Mention a multi-man internalized sexual experience, and a smile of recognition creeps across the maximally submissive Jasmine Lynn's face like a slice of orange sugar-jelly candy. Jasmine's been there, and she swears by it, although our impression is that five dripping pump jockeys without underwear in any set of circumstances is a wisp of rotten barnyard wind and a suffocating fog of smoldering rancid evil, one step above robbing winos in a subway. But Jasmine, after having just taken it deep in her groin, says no. She invited us to take a whiff and see for ourselves. We politely begged off.