. Several girls gave me their personal phone numbers (although I think they only gave me their stage names).

This, because I was wearing an Elvis costume. Best $100 I ever spent.

I know that what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas. But with the kind of attention this old man got from women with indescribable figures, I’m telling the world!

I drove to the expo wearing a white, bejeweled jumpsuit; a big, black wig; gold-framed sunglasses and fake bling. A passing motorist gave me a thumb’s up. I snickered back.

But in the Venetian parking structure elevator with five other people, not one said a word to me. Just dead, uncomfortable silence.

When I walked across the casino floor, on the other hand, craps and blackjack dealers looked up. “Hey Elvis!” “Hey King!”

I started to strut. I nodded at people. I snickered. I felt my sunglasses slipping down over my regular glasses, and I hoped my wig wasn’t shifting.

In the big hallway leading to the Sands Convention Center, I suddenly felt alone and stupid. People walking toward the Consumer Electronics Show looked right through me. It was the rare person who would even offer me a smile. One fellow muttered, “Thankyouverymuch,” but I think he was mocking.

Outside the porn convention doors, an unimpressed security officer who was checking photo IDs stamped my hand and told me to move on. I guess she’s seen other Elvi.

Inside the convention, with booths all around me staffed by statuesque beauties in bitsy, skintight things, I relaxed. These were my people. Fellow performers. I felt the love.

“He looks like the later Elvis,” someone whispered. OK, my jumpsuit was a bit snug.

A photographer asked to take my picture with one of the ladies. “Where should I put my hand?” I asked. “Wherever you want, Elvis,” he said.

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Then-Sun columnist Tom Gorman wondered if he could attract attention at the Adult Entertainment Expo in 2006 if he dressed up as Elvis. Seems that he did.

I loved this assignment. The Consumer Electronics Show boasted more than a million square feet of exhibit space, but the Adult Expo had more than a million square feet of cleavage.

(Jeanne, my sweet wife, I love you and I’ll take you out to a nice dinner this week.)

I felt my wig slipping, so I walked up to the Tropical Angel booth. “How’s my hair?” I asked a girl who had a bushel of blonde hair. “Awesome,” she said. I snickered. She laughed. I think other men around me were jealous. I was the King.

All around me, people were taking photos of women posing seductively with their hands on their hips, their shoulders, their chins. They looked over their shoulder, coquettishly. They pouted. They pursed. They smiled. Cameras all around me flashed.

As I adjusted my cummerbund, I realized several people were taking pictures of me. I fell out of character and smiled, then remembered to snicker instead. Then they smiled and took more photos. They loved the snicker. They took turns posing with me.

So it went. As I strolled around, a woman — presumably someone famous in her trade — admonished me to work my hips.

A lovely woman jumped off her posing couch and asked if she could be photographed with me. “I’ve been coming to this show for three years,” she said, wrapping her arm around my waist, “and I’ve never seen an Elvis.” I told her I had never seen her before, either.

Later, I strolled again by her booth as she was holding a sultry pose for a photographer. She saw me, broke out of her porn character and started to giggle. The photographer looked annoyed or jealous. I snickered. I was the King.

A woman who works for a breast-enlargement center asked to take my picture. “My boss will love this,” said the woman from California. “You’ve got Vegas written all over you.”

Thank you. Thankyouverymuch.

I wondered if I’d be as welcomed at the electronics show next door, so I walked over. A girl by the front door, handing out fliers, almost shrieked. “You made my day,” she said. “I’ve lived in Las Vegas for a year and a half and you’re the first fake Elvis I’ve seen.”

It made me wonder if she’s seen the real Elvis..

I walked up to a guy selling waste baskets with lids that automatically open because of some sort of light sensor. For the next 10 minutes he explained to me his automatic waste baskets, automatic soap dispensers, automatic water faucets. Not once did he ask me why I was dressed as Elvis.

I walked in front of a booth staffed by two Japanese men selling batteries. They were taking pictures of one another. I offered to take their picture together. They bowed and smiled. But they didn’t ask to take a photo of me.

At CES, I was not the King. I was a schmuck. So I left.

Returning through the Venetian, I felt comforted. Dealers looked up. “Hey Elvis!” “Hey King!” I walked out the door and into the parking garage, and I announced the obvious to no one in particular: “Elvis has left the building.”

A fellow walking alongside me remarked, “Well done.” I snickered, and then I smiled.

I shared the elevator with four other people. Total silence.

As I got into my car, someone yelled, “Elvis lives!”

Viva Las Vegas!

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