He woke up groggily to the sunlight hitting his face. He was lucky that he had a programming internship, where he could afford to sleep in that late on a random Thursday. He checked his phone. 9:35 am, July 14
th
. His calendar was showing some random event: National Nude Day.
National Nude Day?,
he thought.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Seriously, way to make me feel even shittier than I already do. I haven't had sex in four months. No one wants this body.
He went to the bathroom to shower, and looked in the mirror. His hair dye was still holding up well -- dark red highlights on one side of his previously-businesslike dark brown hair. He liked the alternative look, kind of to his surprise. He'd let some friends dye his hair after a night of drinking and thought he'd regret it immensely. Instead, he's gotten lots of nice comments on it, and he thought he'd caught a couple of girls checking him out. Guys too. That was a bit weird. Even though he wasn't into it, the attention was flattering, and he wanted to dye his whole head next time.
But still.
Could anyone really fall for this body?
It wasn't hideous, or even particularly unattractive, just...average. He'd never been super muscular, but what had once been the definition of a skinny teenager was starting to get some flab. Too much time staying up late and coding, not enough trips to the gym. But he never liked the gym, or even paid that much attention to his body. Now he was paying the price.
National nude day, though.
Wasn't it all about paying attention to your body?
I never even really look at myself. Not like this.
He began doing some poses in the mirror. First flexing his arms and pointing, like a lame stereotype of a muscleman at the beach
. Ok, still something there. That doesn't look too bad actually.
He turned around and tried different poses, checking out his shoulders and torso.
That gut is pretty visible from the side. But hey, if I suck it in, it mostly goes away. Oh, and you can see abs! I have abs! Maybe I shouldn't get that excited, but honestly I thought those were long gone.
Hey, I'm not even naked. Oops.
He slipped off his boxers and stood up. The dark curls of his pubic hair sprang up, and his flaccid penis bounced a bit with the movement. He was momentarily fascinated.
I've never even noticed that before. I kind of get why girls are so fascinated by dicks.
But then that brought up the question of size.
I mean, six and a half inches erect last time I measured, and I don't think it's changed. But that's not all that matters.
He looked down. He was making sure he could still clearly see his flaccid penis.
If you can't see your own soft dick, then you're too fat. If you can't see it even when it's erect, you have
serious
problems. You're either way too fat, or your dick is tiny.
He exhaled. By this measure, he was still fine, at least when he sucked in his stomach. But if he stuck it out all the way, he had to bend over quite a bit.
Damn. I'm going to have to do something about that.
He grabbed gently behind the head and pulled his penis to its full length.
It looks so funny like that when it's not really erect. Still, I'm fine by that measure though.
He was now aroused enough that when he released it, his dick was semi-hard. He looked at it in the mirror.
Wow, it's so much bigger from that angle. That's pretty hot, actually. But how does that even work?
And then a second track running in the back of his mind:
Objects in mirror may be closer than they appear. Wait -- what? That doesn't even make sense. Then the reflection would look smaller than it is. Dammit. Oh well.
Anyway. Side track. This body's not bad, but I should do something to keep in shape. How about a run?
He hadn't ran in a long time.
Yeah, good idea. Might suck, but that's what it takes to toughen up.
But it's National Nude Day. Shouldn't I do something special?
Then he had an idea:
I'll go commando. I get to feel my junk being free, but no one else has to know. It's perfect.
He'd never had a problem with chafing, luckily. And it was still early enough in the day that he wouldn't be drenched in ball sweat.
Well, if I'm going commando I'll want to at least trim a bit. Don't want pubes pricking through my running shorts.
He went and got a pair of scissors and started trimming, gently, throwing the excess hair into the garbage. It was amazing how much of it there was. And it made his cock look bigger. Or maybe he was just aroused by the exposure to air.
He soon finished up and went to go put on running shorts and a shirt. He had to stop himself from mechanically putting on a pair of boxers.
Dammit. And it still feels like I'm missing something. But actually, that feels really good.
He grabbed some headphones, went outside, and locked the door behind him.
*****
Alright. Commando mission time.
He was very aware of this -- all of his attention was on the feeling of unfamiliar fabric against his dick and the air flowing past his balls.
Dammit. I'm on a mission.
He started a workout playlist and took off down the street. He ran by rows of houses, towards a forest trail. He wasn't going that fast, but it felt good to be moving. The exertion was giving his body something else to focus on, too.
He checked his pace. 5:32 over the last kilometer. Not bad, but not great. Wait, it was already a kilometer? He wasn't even sweating!
As he ran, he saw a garbage can lying across the sidewalk ahead. Normally he'd just go around. But this was a commando mission. He had to jump over it. He increased his speed and cleared it, hurdle-style.
Damn, this is so much fun. It's like being a kid again!
This mission was getting serious. It wasn't just about fitness anymore. It was a race against time across difficult terrain. Where all that counted was speed, and being a badass. Fortunately, the streets were deserted, since everyone else was already at work.
He ran across a series of rocks out front of the library. He swung around street signs and kicked in imaginary bad guys' faces. He was remembering a few moves from a long-ago parkour class in high school.
He came at last to the park. There was a little playground on the edge of the forest, with a low wooden fence around it.
He ran up and vaulted the fence in one smooth motion.
Hell yeah! That was awesome.
He was almost too surprised to keep running -- how was it that easy? Why didn't he move around like this all the time?
Focus. You're on a mission. Capture that structure!
He kept running straight towards the play structure. There was a double-wide plastic slide coming down from the highest of a series of platforms, with a climbing wall going up the other side. A swinging bridge connected to another platform with a simple staircase on one side and a fireman's pole on the other. On the ground, a separate structure had monkey bars.
This would have been great place to play grounders or something as a kid. But now I have to capture it. Go go go!
He ran straight up the plastic slide, only having to use his hands a little as he stumbled at the top.
No time to waste! Cross to the other platform. But quietly!
The pieces of swinging metal in the bridge would make a lot of noise. He ran up to the edge and jumped, bringing his hands down on the railing and swinging across to the other side. He just barely avoiding stepping on the bridge.
Now make sure they're not hiding underneath!
He slowed down and nervously walked out to the fireman's pole. He grabbed it low down and leaned his torso out over the edge. Then he pulled himself around and kicked his legs under the platform.
All clear. Now move out.
He squeezed the pole with his legs. There was momentary discomfort as the metal pushed against his recently trimmed commando crotch.
Ooh, I'd almost forgotten that. But that feels kind of hot. Dammit, focus on the mission. Move out!
With a heave of his biceps, he bought his body back up, awkwardly swinging one leg and then the other. He headed back across the swinging bridge -- again, no noise -- and before he could second-guess himself, ran off the open edge where the climbing wall came up.
Drop and roll.
His feet hit the ground, hard, but he was already collapsing into a crouch. His momentum carried him forwards, and he brought his shoulder to the ground. He rolled over, found his feet, and stood back up.
They won't be catching me any time soon!
The spell was broken when he realized his headphones had become unplugged. He stopped for a seocn to plug them back in to his phone in his pocket.
The mission's not over. Work the rest of that body too.
He went to the monkey bars and grabbed the first one. He swung for the next one, but found it hard to reach without his grip breaking.
Focus. Find your rhythm.
He gipped the bad with both hands, then swung forwards and back. On the next forward swing, he grabbed the next bar with his right hand, pulling and quickly following with his left. He was lucky his headphones had stayed on through all of this. He made his way along the rest of the monkey bars. His muscles were sore. A drill sergeant voice came into his head:
You're not done yet! Gimme ten pull-ups and move on out!
He stood up, took a deep breath, and started pounding out pull-ups. His arms burned.
One...Two...Three.......Four. Fuck this hurts.
Five. Six! Seven. Ow shit I don't think I can do this. ...seven. Come on. Eight. Nine! .... One more ...ten.
His arms hurt like hell, but he'd done it. He smiled.
Good work. But this isn't over yet.
He still had about 3 km to go on his route.
He ran on towards the woods. There was a patch of grass over to one side. As he ran, he saw a figure out of the corner of his eye.
A girl was standing there, stretching. She was doing lunges, leaning forward on one leg.
Damn, she's hot!
Her yoga pants gave a nice view of her ass. She was wearing a purple athletic shirt and
He kept running, propelled by a burning shame at his public acts of weirdness.