I cleaned out for this. I’m heading to Juanita More’s 1st public naked (“33rd birthday”) dinner. I barely ate all day in prep for this feast I’m about to partake in and I had sex a few hours before, in part to take the edge off.
Though I read a bunch of articles about this event, I didn’t really know what to expect. The dinners are usually invite-only in her apartment. The first one of these was held 12 years ago in 2012, to be documented in Das Eihnhorn magazine’s 3rd issue — which I still have a copy of: limited edition #2 of 800, thank you very much. I contributed to it by drawing a sexy celestial tale on the second to last spread.
I usually bike everywhere, but today I decide to BART. Turns out there’s live music 7 blocks from my place at City Hall — no one tells me anything!
I get to the event. There’s a line and some peppy (annoying) hot people in front of me (me to me: don’t judge people / don’t judge people / don’t judge people.) The party is at the old Yoga to People location. 5th floor walk-up, no elevator. Let’s get that blood a-pumpin. The DJ can be heard from the 1st floor: Boots n’ Cats, Boots n’ Cats, etc.
At the inaugural edition of Juanita’s, some people were dressed to the 9’s before stripping, one showed up in a t-shirt, jeans and bearing flowers. But Juanita doesn’t want flowers, she wants a thank you card afterward. Noted.
I show up dressed like an urban ninja: Black everything: black jika-tabis, black hoodie, black maternity dress that I turned into a drop-crotch onesie (it’s sexier than it sounds), black and yellow checkered biking cap, gloves, & a prismatic fanny pack that I got for free from Recology — one does like a touch of color. I strip on arrival. I put my clothes in a trash bag and coat check writes a number on my arm in sharpie: 97, there’s a lot of people here.
Tonight I spot Juanita holding court, the lady in red: gown by Mr. David. She looks great! Juanita always looks great. Ms. More is talking to a boy I used to talk to. I see a few artists, we talk about upcoming projects. I see my ex’s ex, he invites me to an event I’ve been planning on attending for 6 years. I might go this time.
I see a porn star I tried to hire to model and another one I just can’t stand. One of the bartenders was the first audience member to ever tip me a 20 when I was a drag queen and another I put in zombie makeup at Kryolan 300 years ago.
There are some extremely large penises in this room and lots of people either really love doing squats or chug ‘Death Becomes Her’ juice daily.
I stand in the drinks line behind one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen in real life. He’s like someone digitally printed out one of my drawings but better. The curves, the angles, his skin, damn. He doesn’t notice me. The next time I’m in line it’s behind the cutest bearish-dad. I’m so awkward. My voice is both too low to be heard and too high to be butch.
One of tonight’s DJs was in line behind me. We chat, he mentions art I’ve made for his events, he’s super sweet, very handsome. He hasn’t spun yet. What’s on currently is “oontz-oontz” music — I can’t get into it. Don’t they have any Siouxsie? Snake River Conspiracy?? Fatty Cakes and the Puff Pastries???
No puff pastries are found but there is quiche, herbed watermelon, and the meatballs are amazing. I’m at the party for about 2 hours and I probably have been grazing the food table more than anyone else. I start to feel like an under-moisturized Moo Deng. I thought it would be more dinner and less party. Once again, I’ve misjudged. Like, there were no chairs. I don’t think many people ate at all.
I got there around 9 and imagined I would have been reprimanded for being late. I fantasized there would be 52 hot guys sitting at a long white linen table turning around to see me walk in unfashionably tardy for the party and maybe I’d get a spanking for being bad. Coulda been hot.
I was just at an orgy in Brooklyn 5 weeks ago which felt extremely different from this. NYC Inferno was Batman-themed, had a fridge of beers and a spout for water, slings, shower, bathtub, glory holes, etc, and no snacks; I had sex with 4 people that night.
Juanita’s had a charcuterie board for the gods, a great cake that rescued me from the clutches of low blood sugar, cute twinks serving trays of hors-d’oeuvre, and your choice of 2 mixed drinks and something for the sober-ellas, (but I’m not sure what that was). I had 2 of each beverage. One was pink and the other was… yellow? Maybe. Club lighting is so confusing.
No one is interested in me here, or I don’t understand SF flirting. Two things can be true. I’ve had lil crushes on a lot of these boys, but I might be better on paper. Or apps. I walk to the Soma and go into the Lonestar — they’re playing The Cure! Thank goddess. A NYC otter on Scruff hits me up and says we should get married. He’s hot but his instagram profile pic is an AI generated portrait of himself so that’s not gonna fucking happen.
Well, goal achieved: I did a Naked Dinner. I stood around nude in front of a buncha studs, survived to tell the tale, and consumed food I did not prepare. In hindsight, I’m more of a Naked Lunch kinda gal, (anus-flexing beetle typewriters, fedoras, cyberpunk trans imagery.) I did not make a new friend, that’s not really “my thing”. Remember when Wednesday smiles in “Addam’s Family Values” and all the campers take a step back? That’s my thing. Goth eternal. Write in if you agree.
XO,
Cousin Hairy-It, the Spy
aka
Diego Gómez
aka
DesignNurd
Diego Gómez is a San Francisco-based artist and teacher.
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