Mark entertains the ladies on Nude Day with a surprise.
Naked best friend has a Nude Day celebration surprise.
My friend Mark invited me over to his house. He said he was having a party to celebrate National Nude Day. Of course, as a full fledged, proud member of the society of perverts, I’m intimately familiar with any holiday that had the word nude in it. Since there are none and since I’ve never heard of National Nude Day, I thought he was joking.
He’s always having a laugh at my expense, so I didn’t think any more of it. I’d just have to think back to Prom night a decade ago when, rather than spending more for a limousine to drive us all home, a bunch of us stayed overnight in a hotel and partying. He woke me up yelling fire while beating a hubcap with a spoon. I was so tired and still a little drunk. It was six in the morning.
He knew that I slept in the nude and as soon as I ran out of the room, they closed and locked the door behind me leaving me out in the corridor naked. Okay, I was embarrassed being out in the hall of a hotel naked, but it did give me reason to expose myself to the women walking by my room on their way down to breakfast or to check out. Once my friends saw that I enjoyed being left outside the door naked a bit too much, they allowed me back in the room.
Still, over the years, I’ve been the butt of all his practical jokes. It’s a good thing I have a good sense of humor. So, other then him joking that he was celebrating National Nude Day, which I figured there was no such holiday, he didn’t say what the occasion was, but with single guys we don’t need an occasion to party. All we need are alcohol and women.
Since, I had no plans; I was looking forward to having a few beers and hooking up with a hot chick. There are always hot chicks at Mark’s parties. Only, I get so drunk at his parties, too drunk; that I don’t know where I am; especially when I fail to hook up with a hot chick, but man do I have a good time.
Hmm, now that I think about it, I wonder if the reason why I don’t hook up with a hot chick is because I drink too much and get too drunk.
Mark is the type of guy who is always surrounded by hot women. He’s a good looking guy, that is, if you like the tall, blonde with blue eyes, and leanly muscular sort of man. Instead of the more realistic kind of guy who has a bread and beer belly and a butter and bacon butt. I’m Average Joe, that’s me, short, a bit overweight, and average in every way. Actually, as friends, best friends, we have little in common, other than we love women and love to party. Had we not lived next door and grown up together as kids, Mark would otherwise have nothing to do with me.
‘Nah, that’s ridiculous. The guy loves me.’
With that said, notwithstanding our lack of commonality, we do everything together. We are practically brothers, twins, so long as you broaden the definition of twins to how Danny DeVito and Arnold Schwarzenegger looked when appearing in the movie, Twins.
Mark has a good job during the day; he’s some kind of software engineer. He works crazy hours and then has a bunch of days off. His work is tied to some specific and special, high priority projects and, when his company completes one project, they reward their staff by giving them some much needed time off before starting the next project. Since I work there too, he got me a job in the maintenance department, whenever we’re together we never talk about work. As well as it should be, our talks always center on women, which explains why I really don’t know exactly what he does to make a living. All I know is that he’s a hotshot there, as he is around here, especially when it comes to women. He has enough clout at work to get me the same days off that he has, so that we can party together.
‘I love this guy. I really do.’
I arrived at his condo early. He said he needed some help setting up refreshments, which meant, he’d give me money to go to the supermarket and the liquor store to buy whatever I thought he needed. He was never any good with shopping for groceries and liquor, and figuring out how much food and booze he needed to entertain people.
If I left it up to Mark to buy refreshments, he’d return home with beer and chips, which is okay by me, but the women prefer wine coolers and a bit more to eat, foods that are less fattening. Generally, we take turns entertaining and it was my turn to entertain, something that I always look forward to doing, because I love people. Okay, actually I just love women, especially good looking women with hot bodies. To be honest, the reason why I prefer entertaining Mark and his hot women at my apartment is because I usually end up with a topless and drunken chick in a thong to spend the night with me.
“You! Where’s Mark? How did I get here? Where are my clothes? Did you? Did I? Did we…?”
“It’s just me, Joe. Mark’s not here. I drove you. There are your clothes. Yes. Yes. Yes. You have a little bit of my dried cum on your lip and in your hair.”
“Eww! canlı bahis Call me a cab.”
Yeah, typically that’s the downside of a drunken woman waking up in bed with me after becoming consciously sober enough to know that I’m not who she thought I was. The upside is, of course, when she thought she was in bed with Mark, all I’d have to do is whisper in her ear, “I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to have my baby.” Then, she was my sexy, do anything bitch.
‘Yeah, suck it baby, suck it. Now, swallow.’
Only, for some unknown reason, he insisted that he wanted to host this party. He said that this party was a special party and that he and I would be the only guys there with a dozen women. Certainly, not typical of our other parties, but with a women to men ratio of six to one, this was my kind of party.
‘I was getting laid tonight. Yeah, Baby!’
Did you guys ever read The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald? Well, if you had and if you knew my friend Mark and I, then you’d know that he was Jay Gatsby and I was Nick Carraway. It’s not that Mark was as rich as Gatsby was portrayed to be in the book, although he certainly does make much more money as a software engineer than I do as a janitor. It’s just that he always had a new, hot car, a red Corvette convertible, which is what he drives now and he always had a different, hot blonde, shapely brunette or beautiful redhead on his arm. And he has the annoying, albeit endearing, habit of calling me ‘Sport’, which is what Jay Gatsby called Nick Carraway.
‘Sport,’ unless he read The Great Gatsby or, knowing Mark, he just watched the movie, where he came up with that name, since I don’t play sports nor am I even a good sport, I’ll never know. Actually, he does resemble a youngish Robert Redford, who played the part of Jay Gatsby in the movie. I could have asked him where he got the name, but I kind of like being called ‘Sport’. It makes me feel special enough to him that he made up a nickname just for me. So long as it wasn’t an insulting and/or degrading nickname, I can live with him calling me ‘Sport.’ It’s better than being called Fat Ass and Lard Belly, which is what they called me in high school.
Now that I think about it, I’ve always been in Mark’s shadow. He was the star quarterback on our high school football team and I was the equipment manager, actually, the water and towel boy. After our team had a winning season and won our version of the Super Bowl, I watched while they carried him around on their shoulders after he threw the winning touchdown.
Man, the cheerleaders were all over his hot body grabbing him and kissing him. I don’t know where the guy found the control to resist them; some of them were really hot. Yet, he did and that made them want him even more.
During baseball season, he was the star pitcher and I was the equipment manager, actually, the bat boy. Again, I watched after they carried him around on their shoulders after having a winning season, striking out the side, and winning the championship. We didn’t have cheerleaders in baseball, but we had some MILFS, mothers of some of the guys that I would have loved to fuck who were on the team that were always making passes at Mark.
Some of the MILFS road with us on the bus as chaperones and they practically threw themselves at Mark. Grabbing him, hugging him, and even kissing him on the pretense that he was the hero who won the championship game. While their sons road in the front of the bus, their hot moms gave Mark plenty of up skirt and down blouse views of their hot bodies in the back of the bus. It was an embarrassing display to see, but I watched anyway and jerked off over it later. Again, I don’t know where the guy found the control to resist them; some of them were really hot. Yet, he did and that made them want him even more.
Our life paralleled those roads with him taking the high road and I taking the low road, that is, until he left for college and I served in the Army. Then, having lost much of my excess weight in basic training, I was finally somebody, kind of, well, not really, okay, not at all, if you want to call Private Screw Up somebody. Now, we’re just a couple of old friends hanging out together and having a good time.
I’m not a picky guy and would be happy to take any one of Mark’s leftover or rejected women as my fuck buddy, girlfriend or even wife. One is more gorgeous than the next but, seriously, none of the women he dates are interested in dating me. If they were interested in me at all, if they took the time to talk to me, they were only interested in befriending me, as did Daisy Buchanan in The Great Gatsby book and played by Mia Farrow in the subsequent movie, to hopefully learn how to win Mark’s heart.
I was their go to guy fielding all the questions with answers about Mark. They all were as transparent in their reasons to bother with me, as the see-through blouses and dresses they wore when they walked out in the bright sunlight. Sorry, to allow my sexual perversions to get in the way of this story, but voyeuristic opportunities, bahis siteleri along with my perverted imagination, when spying on these hot women, are sometimes all that I have.
“Eww! Mark, your friend keeps leering at me.”
“He’s harmless, Samantha. He’s just drunk, horny, and perverted.”
Only, no one can get to this guy. When it comes to love and emotions, he must have ice water running through his veins to have rejected some of the beauties he has rejected. With all the beautiful women he has at his feet, and he has had some tens, it’s difficult for me to understand that there isn’t one who turns his head enough for him to even consider getting down on his knee to ask her to marry him.
Apparently, by the tell-all sexual conversations we have after he’s been intimate with someone, he’s only interested in having a good time and getting laid or a blowjob. As am I, he’s especially fond of blowjobs, and as more than anything else, he loves having his cock sucked. Other than getting a hand job or a blowjob, nothing else really matters to him. Marriage, as well as pregnancy, long-term relationships, and commitment are dirty words to him, the eternally confirmed bachelor, and send him running away.
I showed up at Mark’s place and he greeted me at the door naked. I couldn’t believe he was naked. He shocked me and even with his nakedness, I didn’t put that together with him celebrating National Nude Day. I had already discounted that holiday, actually forgotten about it, figuring that he had been joking about National Nude Day.
When he opened the door naked, I just figured he was running late, which he’s always late for everything. Besides, seeing him naked removed whatever thoughts I had in my mini mind. An involuntary reaction, I couldn’t believe it when I looked down to check out his package. Suddenly, I felt gay in not being able to stop the impulse to look again and again.
I was surprised that he was naked, but not really. I saw him plenty of times without his shirt and just a pair of boxer shorts while he ran around trying to hurry to get ready. Yet, in all the years I’ve known him, I don’t ever remember seeing Mark naked. This was my first time seeing his, you know, thing. I saw his buff body at the beach lots of times and he’s the type of guy that when sitting next to you on the sand, you’d leave on your t-shirt. Yeah, he looked that good that he’d make you look that bad. Actually, I look bad enough on my own that I don’t need help from anyone else to make me look bad.
He also has no concept of time. He’s the type of guy who’d be late for his own funeral. With all the face creams for his skin and gels he uses for his hair, he’s worse than a woman in the time he takes primping in front of the mirror to get ready. Me? I’m out the door in two minutes. I just get up and brush my teeth, most times. Sometimes I shower, sometimes I don’t, and sometimes I shave, sometimes I don’t. Remembering to turn my sweatshirt inside out, the clean side, ala Maynard G. Krebs on Dobie Gillis, I put the same clothes on from the night before and I’m good to go.
Ah, gees, now that I think of it, do you remember Tuesday Weld? She played Thalia Menninger, Dobie’s love interest. Her soft voice was so sexy. Blonde, beautiful, and seductively built, she was so hot. This is what it’s like with Mark. He gets all the women who look like Thalia Menniger and I get all the short, fat, and homely Zelda Gilroy’s of the world.
I really didn’t want to be caught staring at his cock, so I maintained constant eye contact and when he turned away, I gave his package another peek.
‘Double wow! Holy shit. He’s huge.’
Now, I know it’s not just his hot wheel car that gets the chicks. If I was built like him, I’d be gunning for Jenny McCarthy or Pamela Anderson or Cameron Diaz, they are all still so hot. Pamela Anderson is my fantasy bitch. I heard she likes big cocks, as her first husband, Tommy Lee, was hung like my friend Mark.
“Hey, how you doin’, Mark?”
“I’m well, Joey. And you?”
Yeah, I know, sometimes, I’m embarrassed for Mark, as he doesn’t speak the correct English. Instead of saying that he’s good, he says that he’s well. No one answers a question about their health in that way, they always reply, “I’m good.” Every time he says that he’s well, I think of well water.
Feeling a bit homophobic, I didn’t want to get too close to him, incase he accidentally poked me with his penis or worse, if my hand accidentally brushed by and touched his cock. Eww! If something like that happened, him poking me with his penis, I’d think he was gay or worse, and if my hand brushed by his cock and I touched it, he’d think that I was gay. Gross! Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay and taking a cock up the ass or in the mouth, if you’re a gay guy, it’s just not me. I like tits and pussies. Certainly, I love asses, but only women’s asses.
“I’m good,” I said not wanting to correct his English but emphasizing the word ‘good’ while hoping he’d take the hint the next time he answered when someone asked bahis şirketleri him how he was and he said good instead of well, but he never did. “Actually, I’m hot” I said. “It’s going to be another hot one today, which would make this an official heat wave, three consecutive days of plus ninety degree heat.”
“Yeah, well, I plan on kicking up the heat with the party that I have planned.”
“I see you’re wearing your party clothes,” he said giving me a smile.
“Yeah, I bought a new shirt for the occasion. The big flower pattern makes me look slimmer,” I said turning from side to side and looking down and pulling at my shirt to show him how roomy it is. “My old shirt no longer stretched across my belly for me to button it. I figured that either I have to cutback on beer, fat, and carbs and exercise or buy bigger clothes. A no brainer, it was easier just to buy bigger clothes.”
“Good decision, Joey,” he said laughing.
See, my English lessons are working. He said good decision instead of well decision.
“I see you’re wearing your party clothes, Mark,” I said looking down at his exposed penis, again.
What the Hell is wrong with me? That’s the fifth time I looked at his cock. Gees, why do I keep looking at his cock? Fuck, I hope I don’t have gay tendencies. Suddenly, with him hanging around me naked, I could feel myself turning gay. Next I’ll be buying ferns and flowers at the nursery instead of buying tools at Home Depot.
“You like?” Suddenly, he made me feel uncomfortable by expecting me to not only look at his hot, naked body but also to give him my opinion on his hot, naked body.
“Damn, I wish I had your body,” I said looking down at his cock again.
Did I just say that out loud? I can’t believe I said that and I can’t believe I looked at his cock again. Just as I said that, my conscience gave me a warning for some inexplicable reason. Something my mother always said, ‘Be careful what you wish for’ suddenly stormed through my mind along with my stomach in my mouth after throwing up a little in my mouth. It was then that I had a foreboding feeling of doom. Only, I didn’t know what it all meant.
He handed me three, crisp, one hundred dollar bills.
“I know I’m a pain in the ass, Sport, but would you mind? I’m running a little late.”
Running a little late? He’s not even dressed. At this point, he’ll never be ready. I hate just hanging around his condo waiting for him. Although, him never being ready always gave me a reason to have a beer while watching sports on his big screen TV.
“Sure, no problem, Mark,” I said pocketing the money. I wanted to ask him if I could take his car, but decided against doing that.
It was enough that he never asked me how much I spent and never asked for the change, allowing me to pocket whatever I didn’t spend. Besides, I’d be afraid to drive his Corvette after being used to tooling around in my ’95 Honda Civic. He was fanatical about his cars and he’s had some hot cars, an Acura NSX, a Viper, a BMW M3, a Shelby Cobra, and a Porsche Boxster. None of them ever looked dirty. He was always paying someone to detail them. I think I washed my Honda in 2007. By the grin on his face, every time he drives it, I think he likes the ‘Vette the best. It suits him.
“I love entertaining, but I hate going to the supermarket,” he confessed with an uncomfortable grin.
If I looked as good as he did, tall, muscular, and handsome, I’d live in the supermarket picking up woman and defrosting them by the frozen food section while warming their buns with my hands. I’d heat them up by the deli meat section and make them hot by stroking a long, hard salami, while hoping that they’d stroke my hotdog later. I’d be sickening sweet in the candy section asking them if I could lick chocolate syrup and eat cherries off their hot body, in the hopes that they’d do the same to mine. I’d exchanged innuendoes in the produce section while feeling a cantaloupe in the fruit section and fondling a massive cucumber in vegetable section.
Yeah, my Mom always told me to eat my fruits and vegetables, but you know me, I always play with my food. Then, when we’re done eating, I’d promise to wash their dirty bodies in the household goods section while standing next to the Mr. Clean and holding a big bar of Ivory soap. You know what I mean. You get the idea.
“The women at the market creep me out,” he said jolting me out of my supermarket fantasy. “They think just because I’m there in the same aisle with them that they can invade my sense of space. Their stares and their leers make me uncomfortable. They make me feel like a piece of meat and I feel so used and abused.”
When he said that, I wondered if the women, who I invaded their space and stared and leered at, felt as violated as Mark confessed he did.
Piece of meat? Used and abused? So? I don’t believe this guy. I wonder where he shops for groceries. He says that like that’s a problem and like there’s something wrong with feeling like a piece of meat and feeling used and abused by women. This guy must get so much pussy that he’s never been horny and lonely, while watching late night porn movies with his hand stroking his own cock. Sorry, that’s way too much personal information.