A story about entering a bikini contest with my dad present.
If you’ve ever entered a bikini contest then you are a slut. Now if that made you mad at me it’s because A: you’ve been in a bikini contest and only did it ‘because your girlfriends dared you’ (slut) and/or B: you know you’re just a slut. I’ve been in 3 bikini contests. One of which my boyfriend AND my father were in the audience. That’s just some incestuous and slutty shit right there. Let me tell you how it went down.
It was at a beach bar in an ocean town near Portland Maine, so not only were people eating clams, they were also about to judge mine in a bikini. I was all of 19 years old and COMPLETELY insecure as a result of poor self-image due to emotional and physical scarring from acne I had since I was 12, not to mention the fact I was raped when I was 16. (Thanks Dad!) For the acne, NOT rape! Awkward! I digress. My drummer boyfriend, at the time, had a gig with his band to be the back-up music for the Miss Tropicana contest. (I don’t care HOW fancy the bikini contest seems, it’s still a slut parade.) This contest was held at 3pm, on a pier that stretched out over the ocean. As scenic as it sounds, the only sea creatures visible were the octopussies & seaWHOREses in various leopard print bikinis.
I wasn’t planning on being an active member of this shore-whore catwalk but when I saw the girls in their teenie bikinis, my vulnerability took over and I had to make a move. My father said I should just relax and enjoy “the show”. The fact that my father referred to a bikini contest as a show just highlights his lack of class as a human being. The more he said, “Hun, just enjoy “the show”, the more I just wanted to be apart of “the show” so I could ‘show’ I had some moves, which really wasn’t the case. “Nobody puts Jessimae in a corner!”
If I said I did this sober, you’d have every right to call me a slut. The fact I needed alcohol just proves I was a poser just trying to act slutty. I gained confidence to go on stage with a few shots of Sex on The Beach, Cowboy Cocksucker (an actual shot) and any other brightly colored concoctions the bartender whipped up. My father, even though was not partaking in the skank plank-walk, accompanied me in the shot taking process as ANY supportive father figure would.
The stage was set high above the ground level as to assure everyone in the audience could see UP the crotch of the girls from a worm’s eye view. I went into the bathroom and changed into my mismatched H&M bikini I had gotten on sale 2 years prior. As I came out and looked at my competition I felt myself needing a boost, so I went to the bar and did a car bomb with ‘my father the hero’. He seemed more ready to flaunt his Italian sausage in a bikini than I was. Not that I have an “Italian sausage” or that mentioning my father’s is even appropriate but again, I digress.
All the sluts lined up in random order to get ready to have their 2 minutes of fame flaunting in front of a bunch of strangers eating surf ‘n’ turf on a pier in , Maine. I began to regret my decision to be apart of this clam bake but I had too much pride to stand down. My turn came up and I went out to do my thang. If you can imagine a drunk white girl from Syracuse, with delusional confidence, gyrating to LIVE (even whiter) hippie/reggae music, than you can picture what this mess looked like. I tried my best to do the whole psuedo-strip tease without making any eye contact with my father. I was only successful in this feat by keeping my eyes sealed shut and head down the whole time. I just gave it my all, and by MY ALL, I mean I looked like I was having an epileptic seizure while trying to find a beat.
My 2 minutes of slut-fame wasn’t over, surprisingly it came down to myself and another girl. Some slut with brunette hair and no tits. I thought, “I’ve got this one.” We had to do a “dance off”. Which in my mind meant gentle grinding on each other to keep the crowd happy. I was willing to share the limelight if I felt both of us put in equal efforts of sluttiness for the greater good. But to my dismay we had to fight for the gold AGAINST one another at the same time. So here we are, battling like vag-gladiators for the love of Rome. When really we were just a couple of young sluts looking for attention from anyone. She was seeking if from drunk strangers, and I was desperately trying to show off to my boyfriend while holding in the nausea from the reality of my father holding witness to this whole charade.
It came down to judgment which was based on the audience reaction. To my disbelief, the small-tittied brunette had charmed the crowd more than I had even though I broke a sweat trying. As I came down from my tequila-induced confidence-high, I began to question where I went wrong? Did I not find the beat? Did I not gyrate frantically enough? Did my W.O.P of a father not clap and scream for me? Was I not a good person in general? Should I have gone to college? My father came up to me after and said, “wow that was a close one, you almost won hun! Too bad that brunette showed her ‘muff’ or you definitely would have won”.
Sometime in the Vag-Off this Slut of All Sluts managed to slip her bikini bottoms down to reveal her little furry shrimp to the people stuffing their faces with po’man’s shrimp!!! That, my friends is a major SLUTASTIC move and I can’t even hate her for pulling it! While I may have been that insecure to enroll in this lobster roll of a contest, she was THAT desperate to pull out her change purse and show it to complete strangers. That means she felt just as insecure as I did. I mean, how sweet of my dad to reveal to me that the other girl won ONLY because she put her sweet potato on display like it was in the window at Macy’s during Christmas time, not because she deserved it. The moral of this story is I’m not really a slut, I am, however, a daddy’s girl.
Thanks for reading,