So I’ve been smacked for not sharing pictures and more details of my weekend of debauchery and nakedness in Chicago. Well, here are a few more details.
After getting three hours of sleep on Thursday night, I got up and drove to the San Francisco airport. I was surprised to learn that NakedDave’s little Honda can go 100 mph if you ask it nicely. And it doesn’t feel like it’s going to fall apart, either. Driving that fast got me to the airport in about 40 minutes. It usually takes at least an hour, if not more.
So I parked, checked my bag at the curb, made it through security without incident, bought a latte at Starbucks because I felt like I was going to collapse from no sleep and then found my gate. Sat and called everyone I knew on the East Coast. Sister, Dad, Mom. No one was at home. Left messages.
Flight boarded and I found myself sitting in the last row of the plane next to a man who sold drugs. Not pharmaceuticals. Actual drugs. We discussed the drug trade all the way from San Francisco to Chicago. Why he didn’t think I was a DEA agent I’ll never know, but he certainly felt the need to confess all his dirty dealings with me. I kept thinking it was too bad I didn’t have a tape recorder. It would have made for an interesting little bit in a movie. When he asked me what I did I told him I was retired.
Anyway, I got to Chicago without too much trouble and my bag was the first off the plane. Grabbed it and headed to the El to take me to the hotel. The El has to be the cheapest form of public transportation in the United States. $1.75 to transport you from the airport to downtown. I can think of no other city where transportation from the airport to the city is so cheap. Now this very inexpensive mode of transport also means that you will stop at every single stop between O’Hare and Chicago. And I mean every single one. And it also means that if you’re staying where I was staying that you will have to switch trains and will find yourself lugging a very heavy suitcase up and down many flights of stairs. Since I hadn’t exercise that day, I figured this would suffice. I also cursed myself for bringing more in my suitcase than one woman could possibly ever wear in three days. This was a result of waiting until very late Thursday night to even begin the packing process. Indecision was rampant at Chez Naked. So I finally said fuck it and through in everything. And I mean everything.
When I finally arrived at the Comfort Inn…and even I couldn’t believe I was staying at a Comfort Inn, but quite honestly it was a very nice hotel and just perfect for this gathering…I was greeted in the lobby by an entire gaggle of women who said, “Oh look, it’s Nakedjen!” I had no idea who any of these women were. Absolutely none. And I felt absolutely horrible that I couldn’t acknowledge any of them by name. I also, at this point, had to pee so badly I was certain that I was going to create a huge puddle right there at the reception desk. There was quite a bit of confusion over the reservation for our room. I was the first to arrive, but was not included on the reservation. They didn’t want to release the room to me even though I offered to pay for it! Silliness ensued as one manager and then another had to be consulted. I kept trying to be nice and polite about the entire thing, but honestly, they were making me crazy. I had my credit card in my hand. I was willing to pay. What was the problem?
At last manager number three agreed that I should have the room. At this point, I had both legs crossed and was swaying back and forth. My teeth were floating. I was going to explode. Room key in hand, I jumped on the elevator and hit the 11th floor. Of course the key didn’t work. No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t work. Jumped back on the elevator, got a new key from reception, again had to see all those women gathered in the lobby and felt totally rude as I completely ignored them in my quest for new key and thus a bathroom.
New key worked. Bathroom at last. Nice room. Would become known as the "NakedRoom" as the weekend progressed. Sat and examined all the information that our hosts had provided about Chicago. There was LOTS of information. Then called Kristy to see where she and Anna were and when they might arrive? They were just leaving for the El. Not sure when they’d get to the hotel. Called Michelle and Sarah’s room to see what was “happening”. Again, they were just hanging and getting ready for the dinner. Called Yvonne. Where was she? She was in the lobby. Yeah!
Will now fast forward. Eventually Kristy and Anna also arrived. We all got ready. Donning tiara, head to Goose Island where there is a dinner for all attendees. While on the El, I did a naked picture just because and completely embarrassed this poor African student. I had warned him, but I don’t think he expected me to really take my shirt off. I gave him a NakedJen business card and he said that he would call me. If you’re reading, dear man, I hope you like what you see! Arrive at Goose Island terribly late. Notice immediately that journal buddies are all sitting together. Dinner is really a blur. Did have a veggie burger and garlic fries. Chatted with the women at my table. Didn’t really chat with anyone else. Kristy and Anna leave to go dancing with another group of women. Yvonne and I stay at table and keep chatting. Eventually everyone has gone except our table. We decide that we will GO OUT, just not exactly sure where. Maybe a piano bar?
All of us squeeze into a cab and head back to the hotel. Quick change of clothes and then we’re all off again. We all end up at the Excalibur, which is a nightclub. As I’m walking in I see a sign for the Prince after party. I keep insisting to the bouncers that I’m with Prince. They don’t buy it. $10 cover charge and we’re all inside.
Music. Loud. Lots of smoke. I keep drinking my water. Eventually we’re all on the dance floor grooving away. And then the DJ asks for all the wild and crazy women to please come to the stage. Sarah, whom I’ve just met, says she’ll go up if I’ll go up. What the hell. I go to the stage. Next thing I know the DJ’s are choosing women from the audience to win a bottle of champagne. I know our group would love some champagne so I raise my hand. The DJ chooses me. And two other very young, very tall, very leggy women. I am neither tall, nor leggy, as you all know. So there I am on stage. With these two other women. And after sizing them up, I decide that if I’m going to actually WIN this bottle of champagne, I’m going to have to get naked. So while the DJ’s are explaining that this is going to be a pole-dancing contest (I was seriously in trouble now…pole dancing is just not my forte), I reached under my dress and removed my bra and threw it into the audience.
Wild and raucous cheers. One of the DJ’s turns around and says, “Uh Oh. I think we can end the contest right now.” I just shrug my shoulders and look sheepishly at him. At this point they are choosing “the pole” from the audience. Turns out that this pole-dancing contest involves dancing against a man from the audience. Oh that’s just lovely. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?
They choose a man in his mid fifties (I’m guessing) and he comes up on stage. They introduce him and then call me forward as the first “contestant”. Again, I’m thinking I’m totally screwed because I was hoping to see at least one of the other women go first so I could cop some moves. Let’s remember folks, if you ask me what I CAN’T do, I think pole dancing would definitely appear on the list.
So there I am. At this point DJ #2 now has my bra. He’s waving it around. DJ#1 is asking me my name (NakedJen), where I’m from, (Santa Cruz), what I do for a living (I tell him I’m retired!). He asks me to do 10 jumping jacks. I know it’s because I’ve removed my bra, but whom the hell cares? I start jumping. Crowd goes wild. DJ#2 asks me to do a cartwheel. I’m about to do so when DJ#1 tells me it’s time to start dancing.
Okay, still not sure what the hell I’m going to do. But I just go for it. Rub my body up and down this poor man. Lick his ears, wrap my body around his and fondle his private parts. Start to unbuckle his pants and then wiggle my body up and down his while also removing my dress. Crowd again goes completely wild. I’m now dancing naked against this man and all I can hear is everyone screaming. Then the DJ is grabbing my arm and telling me, “Okay, I think we’ve seen enough!”
I returned to my little corner of the stage. We still had two contestants to go. Contestant number 2 was from Arkansas. And let me tell you, she was a pro. I believe this contest was originally rigged. I think she was supposed to win. She knew how to work her body. She knew how to work the pole. She was hot.
BUT….she didn’t get naked. She kept everything on. And that was her mistake.
Dancer #3 was a nurse. She was a local. Her husband was in the audience and had sent her up on stage. She did a really good job. Not quite the dancer contestant #2 was, but really, she was decent. And she had huge boobs. Imagine if she had taken off her top? I would have been toast.
After all three of us danced, it was the audience’s turn to vote. All they had to do was make a lot of noise for their favorite contestant. The DJ’s started with #3. She got a lot of applause. Then they moved to #2. Even more applause and shouting. And then they moved to me. And the place just erupted. It was rather funny, actually. Who knew a little nakedness would cause such an uproar?
So I won. Champagne for everyone. I was proud that I did it. What a perfect naked Friday!







