Going Streaking

In retrospect, I have no leg to stand on. How can I sit at a computer and accuse my internet pal of living his life as a neverending performance, when that's exactly what I'm guilty of myself. Nearly every waking moment here with my group in New Zealand, I'm grandstanding, showing off, competing, lying, or simply acting. I've been performing so long, I dont even remember what my real personality is like anymore.

That said, I performed on my biggest stage last night. Australia has drastically improved my drinking ability, especially my shot taking ability, but I cant really claim to be in any competitive league. On the other hand, our group leader used to be a "pretty scantily-clad lady" for Jagermeister. So why did I challenge her to a Jagerbomb drinking contest? And why did I offer to up the ante and lay stakes?
The stakes were simple: The loser strips naked, smears Vegemite, that lovable Australian delicacy all over their body, and walks down one of the major streets (which still isnt saying much) of Wellington, the capitol of New Zealand. I purposefully mentioned my dislike of Vegemite when discussing stakes to have the topic brought up. To be honest, I directed where this was going.

We returned to the bar, and everyone crowded around me. Some of the guys were cheering me on and coaching me like Don King, antsy to see our attractive tour leader in the nude. The girls on the other hand were more keen to see me keep my clothes on. A real ego booster there. But, two glasses of Red Bull were poured, two shots of Jagermeister poured, and the countdown begun.

3... 2... 1. I immediately dropped both shots in their cups, and downed one back. The video footage shows I was way faster than our leader. I then went for the other one, but never really finished. Instead, I put it down without finishing, and watched our leader finish a significant time (a second or three) later, lean back, and take the victory Jager shot for the win. I lost.

But really, I didnt lose, did I? I finished the shots faster than her, but gave up. I wasnt full, I wasnt choking, and I wasnt nauseous, so what gives? To be honest, I wanted to lose, but consciously and unconsciously. As great as it wouldve been to see our nymph-like leader naked, I wanted to be the one with the attention. Everyone crowded around to snap our photos, and this was my moment in the sun.

A few more scotch and cokes later, I retired to my room with a jar of Marmite. This brown disgusting substance is the British answer to Vegemite, and the only thing I could find after midnight. Lines up and down my arms and legs, shoulders and back, waist and buttocks, all over my cock and balls, and a smiley face on my stomach with yeast-covered nipples for eyes. A site for sore eyes? Perhaps it made some. I sauntered into the bar and posed for photos, as our tour leader posed herself by licking some of the Marmite off my nipple. My consolation prize, I suppose.

I stepped out of the bar, and clutching only the empty Marmite jar for optional protection, dropped my towel and began to march down Victoria Street. I stopped at the roundabout and took a brief saunter down each outlet, waving at all taxis that sped past, completely butt naked and waving my empty jar in the air in victory. I relished in the attention my nude shit-streaked body garnished, and took my sweet time getting back, though I was polite enough to cover my naughty bits with the jar as I returned to the bar.

A few more poses and a long hot shower later, it was over. It surprised me how little trouble I had streaking down the street in the second biggest city in New Zealand, even if it was midnight and Wellington is pathetically small for a capitol city. Why wasnt I feeling any embarrassment or shame? It's not that I simply dont have these feelings, because I know I do, kept under lock and chain, let out only when I know I'm secure and alone. No, much like the streakers in the WashU performance of Hair, it was just that, a performance. I wanted the attention, and I loved every minute of it. I set up, manipulated, and threw the competition for a few camera flashes, bewildered stares, and belly laughs. I dont know if they were with me or at me.

In the meanwhile, I'm 20. Still waiting for reality to catch up to me.