It was a gala night for porn vets Nina Hartley and Randy Spears, (and, if you add up their combined sexual conquests, it probably has been close to a gal a night). The grand, bejeweled Larry Flynt honored the legends, holding court at their induction to the Hustler Hollywood Walk of Fame at the Hustler store on Sunset Boulevard. Which technically is in West Hollywood, but, as we all know, porn defies mere geographical boundaries.
Amid all products Hustler and trays of fruit and cheese, the evening got off to a tastefully lubricated start as shots of champagne were handed out by scantily clad lovelies. There was no mistaking who they worked for; the girls wore dainty little aprons emblazoned with “Hustler,” which one game honey named Lisa Marie (“Yeah, I’m named after the bitch. My dad was a big Elvis fan”) lifted to reveal her black thong with “Hustler” spelled out in front.
As the searchlights in front of the emporium heralded the event to the night sky, the stars began to arrive. There was lithe, extremely tan Tabitha Stevens, whose bright turquoise ass floss undies were riding way up and out of her skintight jeans, God bless her. The venerable Devinn Lane made the scene, as did Robert Lombard, Hartley hubby Ira Levine, and a few Flynt family members: Dustin and Jimmy II, sons of Larry’s brother.
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But the focus was on the honorees. Hartley looked radiant in a red leather bustier that gave no quarter to her pronounced rack, and tight, black leather skirt cradling the famous anus that has thrilled and delighted fans for years. Spears, rugged stud of years of penetrating achievement, looked fit and relaxed, casually copping a smoke outside with fiancée Demi Delia, whose form-fitting, cream, satin dress left little to the imagination.
The iconic Hustler boss himself rode in on his gold-plated wheel chair, parting the crowd like the Red Sea, looking, as he always does, like Larry Flynt. The man wheeled up to the dais, signaling the official part of the evening. Hartley and Spears prepped for their laying in of hands by lubing their palms with baby oil, a little known secret that allows for the perfect imprint. And then, as flashbulbs sparked willy nilly, the famous hands were inserted into squares of dark cement. It’s a great honor but a dirty business; the stars had to towel off before the speechifying. Flynt made a brief comment:
“Randy and Nina helped more people through puberty than I did.”
Spears stepped to the microphone, placing his arm on Flynt’s shoulder.
“There’d be no porn industry without this man,” he intoned. “This guy’s fed my family for years!”
Then it was Hartley’s turn.
“Randy and I go way back, and I always knew he’d be the great performer that he is.” She addressed the crowd: “I’ve had all sex, so you don’t have to!…I want to thank everybody for letting me show off my butt. Keep on fucking!”
There was applause, then more mingling and schmoozing as the ceremony winded down. I grabbed Spears and asked him what it felt like, sticking his hands in the dark cement that will hold his prints forever.
“Well, once Nina asked me to hand her a dildo, and it felt like that, kind of. Like a cold dildo.” He paused, beaming. “This is a great honor.” Indeed it was.
