Melanie Berliet, a former Wall Street stock trader, wrote a piece for this month's Vanity Fair about her one-off role as a naked sushi model.
Strangely, she doesn't worry about rank fish, groping hands, or ending up in some bizarre Requiem For A Dream party scene outtake; rather, her worry has to do with a part of her body most men never notice. (Hint: ladies, men don't care about your shoes.)
From Melanie's own mouth, following her experience on the New York naked sushi circuit:
I glanced at my feet and saw that I needed a pedicure. Badly. People were about to be eating off me and I hadn’t done them the courtesy of getting my toes done.
With a series of frenzied hand motions, she directed me to strip, tape the shells to my nipples, then secure the thong to my sides and butt. There was no time to be bashful, and I quickly grasped that my body was not my own for the next few hours. It was a commodity I’d loaned to Koko. I wondered if this was how strippers feel. Detached. Robotic. At work.
Yep. That's pretty much how strippers feel... except you forgot the occasional bonus feeling: "sticky."
The next moments proved to be intensely erotic, oddly enough, as Koko flittted daintily around the table, decorating me with scarves, bright pink flowers, and the fans that would serve as trays for the sushi, sashimi, and shumai. Never before had I felt like a piece of art.
As the men got drunker, their timidity vanished. Chopsticks flashed above me as they navigated the buffet, taking their dinner from my curves and crevices. Through it all, Koko sped gracefully in and out of the room to replace the small trays of fish.
For an hour and a half I laid there, while the men surrounding me drank and ate and stared, and sometimes poked at my bare body.
90 minutes? To eat sushi? Man, these guys are really lame... at least they gave her $150 in tips so, as she puts it, she can get the extra therapy she will most certainly need...
Read her full story here. Image and story via Vanity Fair.
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