Wonderhussy

Last Friday, a guy I’ve been dating invited me to a party. But of course, this being Vegas, it wasn’t just any party — it was a pool party hosted by the members of an amateur porn website…one of which members, come to find out, was my date!

You know those amateur porn sites: just plain folks like Mom, Dad, Aunt Betty and Uncle Bill, getting it on in all their flabby, sunburned glory. I guess the impossible silicone ideals of commercial porn just don’t do it for some people…so they go the DIY route instead.

Now at first, I’ll admit I was slightly taken aback that my date — whom I hold in high esteem — was a member of such a site. But then I remembered how I kicked some random Dago in the nuts for money the other week, and I realized I have no right to judge. So I accepted his invite, and that’s how I found myself naked in a hot tub full of wild-n-crazy Midwestern suburbanites.

This was billed as a “mixer,” but I pretty much assumed it was a swingers’ party…of which I’ve been to a few, and which I without exception have found depressingly bourgeois and without a doubt the UNSEXIEST places I’ve ever been. In my experience, these parties are full of drunk, sunburned, middle-aged, middle-brow, middle-income naked people. The women all go nude to show off their freckled, baloney-nippled implants, and the men all sit around in swim trunks and gold chains ogling the ladies. Frosted hair, C-section scars and beer bellies are the norm, and everyone fancies themselves the ultimate libertine for being naked among strangers.

BIG DEAL!

A quick rundown of my swinger party experiences:

• a party at a nudist resort in Northern CA (exactly as described above, except the men were nude as well)
• a night at the legendary Power Exchange swing club in San Francisco (slightly more deviant, but basically the same scene…just with better lighting)
• a night at the Red Rooster here in Vegas (exactly as described above…only TIMES 100!)
• a night at the Green Door here in Vegas (I went on an off-night, so it was creepily deserted except for a handful of shadowy single men shuffling around 10 feet behind me everywhere I went)
• a visit to the Power Exchange here in Vegas (again, on an off-night, so it was totally deserted except for a tranny or two…which I’m told is the norm)
• a backyard pool party hosted by swing website Kasidie.com (exactly as described above)

So…it goes without saying that I am not a swinger. The idea of sex with strangers is only appealing to me if I’m in the dressing room of the Thunder From Down Under, or possibly in the Physics department at MIT. But I DO enjoy me some people-watching…and swingers parties are the ULTIMATE in people-watching!

Also, most swingers are really friendly, down-to-Earth, just-plain-folks…so I figured I had nothing to lose by accompanying my date to this party. We showed up around 7, and in the spirit of fitting in I was topless by 7:15 and naked by 7:30. When in Rome…!

This party was in a beautiful resort-style backyard pool setting, on a beautiful summer’s evening at twilight. The kitchen was stocked with Boone’s Farm and pizza, and the conversation ran the gamut from sex to sex to sex (although, surprisingly, no one actually had sex). Good times!

I can’t imagine how, but my date and I ended up staying for SIX AND A HALF HOURS! I don’t even remember what I talked to these people about for that long…but I do remember drinking lots of delicious Boone’s Farm, and I do remember sitting in a hot tub full of naked strangers who were talking about cruise ships and strip clubs and pet names for one’s vagina. My date had his arm around me, rubbing my back in a not-unpleasant way…and as I relaxed into the lukewarm mix of chlorine and bodily fluids, I happened to notice that his OTHER arm had wandered between the legs of a battered Kentucky milk cow.

Hmmmmm!

Anyhoo, it was an interesting night…to say the least! I did meet some really nice people, and learned an interesting thing or two about the strip club industry from the point of view of a 42-year-old stripper (who was actually super cool). But swingers’ parties just aren’t really my thing. Although I’m down for a trip to the Red Rooster on a Saturday night just about ANY time — that place is NUTS!

Anyway, I went home and scoured my skin in a scalding hot shower to get off the milky film, and chalked it up as another interesting adventure. Of course, that wasn’t the ONLY adventure I had this week…I’m still trying to make a buck, ya know!

So in that spirit, this week’s random gig was as a corporate mascot at the Licensing Expo. Basically, this was a huge convention hall full of brands that are available to be licensed, and celebrity names available to be pimped out onto cereal boxes and tennis shoes and stuff. Exhibitors at this fine show included NASCAR, Disney, the NRA and Janet Jackson…just to give a random sampling. For a price, you too can have Elvis’s face on your Kotex wrapper!

The company I was working for was contracted to provide mascot characters for many of the booths. Our staging area was a chaotic mess of Care Bears, Smurfs, Strawberry Shortcakes and weird Japanese cartoon characters I’ve never heard of like Yo Gabba Gabba (WTF?!?), all in one state of undress or another. We were supposed to get into costume, walk around the convention floor for 30 minutes, and then break for 20 minutes…on and off all day. I thought it would be MUCH MORE FUN if we mixed up the body parts, like in that game where you fold a piece of paper into thirds and one person draws the head, the next the body, and the last the legs…without anyone seeing what the others have drawn! Imagine a Felix-the-Cat head on a Cookie Monster body with Strawberry Shortcake’s legs. LOL!

I myself was saddled with some obscure South American princess character who had a ginormous foam head that afforded very limited visibility…and four layers of padded clothing that afforded a raging case of swamp-ass! Still, I can’t complain — it was easy work, and everyone marveled at the fact that my makeup remained in place the entire time, no matter how sweaty it was inside that head (I don’t fuck around when it comes to makeup… I use some industrial-grade shit!).

Besides, the swamp-ass induced by that costume was nothing compared to some of the other cases of swamp-ass I’ve suffered in my career as a corporate mascot. Here’s a brief run-down:

My first mascot gig was as an Oreo Cookie at a Wal-Mart grand opening back in January ’05. I had never worn a mascot costume and thus was unfamiliar with the inflation mechanism…and as a result, stumbled about in a half-inflated, wrinkly stupor, terrifying children and making babies cry. “Say hello to the Oreo, Tyler!” one trailer-park mom exhorted her sniveling white-trashling, shoving his bawling face towards my crazed cookie-smile. That kid is probably either in therapy or on kiddie drugs to this day, if he isn’t already in kiddie jail.

My next foray was as the Peanut M&M at a convenience store owners’ convention. I was on a sea voyage up in the Arctic Circle at the time I got the job offer, but I spent $30/minute in the ship’s internet room to reply back with a wholehearted “YES!” That actually turned out to be the easiest of all my mascot gigs, since it was an inflatable costume, not a hard, furry one — much lighter, airier and cooler inside. And besides that, we were indoors the whole time…so the comfort level was great.

The only bummer was, the girl the agency hired as my “guide” was a real embarrassment! I know we were just staffing a mascot costume and its guide, but this was still booked through a modeling agency…and the girl they hired as my guide was a squat Vietnamee with 2nd-degree burns all over her face and an extremely ratty rabbit-fur coat she insisted on wearing over her uniform because it was cold. When she wasn’t sitting on the floor barking “Free candy!” and throwing bags of M&Ms at convention-goers, she was hauling ass around all the vendor tables, collecting free samples of corn dogs, pretzels, Slim Jims and all other manner of nasty-ass convenience store “food.” Ai-yi-yi!

Then came the WORST EVER mascot gig, as a giant soda cup at a shopping center owners’ convention. This agency had hired 20 “models” (they use this term verrrry loosely) to play the soda cups, and 20 guides to assist them. The idea was that you and your guide were supposed to switch on and off every 20 minutes, so one person didn’t get stuck wearing the outfit all day (did I mention they had us outdoors, on the corner of Convention Center Dr. and Paradise Rd., in 105-degree heat?!).

Unfortunately for me, the friend who was supposed to work with me flaked, so just like in middle-school P.E. class I got stuck with the leftover that nobody else wanted — a bitch named Barbara (yes that was her real name — BITCH) who straightaway informed me that “I don’t wear costumes; it’s in my contract, so you’ll have to wear it the whole time.” SAY WHAT??? I got soooooo hot inside that f*ckin’ costume that I ended up breaking down and bawling my eyes out. The guy running the promotion noticed my distress and understood my situation with Barbara, so he took me aside and gave me extra money for my suffering. Eagle-eye Barbara, that bitch, didn’t miss a thing: “What were you talking to Chris about over there?!” I made up some story about him hiring me for another gig, but you could tell she didn’t believe me. Fuckin’ bizzz-atch! I ended up having to work with her again later that year at the Mr. Olympia bodybuilding expo, and she acted sweet as sugar…but I knew better by then.

Anyhoo, after that I SWORE I’d never do another mascot gig…but then I got this fairly sweet job promoting a certain well-known mattress company that uses a sheep in its commercials. I did three different promotions for them, and one time they shipped me the costume over a holiday weekend, so I had it for a few extra days. Well, you know me and my photo shoots — I couldn’t very well let a perfectly good sheep costume sit around unused…not when I happen to have a perfectly good Bo Peep costume to go with it!

The only problem was, you had to be 5’8″ or shorter to fit in the sheep outfit…but thankfully, a palsied photographer I knew at the time who had no social life was able to come over on short notice and don the costume, while I got dressed in my Bo Peep getup (which is actually a 1980s bridesmaid’s dress I bought at a thrift store long ago). My roommate at the time, another squat, toothless, palsied photographer, snapped the pics in my front yard that night. NO WONDER my neighbors hate me!

Anyhoo… that has been my life thus far as a corporate whore aka professional mascot. Who knows if I’ll ever do it again….especially after writing this tell-all expose! But if I do….it’s guaranteed to be gooooooooooood times!

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