The Whites of Their Eyes

Like sentries, they stood, barring access with their bare torsos. Lined up, two abreast, the scantily clad spokes model greeter-whores smiled brightly as we approached.

Ostensibly hired to greet the male patrons upon arrival, and hand out glossy folded programs; they were, in actuality, nothing more than obligatory T&A for what promised to be a monumental sausage fest.

Beyond the cleavage-thrusting duo lay the convention center exhibit hall, and the Boy Toy Expo, which sprawled therein. Cars, boats, motorcycles, cigars, booze, guns, poker, BBQ, remote-control helicopters, roasted nuts, massages and hot tubs. Hell, they even had grand pianos. All the wonders the world had to offer, but first I had to get past the whores.

Well, OK, they probably weren't actually whores, per se... But $20 says they'd seen the business end of a stripper rack more than once.

They wore tight black panty-like shorts and tiny red-leather boob panels held together with vermicelli-sized leather thongs. Fake-tanned flesh and surgically-enhanced curves spilled out of every seam and gap.

They were part of the show. However, we were in a brightly-lit public space, there was no stage and no one was tipping. I had, for a moment, an overwhelming urge to think of them as actual human beings.

And thus, I found myself in one of those unique dilemmas that continued to bother me for the rest of the day. As creepy and lecherous as I may be, generally, I do try to be somewhat respectful. So, for instance, when I'm conversing with a woman, be it a friend, a coworker or a stranger, despite my carnivorous urges to "look down," I put great effort into maintaining eye contact.

However, in the case of the expo girls, I was SUPPOSED to look. That's why they were there! That's why they were dressed as they were, and stationed where they were. The very first titillating set of playthings I was supposed to ogle were those two girls. That's what they were paid for. That was part of the implied contract that I entered when I purchased my ticket.

Yet, as we drew nearer, and the girls flashed their artificially whitened smiles, I found myself at a loss. I wanted to look down and gape at their goodies. They also probably wanted me to, or at least expected me to. The people paying their fee for the day certainly wanted me to.

But I didn't. I started to, but with an awkward jerking snapping motion, I twisted my head back up to an almost-natural position. My eyes faltered once again, but subconsciously slipped back up to almost-eye level with the girl on the right.

Eventually, we reached the door, and the girl on the right offered me the glossy program.

"Er, eh, thanks..." I said, with a dorky dismissiveness. I half-smiled as I took the handout, head cocked to the left, face tilted unnaturally upward, eyes fixed on a point just to the left of the girl's nose, about a half inch below her eye.

I avoided the genetically-imperative gawking.

"smooth..." I thought to myself.