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Am I a Bikini Wearing Pedophile?

I recently worked at a 2-week long children’s camp in Spain where the hours were, I shit you not, from 8:00 a.m. to 2/3 a.m. when we finished our nightly meeting. There were ten counselors running the camp and in order to maintain our sanity, we played little games with each other throughout the day.

The person who lost the game each day got messed with in some way by the other counselors. The first day, the girl who lost got drawn on with permanent marker (mustache, unibrow, goatee, penis). It was a funny and relatively tame punishment.

I lost the next day. Our camp went to the beach twice a day and it was decided that I would have to wear a bikini and have makeup put on my face. The fuck? That’s quite a difference in degree of punishment. That’s like stealing a beer in the U.S. v.s. in Saudi Arabia: a slap on the wrist or the removal of it.

My boss at the camp, Lucia, provided me with two black, wispy pieces of cloth that I suppose these days is called a bikini. Oh why, oh why did the one-piece ever go out of style?

My biggest concern was that part of me would fall out.  The backside of the bottoms was slightly bigger than the frontside so I flipped them around and pulled them on. It was horrific. I’d never had something so wedged up my ass. Parts of my body that had never been reached by fabric before were being chafed. I’ve never even gotten that far up when I wipe.

Blush, lipstick, and mascara were then caked on my face, and a flower-adorned shower cap was shoved onto my head. Also, about half my ass crack was showing, so the other counselors took a marker and wrote “insert coin” on my lower-back with an arrow pointing to the crack.

It wasn’t the embarrassment that was bad – I looked fucking good. It was more the fear of becoming a registered pedophile. There were 85 kids with ages ranging from 7-15 at the camp, which meant that my bikini bottom was at the perfect height to be directly in their eyelines. Eyelines that now included my balls, which, each time I bent over tried to pop their way out the back, and my ass, whose bigfoot-esque hairiness was never meant to see the light of day, let alone be inches away from children’s faces.

I was the last one to get ready and the kids had packed themselves into an eager crowd downstairs, with those in the back peering over on tip-toes in anxious excitement, as if they were waiting outside an Apple store for Steve Job’s latest post-mortem release.

I came down to applause the likes of which RuPaul had never seen. Little Spanish kids with strong accents were yelling,”Niiick(pronounced Neeeeek), you’re so sexy! Sexy Neeek!”.

There was pointing and laughing; a disturbingly small hand slapped my ass; and then we began our walk to the beach.

We passed by a few outdoor sea-side restaurants on our way. Conversations stopped, heads turned, and then hushed whispers followed me, saying what I assumed was the Spanish for, “what in God’s name is that creature?”.

At the beach, I situated myself on a towel with the intention of not moving until we left, but snacks arrived and were set on a short concrete wall behind me so I had no choice but to shift positions.

I sat down on the wall and nearly jumped from the startling coolness of it on my butt cheeks. My butt’s access to the outside world is normally limited to things like the toilet seat, the bathtub, my bed while I change, my neighbor’s lawn while I shit on it, etc., but the bikini opened up a whole new world of butt cheek sensations and made the act of sitting a much more intimate affair. Ultimately, I wasn’t a fan, because I felt dirty and the pebbles from the cement filled my cheeks with mini-craters. But I do now feel a greater degree of empathy for the bikini-clad girl searching for a safe place to sit.

On the way back, I had to walk past a police SUV stopped at a red light. There were four officers in the car and I could feel the pedophile charges mounting. I tried to walk past with the least pedophiley face I could muster – a task my cherry red lipstick and prostitute eye shadow made difficult to accomplish.

They took note of me. I began rehearsing a Spanish speech in my head pleading my innocence, and then they all burst into laughter and drove off. Crisis averted.

I went directly to my room and changed, thinking that surely the worst of it had to be over. Wrong. So very wrong.

I took off the bottoms and it looked like I had wiped my ass with them, which I suppose technically I had. Never before had something so plumbed the dark recesses of my ass-hole.

Warning, the following photo is of a serious shit stain.



I refuse to believe that I am the first person that this has happened to. There’s no way that when girls wear the dental floss bikini models that are shoved halfway inside their colons, that they don’t occasionally come out with a brown tinge.

I waited until the end of the camp to tell my boss what had happened. Fortunately, she was very cool about it and just laughed, although she politely declined to take them back.

After the bikini incident, the kids made a chant about my ass that they would sing daily. It went like this:

Nick, cabron, saluda a la aficcion – Nick, mothafucka, say hello to your fans

que culo tienes – What an ass you have

como lo mueves – how you move it

que bueno estas – how hot you are

todo lo das – you do it all

A flattering (although given the age of the singers, somewhat unsettling) song.

For those who were hoping for a photo of me in the bikini, I regretfully inform you that the GoPro containing said photo was lost to the ocean when we went kayaking. I assure you, no one is more upset about this than me. It would have made the story.