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Letters To DOMAI


In my university days I was a proud member of the annual students’ review and we’d present a fun show full of skits and silliness. By about my third year I had become the unofficial group leader and I started to handle our ‘bookings’. We had started to get calls from people who needed performers and were looking for our unique brand of craziness.

We had a call from a local council who were mounting an event using some ‘fire’ specialist who was building some sort of giant man to be paraded and burnt and they needed a bunch of ‘actors’ to flesh out the parade and wave fire sticks around and generally make it a bit more of a spectacle. They had very little budget which explains why they called us. I had to organise about 10 people, all dressed in black to perform in the parade, in return for which we all got a little cash and the fire specialist gave us free lessons in making and twirling fire sticks.

Learning to twirl the fire sticks was the more attractive part to us students, particularly the girls. Well I had about 5 boys and 5 girls and we turned up on the day to receive our tuition and then perform in the parade that night. After the workshop everyone headed off to this big dressing room in the pavilion which they had allocated to us and started to get ready. That involved getting bare foot and taking off all jewellery so we were down to basic black - and that’s when the mud arrived.

Well it was clay really, but the parade organisers (the actual professionals) had supplied us with a bit tub of potters’ clay to smear all over our faces and exposed hands and feet and so on, to enhance the visual effect. I can’t remember now if we knew about it in advance or not but the group started to ‘smear-up’ with glee. Anything to make us less recognizable was a good thing. As the troupe started to rub the clay on their hair and faces, one of the guys took his shirt off, to cheers from all the girls. At that point I headed off, no doubt to discuss something very important in my capacity as the ‘boss’ with someone.

I suppose I was away for about a quarter of an hour before I had to rush back and finish getting my mud on. When I walked through the dressing room door it seemed like I had entered a room full of boys. I wondered where the girls had gone for half a second until it struck me that everyone was still there, they just weren’t wearing any tops and were all mud from the waist up. I shut the door behind me quickly and stood there with what must have been quite a shocked expression. All my friends turned and started to laugh when they realised that I hadn’t been privy to what had transpired in the last 15 minutes.

All the guys had all taken their shirts off and covered their chests with mud, and as was told to me later, one of the girls (the one with the biggest personality) didn’t want to be out-done so she stripped down to her bra and tried to cover her torso in mud. That looked stupid so she lost the bra and went with the muddy chest like the boys. It wasn’t long before all of the girls, both busty and flat alike, were “shirts-off” and covering up with the thick mud.

I was a bit pompous for a young guy and after getting a great big eye-full, I remember saying, “You can’t do that, we’ll get in trouble. We won’t get paid…” and various other protestations. I was shouted down of course and there was no way the girls were going to pull their tops back on over all that mud. Before I knew it, I had my shirt off and with only a few minutes till the parade, I had all five girls getting hand-fulls of mud and smearing it all over my scrawny student chest.

So there I was, hands up over my head, staring at all my girly student-friends’ bare breasts as they wobbled about while quickly covering me in mud.

The gal with the big personality, who tended to lead the girls in most things, was a bit of a big girl. She would have been about 19 or 20 back then and she had enormous breasts which swayed back and fourth like they had a point to prove. From memory, a couple of the girls had the most glorious breasts – shapely and pointing straight out with sharp muddy nipples in the evening air. The other two were quite flat chested but that didn’t stop me having a really good look at them and enjoying every second of it. Thankfully we were a rather egalitarian group and didn’t really care about the money so if we got thrown off the job and never hired again it wouldn’t have bothered us one bit.

Some production assistant knocked on the door and told us to come on out. We knew we were going to have to take everyone by surprise so we all bunched up and moved quickly out in the dark to our staging area. The boys went in front with each of us shielding a girl so as not to give the game away. I remember one of the girls, I don’t know who it was, with a fire stick in one hand and the other on my waist, following me so closely she bumped into my back on a few occasions, each time saying sorry and giggling and with me telling her to keep down.

Fortunately the production staff were all focused on the audience and whatever local dignitaries were in attendance so the only one worrying about us was the fire specialist. He walked up in the dark to light our torches and I’ll never forget his double-take when he got close enough to make out the girls. He was a hippie from way back and just started to chuckle to himself.

The music started to play and with our torches aloft we jumped and danced and shouted and carried on like idiots. I really don’t know how the audience reacted as we all just started performing for each other. Taking ridiculous poses and waving the torches we all just acted up until the wood and paper man was burning and someone waved us off. I made a point of dancing around with each of the girls as they jumped and laughed, the mud on their faces starting to crack. Their breasts bounced and danced along with them in the orange fire-light and all too soon it was over.

We ran back to the dressing room and grabbed our gear. I don’t remember whether we ever heard from the organisers again but we headed straight down to the pub and laughed about it for hours. Sometimes the girls love to get their gear off, if you have a good enough excuse.

Luke R

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