Let's get this straight. I tend to keep my hedonist/nudist tendencies under wraps, but I do have a soft spot for B-rated college movies.
So when I get a phone call asking if I'd be interested in being a naked extra in the next instalment of the American Pie series, I jump.
The deal: show up wearing a tank top, shorts, runners and a backpack; tear 'em off and streak across U of T. The fact that I'll be paid $800 doesn't hurt either.
My experience as a student at Centenniel College was rather bland compared to the hijinks of, say, Animal House. No panty raids, no mascot stealing and certainly no pranking the lousy dean. This is my chance to literally and metaphorically let it all hang out.
About a hundred others and I are greeted at a deserted Victoria University on a Saturday afternoon by a forest of "No sexual harassment allowed' signs.
A lot of the extras know each other, and some are already prancing around topless. This is beginning to feel like high school all over again.
After six months as a webcam sex girl, I'm not put off by performing nude, but I'm still the kind of person who averts my eyes when I change at the gym.
What makes me nervous is that I'm there in the flesh, so to speak. I can see people's reactions. But I figure I'm only gonna live once, and being naked with 200 other people of both genders can't be all that bad.
After a few hours, I make friends with Alison and Susie, both exotic dancers. Alison chuckles, "I do this every day. It's like, 'You're paying me how much again?''
Some extras are strippers, but many are people in their 20s trying to get a foot in the Hollywood door via a naked bit role. This is going to be classier than Girls Gone Wild Raid U Of T, I'm sure.
My biggest concern is not that this flick will go to the big screen, but that it will go straight to DVD. My mom is notorious for buying low-budget movies and has an affinity for sequels - the Snake Eater trilogy, Tremors 7 - you name it, she's got it. I'm hoping I'll blend in somewhere in the background, but probably not, since I'm flexing my biceps through some scenes like a jackass.
Good news is that we don't have to be completely nude. The girls get to wear this flesh-coloured nylon triangle over our bits, though the boobs and ass are still on display. "I think I'll wear mine as an eye patch after I'm through here,' I say.
When night hits, we're ready to roll. To my surprise, the boys get to keep their shorts on. Many of them are sporting flesh-coloured briefs, while others are showing off little nude-toned baggies over their own baggies. Double standard, anyone?
But all that is forgotten when Eugene Levy takes his mark and goes over his lines with the crowd. The script has him firing a starting pistol to signal us to race around the corner like marathon runners, jiggling everywhere.
After the 10th take, the double-Ds bouncing beside me start to lose their charm, but distracted guys who risk running into trees don't agree.
"Are you with ACTRA?' one dude asks. That seems to be the standard pickup line around here.
It's funny, though. As the afternoon turns into a 13-hour shift, I actually get used to people being nude around me, and the only time I notice I'm starkers is when the wind chafes my bum.
By 6 am, it's no longer a meat market, just a bunch of exhausted naked people with bags under their eyes. Glam porn? Not exactly. Hippie nudist colony is more like it.
I don't know if this is something I'd ever do again. Strutting my stuff once is enough. But at least I got to do it in front of Eugene Levy and, in between takes, rest my head on a pair of stripper's boobs.
College life is sweet.