Monday, January 17, 2005

JESSICA DELFINO MEETS HER PUSSY MATCH*
By Jessica Delfino


*This story is very graphic and kind of long.

I got invited to perform at a nudist party back in November, (the party was scheduled for January). I really didn’t want to do the show because I’ve seen the promoter of the party, who happens to be a nudist, at various events, always naked, and he troubles me for many reasons, but I’m a glutton for punishment and something of a sucker for someone wanting me. And - the show was being held at a club around the corner from me, they were offering to pay me $20, and I consider myself an open-minded woman of the world, so I said, “yes”. He asked me to bring one performer, saying that there was only going to be one other performer besides me - a poet. I decided to bring Touching You, my boyfriend, in case I needed any help.

The night of the party, I arrived on time and brought Touching You and my boss, who was very curious to see what a nudist party was like, even though I told him I was pretty sure it was going to blow. When I arrived, I was immediately put at odds for many, many reasons. Besides the three of us, there were only three people there – the guy having the party (who goes by Tommy D. Nutsack, or “Naked Man” and some other guy who also likes to get naked (who I’d originally met at the Annual Mr. Lower East Side Pageant at Collective Unconscious a few months earlier), and a chick named Teresa who Tommy introduced as his “secretary”. Both men were already naked. The “party” was being held in a non-ventilated basement and was already beginning to smell like steak and asshole sandwiches. Tommy immediately came over and gave me a naked hug. Trying to be polite, yet distance myself from his sweaty nudity, I gave him a hug with as much gusto as I could muster, which was sadly, only enough to merit a lame, half-hearted pat.

NOTE: If you ever go to a naked party and a woman in a plaid schoolgirl outfit is introduced as someone’s ‘secretary’ - she’s probably not really a secretary.

Let me just explain a little about Tommy D. Tommy D. is a very large, obese man whose body is very sweaty and smelly, in addition to being very oversized. He is not attractive. He seems mostly harmless, but my main problem with Tommy D. is that I feel like he hides behind this fa├žade of being really “into being naked all the time”, when he’s just a selfish man who really is into getting kicks and jollies out of forcing people to look at his extremely out-of-shape naked body. In addition, he has a HUGE nutsack (hence the name Tommy D. Nutsack) which is the size of a ball of unflattened pizza dough, and when he goes on stage, he pokes himself in the ball sack and gets an erection, which I believe is because he enjoys the thrill of having people look at him naked. I don’t believe he’s happy being naked because it’s more comfortable – I believe he is happy being naked because it turns him on to repulse people. And I don’t care what he says to the contrary – I know that he must KNOW that it is disturbing for people to see him naked like that. But week after week at the shows I like to attend at Collective, there’s that sack.

The show begins innocently enough. Tommy buys Touching You and I drinks, and gives me a Dove ™ chocolate rose. I can’t decide whether it’s okay to eat it or not, because I don’t know if I can trust that Tommy didn’t rub his enormous nuts on it. So, I set it to the side until I can better make a more informed decision.

Touching You goes first, playing some of his great songs that I love – “Let’s Light Joan Rivers On Fire” and others. Tommy explains that there’s just one more act, the poet, so I decide the next act should go in between Touching You and I to break up the music. I retire to the bathroom to get really good and high while he does his poem, but he waits for me to come out so I can really get a good listen. He goes on and tells a poem about how he loves jogging naked in the park, and when he’s on a beach, he can ejaculate just by watching girls walk by.

Hot.

I listen, repulsed, thinking “Ohhhhh – so HE’S the naked guy who goes jogging in the park that I’ve been hearing about since I was two.”

He ends his poem and brings up the next act – Teresa, who’s going to do a little dance for us. I thought SHE was the poet. No, wait – I thought she was Tommy’s secretary. (Why the fuck would he need a secretary? So she could keep track of any appointments his huge nutsack might have?) So, she goes on stage and starts dancing to some r & b really booty shakin’ hip hop, you know, the kind that many black people and wiggers hump to. She gets naked on stage, and whatever, she’s kind of an out of shape black woman. Her breasts are very flabby and she has this nifty little trick where she can pull them up to her mouth and suck on them, which she does repeatedly! I wonder how long it takes to learn a trick like that? After the tit sucking feat, she moves into the audience and begins to give my boss a lap dance. But not just any lap dance. She’s topless, completely straddling him, and fucking his cock area HARD, so that her ass is jiggling back and forth all over the place. Fine, I can deal with that. I am actually laughing as I watch, because it’s just so ridiculous. My boss is tipping her and doesn’t seem so concerned, so I don’t interrupt. Eventually, she gets up and wanders over to Touching You, who politely refuses the dance and informs Teresa that I’m his girlfriend. She apologizes and goes back and forth between Tommy and the other dude, just kind of pulling on their penises for a second, before returning to my boss whose generous erection is now very visibly through his pants. She “dances” on him more, which mostly just consists of her literally dry humping the fuck out of him while there happens to be music playing, which I guess in some parts of the country is truly considered dancing, and apparently is the kind of dancing that “secretaries” do.

Touching You sweetly calls over to me and insists I come and sit on his lap. I think he’s starting to sense the absurdity of the situation and my growing discomfort, even though I’m pretty much in hysterics, which I almost feel is rude, but am just not sure how else to handle the scene. Touching You hugs me a lot and keeps me on his lap while the chick continues to, um, dance. Eventually, the song ends after about ten minutes. Teresa says she’s just going to do two more songs. Two more songs? If that’s the case, she’s going to be shaking her big fat ass for twenty more minutes. I start to feel a bit irritated, as I thought she was just going to be reading a little poem, and I had not intended to stay in the stink of egg and balls for more than an hour, which was nearing. However, I sat quietly and said nothing as the second song began.

Teresa asks for the lights to be turned up, which Touching You and Tommy do eagerly, but somehow, this alerts me that something bad is about to happen. When the lights come up, Theresa lays down and spreads her pussy as far open as it can go, then begins to contract the muscles inside her vagina, asking us, “Can you see it?”

At this point, I begin to get very upset. I stand up and say, “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here anymore, and I can’t follow this act. I’m not performing, I’m leaving.” I put on my coat and begin to leave. The girl stops “dancing” and Tommy, the other naked man and Touching You surround me, begging and pleading with me to stay, insisting I can follow spread open pink pussy, and telling me how they really want to see me. Tommy is standing so close to me I can feel his nutsack touching me and I ask him loudly to step back from me about four times before he actually does. Touching You calls me a diva and tells me I’m being so unprofessional. He says “A deal is a deal, you said you’d perform! You knew there were going to be naked people here!” They won’t let me leave, and they are all surrounding me, telling me please stay, please perform, but I don’t want to be anywhere near any of them, and the smell of pubic holes and sweaty balls are choking me. I eventually push past them with all my gear, but when I get upstairs, I find myself again in a similar set-up, with Touching You and two naked men surrounding me, not allowing me to leave.

Finally, David gets in between the guys and me and puts his hands up. He says “Back away from her, and leave her alone! She obviously doesn’t want to be bothered by you right now!” At this point, I began bawling and was finally allowed to go my own way.

David talks to me for a minute, buys me a drink and calms me down. He tells me that I should feel free to leave if I want to. We’re sitting upstairs at a table, and I realize that there are about thirty people in the room. I decide, well, I brought my guitar out and planned to perform, dammit, so I’ll just high-jack the upstairs and maybe they’ll be into it. Then, I’ll be performing for Tommy’s show, as I said I’d do, but I won’t have to do it while having a ball-sweat induced panic attack.

The tech guy at the club I performed at was really cool and set me all up. I half-rocked the crowd with my ribald sense of humor and variety of pussy-related songs and jokes, and the audience half-heartedly paid attention. The bartender passed a bucket around and I made a bunch of tips. Touching You criticized me, calling me unprofessional and cowardly, and telling me he couldn’t wait to get me back to his house so he could yell at me. I try to explain why he’s wrong, but Touching You is NEVER wrong, and that is the only thing that either one of us leave understanding. (He said later he was kidding about yelling at me at his house, but no one can ever tell when he’s joking because he jokes so seriously because he really hates himself.) Well, and also that Jessica Delfino can be out-pussied.

Addendum: I was a stripper who actually danced to the music in shithole go-go bars in South Jersey while supporting my self through college. It was sometimes fun, but mostly an overpaid, gross job full of disgusting perverts and fat slobs who spent their paychecks tipping me before they even went home at the end of the week. Everything about it was depressing. When I quit, I said I’d never dance again, and so far I haven’t. I now feel bad for strippers, and won’t even let Big Mike take photos of OTHER GIRLS’ breasts. It makes me feel like vomiting every time a girl comes into Collective or the Bowery and Bloated Mike convinces them to pose for topless photos. I tell them to think about it – and I curse out Big Mike for not doing something more productive for the community. (Believe it or not, to goad girls with low self-esteem into doing non-scrupulous things with their bodies isn’t going to give them more self-esteem. It’s going to give them LESS, because later on when they sober up or whatever, they remember that Fat Mike has topless photos of their breasts and then they cry and cry and cry. To make themselves feel better, they then date Touching You and he makes a valiant effort to try to fix how broken they are, but just ends up exhausting them emotionally and making them cry even more. (Just kidding, kind of).

My point is, I believe that dancing is good if you use it as a tool to take you someplace else, but I actually just danced around on stage in a bikini. I never had to spread my loaf in a basement of stench. My boss fired me once for being late, so I went to work at a topless place where I was told I’d make more money (since I was topless) but I actually made less money. I returned to my old bikini dancing job and made my $100 bucks an hour strutting around in a bikini, and later graduated with a 3.6 GPA into a $35,000 / year job right out of college. Now, I tell perverted jokes and sing gross songs, and those songs can be troubling for people to hear, but senses are a delicate thing, and some people are affected more vibrantly by what they see than what they hear, and one of those people is me.

I don’t really give a shit about being considered unprofessional for making a scene. The one thing I felt badly about was for getting up and interrupting Teresa’s set, because I thought it might have hurt her feelings to have me storm out. I did apologize for doing that, but she had no problem with showing Tommy D her pussy folds, so if that didn’t bother her, I doubt me leaving did. I don’t really know exactly why I got so upset. But I do know that for some reason, it bothered me very much to be forced to stay in the room and watch when I didn’t want to be there.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

I read this, and I want you to know: somebody read this.

Anonymous said...

I enjoyed it, too, parts. It sounded like the basement show turned out to be like a we-come-to-you private party strip show where the stripper was not hot at all, and really just kind of gross. Did the nutsack dude really ever intend to pass this off as a legitimate concert? I post on myspace at myspace.com/foodgasrest answer me there if you want to answer.