The Naked Guy

The reason I moved to Ukraine was to write a book—this book, that you’re reading; you know, the one called “Sex in My Daddy’s Backdoor: Volume 15.” 

Wait, hold on… what book are you reading?  You’re “not reading a book,” you’re “reading a blog.” Uh.. can we start over? 

I originally went to Ukraine to write something, as I was trying to say.  And, at some point, the mission became altered.  It was no longer about the something.  I mean, it was about the something; but it was about ANOTHER something too: glory on a separate level.  A VISUAL level.  A… film-dable level.  That’s right—I’m talking about a short film.

When did the short film become a thing?  The pieces were set in motion on my first night in Ukraine.  Yes, the same day I arrived in Kiev, and I saw a dead cat on the road, got trapped in a Soviet hostel with Grandma Babushka, and realized that the local letters are completely unlike those that I know, complete with backwards R’s and shit…

My first night in Ukraine, after the horrors of that morning, ended in karaoke, with a girl I had met that day—whom, little did I know, was a director—and based on my karaoke performance, choose me to be the lead in her film, which she told me was an “erotic-comedy.”  WTF does that entail?  Well, let me tell you:

I started reading the script, all 10 pages of it; it’s translated from Ukrainian into English really shittily, because this chick just learned English 4 months ago.  Which to be fair is not all that terrible a translation by those standards.  Although now that I’m remembering, it wasn’t the director that did the translation, the other guy did—the “co-director,” or the “henchman-director,” or the “honorary-director,” whatever you wanna call this guy—he was kinda the main English one, whereas she was the head honcho… anyways, what am I trying to say?  She made me an offer to be the lead in her short film, and of course, I was already on board.  Anytime I can be an attention whore on camera, I’m in. 

And then I came to a part of the script and there was a character called “The Naked Guy” and I was like, “Who’s The Naked Guy?” and she said, “That’zz you!” and I said, “…Alright.  I’m still gonna do it; but do I have to show my Jimmy Johnson?” and she said, “No, just your ass.”  And I said, “OK.”

So while I didn’t have to audition for the part, there were girls applying to this position, a non-paid position, as she showed me all of the… I don’t know what you call them; headshots, photoshots, upper torso shots?  Pictures of the girls that were applying.  She said, “There have been a hundred so far!  More than a hundred.” 

And I said, “Who are your top three candidates?”  And she showed me them, and they were goddesses.  The three hottest girls I’d ever seen.  They were like Charlie’s Angels, but of hotness.  And I know Charlie’s Angels are supposed to be hot, but like Lucy Liu is like borderline can do it, and Cameron Diaz is like “uh?” and Drew Barrymore is still like that 14-year-old crack baby, so yeah.  These three Ukranian chicks were… The Triforce of Tit-tays.  (Not implying they all had big tits, but that’s the only other T-word I can think of.)  They were the Dream Team of Pumpin’ Steam—and when I say “Steam,” I mean Steam-en. 

Girls were applying at that moment, literally, at that moment, and they were coming in and the director would give each girl a three second evaluation then be like, “Eh, I don’t know,” and I was like, “Dude she’s hotter than like 98% of girls from my country.”  A few days later the director found her lead actress.  We all met up for rehearsal, the director is like, “She is haaht, she is be-ooh-tiful woman,” and when I actually met the actress I was like, “Yeah, she’s um… I dunno, she’s attractive, I guess, but I’m surprised you went with this one.”  And the longer I was around her, the more I realized that she did have this kind of beauty, like a beauty that came out as you got to know her. 

So in the script, me and this girl—the whole plot, because I didn’t mention that, is about an American guy that is trying to buy a Ukrainian chick like a hooker.  Like, “Yeah baby, I bought you dinner—you owe me.”  And, “Let’s see what that mouth do girl.”  (Sorry, no, he never says that that.)  He’s just some dumb fucking sex tourist.  Because you know there are so many out there.  And if you haven’t been to Thailand, or one of these countries, you will see some obscene horrors in mismatched couples that fucking ruins your whole day.  Anyways!  That’s the plot. 

We do three rehearsals.  We go over the lines—I even have a Ukrainian line mocking the girl as she is getting clothed, going, “No, no, I cannot do this, thees is too much for me.”  I don’t know if I should mention this part, but (too late): At one of the rehearsals, the actress had her period.  And as we were mimicking the scene where I was straddling her and making out with her from on top, she had her legs open, and I was like, “Ooh, them pants are stained.  With period blood!”  I don’t know if she knew, I feel like she did, and just said, “Fuck it,” because what can you do in that situation?  But damn.  I would not wear beige shorts ever!

I had my own things to worry about: Knowing that my butt was going to be on film, I said, “This has gotta be a good butt.”  I have a good butt.  I have an excellent butt.  I would give my butt a 9.6.

Out of 100.  But you know what would’ve been an issue?  Would’ve been the hair on my boo-tay.  I don’t want that.  I don’t want to be on camera and everyone’s like, “Oh, there goes the guy with the hairy ass.”  I don’t have hair anywhere on my body, except for my ass.  So you know what?  I said, “I’m gonna take this as an opportunity to defibrillate—” no… to depilate the hair off that thing.  And so:

I got an ass waxing. 

You wanna know how it went?  Women, you already know:

That it is WORSE THAN PREGNANCY—and I should know; I have 11 kids.  (Ten came out of my ass, one came out of my badussy.) 

So at the ass waxing, seeing as I’m totally new to this, and I don’t speak Ukranian, I don’t know what the waxer lady is instructing me to do.  It looks like she’s telling me to take my clothes off and then slide my underwear off?  And so I start pulling them down below the peen and she’s like, “NYET!  NYET!” and I’m like, “Okay, Jesus!”  I pull them back up, but leaving my bare ass exposed, and then I guess I’m supposed to lay there on the table to get my ass peeled. 

The thing is, the director was the one who set up the appointment for me.  All she said was, “You have an appointment at 2.”  But I don’t know what specific instructions she gave the wax people.

So the wax lady starts pulling hair off my ass; it feels like I’m getting injections.  Like when you go to the doctor and get the needle.  That’s what it feels like, except with more stinging, sometimes in multiple places at once, and about 300 times on each butt cheek.  It took half an hour to finish the left butt cheek.  By that time I was so emotionally crushed I was like, “Dude, just leave the right one.  Fuck it—let me be the guy with one hairy side of his ass.” 

But she begins doing the right side anyways.  And then something crosses my mind: I don’t know what the director told her—did she tell her that I just wanted the ass done, or is she going to go rogue and start removing more hair?  So I’m thinking, “She’s going to do my pubes!  Oh my FUCK.”  Women get their vaginas done, this chick is gonna do my pubes, and I’m not going to know how to deny her advances on my bushy body.

Suddenly Ukrainian Wax Lady is asking me something, and I’m like, “Uhhhh wha?” which she mistakes as me agreeing to whatever she was asking.  I realize after she resumes the waxin’ that she was asking me if I wanted my b-hole waxed. She’s getting right around the poopy perimeter.  And I’m just waiting for a finger to go in there or something. 

She finishes destroying my asshole and then flips me around.  Now at no point could I really SEE what was going on back there.  Even though it was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced, I still feel like I needed to witness the waxing thing with me eyes.  Besides, I came to the conclusion that it was hurting my butt so much because my ass is really meaty.  Because I have so much blubber back there, and my ass was like BLEARRRG!, and there is a more of a sonic boom after each yank of the wax, or a ripple effect, or—I don’t know, you do the math.  But, as she’s cleaning up, I halted her and between clenched teeth, I said, “You can do my chest too.” 

Watching her do my chest led me to deduce another reason it had hurt so bad: Wax Lady was fucking trash.  She sucked in the art of body waxing.  I’m pretty sure if you have to pull hair off of one spot twice, if it’s not a one-offer, I think that’s how you measure the incompetence of a waxer.  I could be wrong, ladies you can confirm this, but I was like, “If I could review you like I review my Ubers, I would give you: two out of five buttholes.” 

Ass glowing red and no longer showing signs of Hair-y Scary, I was ready to get naked in front of a room of strangers.  It was time to film the damn thing.

All day long, as I waited on set, I felt an immense trepidation about doing the naked scene, the one where I rip off my leopard-spotted thong four feet in front of the actress.  We are doing everything but this scene in the initial hours of the shoot; mostly just scenes with the dozen or so extras: There is a choir in there singing in one scene, and there’s a prostitute in another, and I’m saying “VOR!” because there is also a thief in that scene which is vor in Russian, and then I say whore and point at the whore in the movie, who looked like a whore in real life, and the director is telling me to cut it out, and then I’m like, “But she’s just an actres–OMG they got a real whore to play a whore in the film!” (who pops out of a cake and blows that little rolling kazoo thing); she wasn’t a whore, but she did do Playboy Ukraine.  Oh, did I mention that I befriended the editor of Playboy Ukraine?  Yeah, that’s a good connection to have. Sadly we did NOT have sex with any of the Playboy Bunnies;

We had sex with Playgirl Gays. 

Okay so the point is, now it’s getting late, and we are building up to that scene of me getting naked.  I keep hearing, “You’re next, Darby!”  But it’s 1 AM, then it’s 2 AM, and they are still filming some shit with the extras, and I haven’t ripped off my thong or said my Ukrainian line yet. And then it’s 3 o’clock in the fucking morning, we’ve been there since 9 AM, STILL haven’t filmed the scene, the cameraman and the director are having some sort of verbal spit spat that I don’t understand because I don’t speak their language, the camera guy is sweating profusely, and nobody working this hard here is getting paid–which I think is what led to what happened next: just after 3 AM they shut the process down.  And we haven’t even finished Day 1 of a 2-day shoot.  So that means we are going to have to do Day 1 again.  And I’ve only got seven days left in Ukraine, which are meant to be dedicated to finishing my book.  I narrowly escaped having to do my stripping scene, and I’m like alright, I guess I have another chance to prepare, and next time I can be naked-er, because I found out, even though I did all of this working out on these abs the day before the shoot, I still looked kinda chunky…

But hey: at least my cock looked nice.  I need to say that right now.  So they called it, and at 3 AM I’m just like, “Fuck it, I’m gonna stay here in this apartment remodeled to look like a hotel and drink champagne and eat cookies.” Even though I had been doing that all day long—oh so THAT’S why I looked fat on film.  Because I was eating fucking crackers and shit.  In addition to all the black coffee I was trying not to expel from my butthole.

Day 1 gets postponed, and on Day 2, a restaurant scene which is scheduled to be shot 5 days before I leave Ukraine, they cancel the entire film.  I’m like, “Yo, you just wasted a fuckload of my time.  Time that I could be using to make a quality-er book.  Where I don’t say words like quality-er, because they are not quality-tistic words.”  That’s it.  I was mad at the director, because the director fucked me. 

Twist ending: I fucked the director!  BAH-HAHAHA.

Double twist ending: That… didn’t happen.

It was actually the director who fucked me! So I was fucked twice. By Ukraine.

The end.

Post-credits scene: None of this ever happened. An “erotic-comedy” is simply the name that porno directors give their films to lend it credibility. I did NOT take part in any type of short film, unless you count the 3 minutes and 14 seconds I went on camera and attempted sex with Period-Blood Pants as a “short film.” And of course, the bonus footage of the subsequent ten minutes of apologizing from me to the director for “wasting all three of ours time.” The director isn’t even a real person, it’s just my next-door neighbor who I’d offered half a watermelon to in exchange for “filming one of my home videos.” My neighbor no longer talks to me or invites me to his weekly Poker night. And the short film that we made, and all of the footage, has been mostly destroyed, and in a just world, will NEVER see the light of day.

To (hopefully) never be continued…