Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Bearlesque Contest part one
I brought my trusty friend and creative production team member, George Scott along for the investigation. George is one of those guys who could take a table cloth and turn it into a formal ball gown. I am hoping he can make me a cashmere G-string. We arrived at 10:00PM. You see.. In the real world I go to sleep at 11:00 especially on a work night but wet-underwear-contests prohibit that... so I compromised and drank a Red Bull. I met one suitable candidate who was an adorable little muscle cub. I schmoozed and cajoled him only to find that he was a real talker. He talked and talked and talked. He was one of those guys that could talk ad infinitum about ANYTHING: Snow in California, killer bees, waxing surfboards -and he made NONE of it interesting. In the end I discovered that his on again off again mysterious career wouldn’t allow him to do the show next spring so what was the point in competing to be in a show that he couldn’t do? I understood and tried to figure out a way to get him to use a breath mint. DAMN why did he have to use the letter “h” so much?
I usually went to the Powerhouse at this time of the night on a Friday or Saturday. I’d never really been there this late on a Thursday. I noticed fewer patrons this particular evening and most everyone was interested in hooking up. The vibe fairly pulsed in the air. After all...we were all standing around in our underwear. My choice may not have been the best. They were these navy very short jersey drawstring shorts...and a little saggy. I was trying to come off irresponsibly sexy, but I think I just looked dumpy. There was a very appealing cross section of attractive men. Unfortunately they didn’t fit the Bear or Cub look. George and I moved forward undaunted. Some were drunkenly enthused and it was clear that within 10 minutes they would have zero recollection of ever chatting with us. Others simply stared at us baffled. “A contest? where you win a chance to strip and sing in a theater...for charity...? Really?”
“That’s it!” I gushed. “ And did I mention that you get your picture in all the papers..well at least The Bay Times and maybe the B.A.R.- plus you get your picture taken by one of the best photographers in the porn industry today!!” I made a mental note to tell this bit of added duties to the aforementioned “photographer” the next day.
Finally George and I gave up and just chose to promote the contest instead. We chatted it up with as many people as we could up. My friend Mike kept the vodka flowing so my tongue would be flowing with persuasive witty things. I don’t know if I was but after a while it didn’t matter.
George and I stayed to watch the wet underwear contest. I was beginning to worry that I had chosen this venue in haste as my eyes searched in vain for a big ole Bear. The manager Scott came out of his office and suddenly boys swarmed everywhere. Where did they all come from? Hmmm? ( writer cub taps mouth looking up at the ceiling). The crowd responded enthusiastically by spraying Scott’s crotch with spray bottles that had been filled with very warm water-presumably to avoid shrinkage. (Scott looked good by the way.) He took it all in stride and started to bring the contestants one by one up on the stage. Each contestant was gleefully squirted by the crowd, which caused the fabric on their underwear to cling in the most appealing manner. George decided to join the fray of contestants. He was motivated by the $100 cash prize. “A girls gotta do what a girls gotta do!” he quipped-in-his -Jackee-from -227 -voice. Then his face fell as we both saw the inevitable winner strip to his undees on our immediate left. The gentleman in question obviously enjoyed strenuous athletic activity. His nipples were artfully adorned with small silver piercings. The clincher was his underwear. It was a very brief bikini brief in a sheer white material. It seemed designed just for this contest! Scott called each drenched contestant to the stage for the audience chosen winner. We were instructed to applaud and cheer for our selection. Mr Brief Bikini Brief won by a landslide. George looked a tad dejected but fortunately he resumed his Happy-go-lucky attitude.
PAWS (Pets are wonderful support) was the recipient of the take from the door that night. Mentally I tabulated patrons at $5 a head. Maybe some folks had left? I also knew that Mr. Brief Bikini Brief was the recipient of the door. How much did PAWS make I wonder? $100? 200? I began to chastise myself for not thinking this talent contest through. Why didn’t I come up with an additional fund raiser like a raffle or selling boys for dates or SOMETHING?! I had visions of presenting a check to the Lemonade Fund for $35 dollars. I was feeling like a total and complete idiot when George and I left the bar. George cheered me up -or tried valiantly. I had a week left. That was plenty of time to come up with another gimmick -or was it? tick tick tick