The Debut

I mean, how hard could it be to be on Nude and Terrified? I know how good I look naked, and it’s a rare occasion for something to scare me, let alone, terrify me.

Looking back, I think I did okay, it wasn't all bad. I sit down on the couch anxious to see the episode. I’ve been recuperating and anticipating this since the day I left. What clips will they use? How many bare-ass shots will they show? Did my million-dollar smile make the cut? What about the day I caught that catfish? I’d taken a chance and noodled for the first time, came up with a ten pounder if I remember everything right. I mean, I get that I tapped out and all, but I did make it fifteen days, and it was the medic who made me leave.

I pop the top off my IPA with the end of my lighter. That was the hardest part of being out there—I couldn’t smoke and even worse, I couldn’t bitch about it. Admitting I’m a smoker would’ve made the fan base hate me. Another struggle was no booze. I dried out the week before I left but it wasn’t enough. Damn cravings drove me crazy. Overall, I think I kept my cool. At least that’s how I remember it.

I press play on my DVR. I waited a solid fifteen minutes to give myself time to fast forward through the commercials.

“Christian,” Mom yells down the stairs into the basement—my bedroom—“Dinner’s ready.”

“Yeah, okay. My show debuts tonight.”

I hear her grumble, “Great. Can’t wait for bible study this week. Marylin loves nakie and shameless.”

“Mooommm, come on,” I huff, then chug half my beer.

She appears at the bottom of the stairs. “You were supposed to make five grand and get your own place.”

I had no defense. That was the original plan but how the hell could I know about some random parasite in the water? My balls were the victim and I wasn’t willing to sacrifice them.

“It wasn’t my fault.” I gesture toward the TV. “After this runs, the phone will be ringing off the hook. Just wait, Mom.”

“You’re 26, Christian.” She runs a hand over her forehead. “Your dad and I are leaving tomorrow. Are you staying or going?”

I shrug. “I’ll stay for a few more days.”

“Can you mow before you leave?”

“I thought the mower was broken.”

“Your dad fixed it. You’d know that if you weren’t off embarrassing the family on that naked show.”

She stomps back upstairs. I roll my eyes and ignore her snide attitude. All she cares about is the damn yard and what the neighbors think of us when we’re gone. We come to the lake house every few months to get away from the city. I know Mom and Dad want me to get a real job or something. I figure they’re sick of me hanging around, but I honestly think being on the show will open up some opportunities.

I turn back to the paused TV. My face is frozen on the screen with a goofy as hell expression on my face. I cringe and press play. My debut on television isn’t starting off the way I imagined.

The beginning teaser clips aren’t too bad. I look good. Kelly, my partner on the show, looks damn good, too. When we first met, my little man decided to acknowledge her with a salute. It was not cool. I had to consciously stop myself from yelling at it like it was another person between my legs. The thing is, Kelly has this tattoo that snakes up her inner thigh all the way around one ass cheek and up her waistline. Jesus. I couldn’t blame my body for being so damn obnoxious—she was hot as hell. But then we started trekking through the scorching landscape to our so-called home for the next 25 days and my little dude decided to go and hide like a turtle head in a shell. Honestly, I would’ve rather walked around with a hard-on than a turtle head.

“God, please don’t show that,” I mumbled as the beginning theme song and credits roll.

I used my full name, Christian on the show. Mom uses it when she’s pissed at me, but most of the time, I’m just Chris. I thought it would help me sound more professional, but from my internet research, evidently Christian is a synonym for multiple shades of grey with some BSDM thrown in. What luck I have. I still need to watch those movies…

The first shot is of us meeting. Sweet. I look good. I’d cut my hair, so it was blonder than usual, and I’d hit the tanning bed before I left, too. That was a good move since we were in the blazing sun most of the time. Kelly’s flawless complexion was golden, and she’d braided her long black hair, so it draped over her shoulder like an arrow pointing at her firm left breast. This was my immediate first impression. I know I’m a shallow bastard, but believe me, it didn’t take long for the shiny penny to lose its luster. Three hours in the desert sun, trying to find somewhere to set-up camp killed all thoughts of attraction.

I watch us awkwardly hug and begin our journey. The three hours of hell is summed up in about two minutes on screen. By the time we get to the place we think is best to set camp, I’m sweating like a whore in church and my face is beet red.

I take another long drink, finishing my beer. God, I look awful already.

Reaching over to the mini fridge by the couch, I grab another IPA and pop the top. When I glance at the TV again, I’m down on my knees gathering firewood, ass and blurred balls stuck in the air. That was way more of me than even I wanted to see. I cringe again. My buddies are never going to let me hear the end of this.

The whole reason I went on the show was first, to get away from my parents for a month or so. Second, I’d planned on bringing home some cash. Mom was right, I was supposed to make five-grand off the deal. What she was wrong about is I did make a couple of grand; I just haven’t told her that. When I get back to Chicago, my plan is to hit the casino and see if I can at least double it by throwing some dice. Then, I’ll get my own place, maybe in Evanston or Lake Forest. I’m sure after this episode is over, the agent I dealt with during the filming will call with more offers. Maybe I can get my own show, like that survivor dude who films himself while eating berries and sleeping under the stars.

I watch as we make a fire and stack branches to make a lean-to. We did pretty good for the first few hours, but when the sun went down hot Kelly turns into a hot-ass mess. The bugs liked her lotion-soaked skin. I’d noticed the hint of coconut, wafting off her from the moment we met. Bugs like coconut. I’d washed with patchouli before I left, thanks to Greg my outdoorsman buddy. He swore the bugs wouldn’t come near me. After I took a whiff of the brick of soap that he’d given me, I was pretty sure nothing with a sense of smell would venture my way. I’d noticed Kelly wince slightly when she first met me—Definitely the patchouli at work.

The show cut to a commercial break and my phone instantly dings with a text message. I snag it off the coffee table. Greg. I roll my eyes and grin.

Greg: You’re a total pussy!!!

Me: Don’t be jealous.

Greg: Can’t wait to see you cry!

Me: Whatever. I ruled this.

He sends three laughing emojis.

I suppose, ruled is an overstatement. The next half-hour of the show sends me deeper and deeper into the couch cushions. Kelly and I didn’t sleep at all the first night. It was hot and the bugs were relentless. She whined, and whined, and whined. I tried my best to keep my mouth shut. I mean, I didn’t know the girl, but damn I could totally see why she was single. When she finally settled down enough to fall asleep, I shifted on the hard ground, trying to get more comfortable, but then a huge ember popped off the fire and landed on my ass cheek. They didn’t edit that out of the final cut. I watched myself scramble across the dirt, howling like a dog who’d just been kicked. I still have a welt from it.

I watch us the next morning, exhausted and thirsty. The first thing we needed was to find water and hopefully something to eat. Thankfully, the producer had given us a pot to boil water, in addition to the few items we chose to bring. We had a flint, a machete, and the pot. Kelly was pretty crafty with some of the brush in the area. She made a halter top for herself out of leaves and strips of some stringy plant. It bummed me out at first, but I have to say it made her tits look even better once she bound them up. I found a stream and we boiled some water. It wasn’t bad, but I was already starting to feel how slow the days and nights were going to go.

After the next commercial break, it’s day five on the show, and I’m already on my fourth IPA. This is when I caught the catfish with my bare hands. Excited is the understatement of the year. I’d never been so proud of myself. I pause the DVR and holler for Dad to come down. A few minutes later, he’s standing by the couch, arms crossed as I replay the scene for him. He nods his head without a smile, disapproval permeating from his pores. Then the next scene shows me flinging the fish across the bank while screaming in pain. I totally forgot about the damn thing stinging me with its whiskers. I looked like an idiot dancing around, blood trickling down my arm.

Mortified that I asked Dad to come down, I say, “Never mind. You can watch it later if you want. It’s recorded.”

He grunts and walks back upstairs. I guess, parental approval isn’t going to happen tonight. I can’t blame him. He expected me to go to college on a scholarship for football until I blew my knee out waterskiing the summer after I graduated high school. Not only did I destroy my knee but my motivation to do anything with my life shattered along with it.

Another text.

Greg: Nice bloody catch.

Me: It was tasty.

Greg: You’re still a puss.

Me: A damn good-looking one though.

The next scene was a total disaster. Thank God, Dad left. Kelly lost her shit because I dozed off while she was out foraging. It was only for a few minutes…well, it was more like an hour or so, but my arm was throbbing from the catfish sting. We screamed and yelled at each other. Every other word bleeped out on TV. Then my worst nightmare happened. Kelly flipped her arms in the air, and said, “I’m done—Bleep—you! You lazy—Bleep!”

Within ten minutes, she was gone with the producer and his staff, and I was left standing there dumbfounded in my birthday suit. It was only day ten. The thought of being out there alone for the next fifteen days had seriously sent a moment of terror through me.

The thing is, you’re not really alone. There’s always a camera person, shooting every second of your most humiliating moments. Our camera person was a pretty cool, middle-aged man named Sean. He didn’t say much. He just followed me everywhere, giving me someone to talk to even though he rarely responded. And that was all good, until the sun went down and Sean went to his comfortable tent and hot dinner that I could smell floating on the wind. He also freely chugged fresh water in front of me the entire day. And once, I caught him smoking which totally crushed my mood. I honestly thought I was going to cry when I smelled the smoke.

That night, a storm rolled in. Thunder boomed and lightning cracked the sky. I’d never been so damn cold in my life. I curled in a ball on the wet, muddy ground, my head tucked between two rocks. Then a thunderclap echoed so loud I jumped, whipping my head to the side. Smack! I hit my mouth on the rock with a blow to my front teeth that sent a spear of pain as intense as the lightning itself. My tooth. I pressed my hand to my face. All I could say was, “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. My tooth!” Translated: “Oh—Bleep. Oh—Bleep.”

The medic came to evaluate me. I’d managed to chip not only my front tooth but the neighboring one next to it. As I watch the scene, I run my tongue over the sharp edges. I seriously need to get them looked at. They offered to send me to a dentist when the show was over, but I had bigger problems to deal with at the time.

For the next two days, my mouth throbbed like I’d been in a boxing match. I’d hardly eaten, exhaustion consumed me, and I was on the brink of dehydration if I didn’t do something quick.

I’m sure Greg is quite happy to see me break on day thirteen, bawling like a baby to the handheld camera they gave us. I groan and sink deeper into the corner of the couch. This is beyond humiliating. I wait for my phone to alert with another text. Greg doesn’t chime in this time. Ugh…that’s even worse.

The show is forty-five minutes in, and I know what’s coming. Me and my balls. Wading through murky water isn’t the best thing to do when naked, something I wish would’ve been on the list of “don’ts” when I signed the paperwork. Apparently, there are parasites and various fungi that like to attach to humans while moving in stagnant water. I didn’t know that, and I was starving. I had ten more days to endure—I had to eat.

I’m feeling a little drunk at this point, and as I watch myself walk to the water’s edge, I shout at the TV, “Don’t do it, man. Don’t go in the water!”

I caught a small fish, like really small, more of a minnow than a fish. Regardless, I cook it over the fire and gobble it up on screen. The camera man zooms in showing how filthy and crusty I was. You’d think the water would’ve helped clean me off, but somehow, I look worse. Then, still zoomed in of course, I make a face and scratch my groin. I remember it clearly. The itch was like nothing I’ve ever felt. A thousand mosquitos feasting on my tender flesh. I look down. The dim light from the fire didn’t reveal any bites or anything. I scratched again. And again, and…by the next morning, my nuts were the size of a tennis ball. I rinsed them with fresh water I’d boiled and cooled. It didn’t work. I rubbed mud all over them and my thighs. Nothing. I couldn’t stop scratching. I went back to the stream and sat in the water to cool off the burn. Little did I know, all I was doing was doubling down on the infectious disease feasting on my sack.

What the episode doesn’t show is when Sean turned off the camera for a few minutes.

“Christian,” he said to me. “You’re done, Bro. That isn’t going away and your balls are terrifying, even to me.”

Tears were rolling down my face, horrified yet thankful the camera was off. “I can’t quit, man. I have to finish this challenge.”

Sean didn’t flinch. “You wanna have kids someday? Or even sex?” He pointed at my crotch. “Five grand ain’t worth being celibate for life, is it?”

I fervently shook my head. Sean hit the button on his walkie-talkie. “Sean here. We need a medic. Camera is rolling again.” Sean lifted the camera to his shoulder, pointing it down at my swollen shit. I wiped the wetness from my face, cringing as I tried not to scratch them again. It really was unbearable.

Even as I sit and watch it now, I resist the urge to rub them again for moral support. I watch the medic on TV shake her head, (yes, her), just another dollop of humiliation that they sent in a gorgeous doctor to look at my engorged balls. I still don’t know where Dr. John disappeared to. They did it on purpose, I just know it. Assholes. The ending credits roll, and the narrator explains the fungus I contracted was not life-threatening but could’ve had long term effects if left untreated.

Now, I’m definitely drunk. I finish off my sixth beer, feeling a little bitter and sick to my stomach, and it’s not from the alcohol. That was awful, just awful… The more I think about it, if the agent calls me, I’m all good. I don’t ever want to be nude again unless I’m having sex or in the shower. I’m all about clothing. Clothing and blankets, and a roof over my head. Definitely need a roof and underwear.

“Hey, Mom,” I yell toward the stairs, my words slurring together. “I’m going back to Chicago with you guys tomorrow, okay? Oh, and can you make me a dentist appointment?”

The End