Down For The Count Pt 01

This is a fun story that came out of a conversation with a female friend about objectifying women. She asked me how I would like it if women objectified men. My brains started working (both the one in my head and the one in my pants) and this is the tale that came out of it. There are many twists and turns and, I think, if you keep an open mind and just have fun with it this story could really entertain you. ENJOY!

DOWN FOR THE COUNT Part 1

JOURNAL OF MARK PARKER

My name is Mark Parker. I will be starting college next year with hopes of becoming a waiter—I'm trying to manage my expectations.

I was getting dressed in the locker room after a swim meet one day listening to the sexual escapades of my teammate Topher Grady. Topher is a man's man, the guy every guy wants to be and every girl wants to be with. He is a physical specimen and he was telling my close friend Louie West about his date with Jane Seward last night. I won't go into the sordid details, but let's just say he banged the hell out of her. My friend Louie was also a guy every girl wanted. I am not like them, not that there is anything wrong with me (I think I look pretty good) but I'm just not "That Guy". Although Louie usually hung on Topher's every word, I noticed he seemed distant, disinterested in Topher's recent, very graphic tale of sexual achievement.

We are all in High School (and over eighteen) and our swim meet had just ended. I finished dressing and headed for the door. I looked back at Topher and his captive audience of guys who love to hear locker room talk about nailing women and I knew better than to interrupt his tale of sexual prowess. Personally, I really didn't want to hear about it today. The love of my life, Abigail Van Houten, was away for the week. Her Grandmother had a close call recently so Abby and her Mom went down to care for her. Thankfully, her Grandma will be fine and I was really looking forward to Abby's return.

Abby and I aren't officially dating, but I think everyone knows how I feel about her, I've just been too chicken-shit to tell her.

We live in Whitby, South Carolina. It's a small coastal town with a very low population in the off season. The kind of town where everybody knows everybody and everybody knows everybody's business. And no, we are not a bunch of hicks; we're just everyday people trying to live our lives.

I will be graduating soon with a class of 103 students. It was 102, but the new kid, Brad Drake, showed up not long before that big storm we had a few days earlier so now it's 103. Brad is a strange guy, keeps to himself, he's kind of Goth and not fitting in well at all. Sometimes I think if I wasn't a friend of Louie's I might be a guy like Brad, lurking in the background all the time, no friends, a bit of an outcast, so I feel kind of bad for him. It has to suck to be the new guy in the last few months of senior year.

I started to walk home that day when my Mom's mini-van pulled up. I was surprised to see my Sister, Carla, driving it.

"Hey!" I said, "What are you doing home?"

"I'm homeless for about a week. After that big storm the river near school flooded and all these rats poured onto the campus. There's rats everywhere—thousands of them, like, millions of them!" She said.

"Yuck."

"Yeah, so until they get that under control class is suspended. Hop in"

I jumped in and gave her a hug. I won't bore you with the details of our conversation, just family talk, and catch up chitchat—the usual. I'll just tell you the parts that have to do with my story.

"So when did you guys become such prudes?" She asked.

'Huh?" I said, having no idea what she was talking about.

"What's with the new suits? Where are your Speedos? I came to watch a boys swim meet and I was very disappointed with your team's choice of attire!"

"Oh yeah, last year the board of education decided that the swim teams should all wear Jammers instead of Speedos, you know, for modesty sake. I guess one of the mothers complained; she said the skimpy Speedos were 'too revealing'. They say the Jammers makes us faster anyway."

"Yeah right! If they were interested in making you faster they'd have all of you swim nude. That's bullshit, when I was going here the guys wore Speedos and the girls all went to the meets to see the guys in their Speedos! Cute butts and bulges that's what swim meets are really about!" She said teasing me.

Carla has always been very blunt; she really likes to tell you exactly what she's thinking at all times.

"Well, the girls wear one pieces. It's not like they're wearing bikinis or anything, so why should we have to?" I argued.

"Because it's traditional. It's the correct attire for the sport."

"But you just said it was so girls could check out our bodies!" I added.

"Yeah so . . . wouldn't you go to the girls swim meets if they did wear bikinis?" She asked.

"Of course, but women are meant to be looked at!" I said realizing this was a losing argument.

"What!" She exclaimed.

"You know what I mean, women are beautiful. Their bodies are amazing and wonderful and designed to be ogled. It doesn't mean they only have that value, it just means they have more value because they're hot!" I knew I wasn't going to be able to explain this properly.

"Whatever that's supposed to mean! You have a lot to learn, Dude!" She said.

She looked me up and down.

"So it's okay for men to look at women, but not the other way around?"

"No, it's just that . . ."

Carla cut me off, "That's probably why you finally got the courage to go out for the team in the first place, right? They changed the Speedo policy and then you signed up!"

"No, that's not why I signed up, I wouldn't care if I had to wear one. I signed up to get in better shape!" I argued, even though I didn't believe my own story.

Carla looked at me and laughed, "Yeah right, I bet if you knew Abby was checking you out in a Speedo you'd show her just how much of a man you really are!"

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"You'd pop a rod in two seconds flat! I know you. You couldn't stand a bunch of chicks watching you walk around in front of them as your package flopped from side to side!" Carla said checking my reaction. I could feel my face beginning to turn red.

She smiled and continued with enthusiasm, "Water droplets rolling down your firm, wet, shiny skin, your round, tight little ass hanging out from that thin fabric barely concealing everything that God gave you!" She said unable to contain her joy at making fun of me.

"All right, All right! Enough of that! God, you're a tease!" I said, while trying not to laugh myself.

I have to admit she was right. I was starting to get hard just thinking about Abby looking at ME the way I look at HER, or the way I look at all women for that matter.

"You couldn't stand women looking at you the way you look at them!" Carla added as if she read my mind.

There was a moment of total silence then I smiled and added, "Besides, Speedos are so tight it can't flop from side to side!" and we both broke out laughing.

"How would you know? Have you ever worn one?"

"No, but I've seen pictures. I think it compresses everything down, doesn't it? There isn't a lot of room for things to flop around. Besides I would never wear one of those, they are too revealing. I have a hard enough time going out in front of everyone wearing the Jammers!"

"See, I knew it! You are such a hypocrite! You have all those pictures of hot, naked women plastered all over your bedroom wall, but you're too afraid to show your own body even in a perfectly legitimate setting like a swim meet. So sad."

I didn't say anything in response and she looked at me. At first I think she was afraid she crossed a line, but then she burst out laughing again.

"Look at your face! You're red as a fire truck! I'm right and you know it." She laughed.

"You may have a point, maybe I'm a little shy."

"A little? Have you even told Abby how in love with her you are yet? Of course you haven't. Why not? Please tell me it's not because she doesn't rate with those naked chicks in your posters!"

"No! It's not that, and for your information I think she's better than those posters. She's hot like those naked girls could never be. I just use the posters for—" I stopped, realizing I almost said something embarrassing.

"For . . .?" She said, smiling. "Cranking material?"

I grinned and looked down, "Obviously," I said quietly.

"Well if you tell her how you feel about her maybe you won't have to crank it so much anymore, know what I mean?"

"No. Abby's not like that, she's a sweet person."

"What, and you're not?" Carla asked.

"I just mean that . . . Abby is special, she's . . . pure, you know, not like that."

"You don't think of her that way?"

"Well yeah, but I don't think she's interested in anything more than holding hands and that kind of stuff, she's just . . . nice." I said unsure of how to explain my own thoughts (as usual).

"She may not be as sweet as you think! I mean, girls have sexual desires too you know, and not just porn chicks! I'm just saying maybe if you and Abby would stop being pathetic and tell each other how you actually feel maybe you wouldn't have to spank it so much, you know?" Carla said in typical blunt fashion.

"No, I'd have to one way or the other, believe me. Lately, I've just been . . . I don't know how to say it . . ."

She looked at me waiting for the rest.

" . . . going for a new record! I've been so horny lately, more than usual. I don't know what it is."

"Hmm, an eighteen-year old boy who is horny? Should I drive you straight to the hospital?" She asked jokingly.

"No, but really. Every morning I wake up and my shorts are like . . . adhered to my leg!" I said, opening up more than I usually do.

"Gross!" Carla squealed and made a face. "Well, do me a favor, do your laundry separate from mine, okay? I don't want my clothes mixed in with your cum-derwear!"

"Seriously, though, there's something going on with me the past few days. I am SO FUCKING HORNY!" I sounded more desperate than I meant to.

Carla pulled the car into our driveway and looked at me again, but this time with worry.

"It's like I can barely walk straight anymore, I'm hard all the time! I keep thinking about . . . I don't know. See that's the thing I keep thinking about something that's making me super-fucking-hard, but I can't figure out what it is and it's driving me crazy! It's like it's right there in my mind, but behind some kind of cloud and I can't see it clearly. I'm not getting enough sleep because of it." I realized I just prattled on way too long.

"Well, maybe it's because Abby hasn't been around. Mom told me she's been away for a week and maybe you're just missing her and that's presenting itself as this newfound arousal. You're not telling me something might be physically wrong with you, are you?" Carla showed real concern now.

I smiled, "No, no. Physically I'm fine. Maybe even too fine, it's just more intense lately, I don't know." I gave up.

As we walked into the house Carla said, "Maybe you just need to jerk off more."

"I don't know how much more I could do it! I do it plenty, believe me!"

Unfortunately Mom walked in right at the moment Carla said, "You should jerk off before you go to bed, make sure to give yourself a real going over!"

"What are you two taking about?" Mom asked taken aback.

"Mark hasn't been masturbating enough and he's going to clog our washing machine because his boxers are soaked with guy-goo!" Carla said laughing and running off.

I was left red-faced in front of my Mom who stood there and rolled her eyes at Carla. Then she looked at me and smiled a playful, devilish smile.

"Not doing it enough! He's up there twice a day from what I can tell!" Mom said to Carla adding to my shock and horror!

"MOM!" I yelled.

Carla was running up the stairs and exploded with laughter.

"Ha, Ha! Your mother knows when you yank your wiener!" She sang and it echoed through the whole house.

"And I know some embarrassing things about you too, so don't tease him!" Mom yelled back.

I was mortified. Mom looked at my burning face and patted my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mark. It's your Sister's fault, she brings out the worst in me!" Mom said. "Besides it's perfectly natural."

"Can we just not!" I exclaimed.

Welcome to my life, obsessed with fictional porn chicks, infatuated with a girl that I'm too afraid to confide my true feelings for and in a family of women who enjoy embarrassing me. And now apparently, everyone knows when I play with myself!

I went to my room and tried to get my face to turn back to its normal shade of pale. All this dick talk was really having an effect on me. I sat on my bed looking at my Lifeguard poster: A girl wearing nothing but a G-string and a tank top that was torn just below her amazing boobs. She was blowing a whistle and looking insanely sexy. It was my favorite piece of art.

God, women are beautiful. I love looking at their bodies! Their breasts! Their asses! That mysterious and awe inspiring V-shape between their perfect legs—ALL OF IT!

I stared at the Lifeguard's hot, wet flesh and began to imagine that she was Abby instead of some nameless model. I pictured my beautiful Abby wearing that outfit in the scorching summer sun. Then I pictured myself walking in. She notices me. Her lips part, her eyes go wide as she checks me out. I notice her nipples getting hard under the thin white fabric of her torn shirt.

I leaned back on my bed and lifted my shirt, allowing my fingers to caress my modest abs. I glanced down at the crotch of my jeans and saw the denim press out in the tubular shape of my growing erection. I thought of Abby seeing me get hard in a Speedo wondering just what lies beneath, and hungering for it. Apparently my conversation with my sister put a new fantasy into my mind.

I unzipped my jeans and let my hard dick smack against my belly as I pulled my shirt all the way off. My right hand began stroking my penis as my left hand tickled my balls. In my mind, however, my hands were slipping up under that torn tank top of Abby's shredding it open and exposing her perfect breasts. I would lean in and take her bare nipple in my mouth as my hands slid down into her G-string forcing her to moan as my finger slipped into her warm, moist—

Okay, I have to admit here that I am a virgin. I'm sure you probably already figured that out, but still I have no clue what boobs feel like, or what it's like to slip my fingers into a girl and bring her to orgasm. I've seen lots of porn and read lots of articles so I think I have a good idea, but still—

Anyway, in my daydream Abby and I fuck. Yes we fuck like wild, crazed animals. But at some point during my masturbatory fantasy I stopped thinking about Abby, about myself, about everything. I don't know what came over me, but it was like I was taken. Taken somewhere I have never been; never even thought of. At this point in my story I had no idea what was happening to me (now that I do know what was happening it kind of freaks me out a little but we'll get to that).

Wherever my conscience mind was my sub-conscience mind was deeply enthralled in pleasuring my body. I could feel myself getting closer, the skin between my thumb and forefinger was slick with pre-cum, my heart was pounding and I could feel the eruption of pleasure working its way up my throbbing cock. The head of my penis became more sensitive as it engorged itself from the rhythmic stroking of my hand. I took a breath and held it as my teeth clenched when . . .

BOOM BOOM BOOM! There was a knock at the door!

"Quit yanking it and come downstairs! Dinner's ready!" My Sister yelled.

The shock of that startled me so much I lost control and exploded all over the place. I had a tissue in my hand ready to contain my ejaculation. Instead I lost it and fired a rope of cum right onto my own chin! It also landed on my chest, my belly, and the pillow next to me. It was everywhere! I groaned loudly and I jumped up so quickly that I fell off the bed with a loud THUD. On the other side of the door, Carla called to me.

"Mark? Are you okay?" She asked.

I was out of breath, trying quickly to cover my mess. I was suddenly terrified that I might not have locked the door.

"I'm fine! I'll be there in a minute!" I yelled trying to sound calm.

I could hear Carla say to my Mom in a hushed tone, "Oh crap I think he really was doing it!"

I tried to clean the splattering of spooge up fast. I also franticly tried to wipe the sweat from my forehead and get the blood to drain out of my face (and other places).

I threw the pillowcase onto the pile of my "Special" laundry. Then I ran to the mirror and saw the sperm on my face. This was a first. The warm cum slowly oozing down my chin was something I never felt before. For a moment I just stared at my face in the mirror (thankfully, I have my own bathroom) and studied my new look. It's difficult to explain this, but I think I actually felt proud of the fact that I "blew one on my face!" For no other reason than it confirmed that I was packing quite a canon! Believe it or not ladies, this is how guys think!

I cleaned up and then went downstairs pretending everything was perfectly normal.

When I sat down I was relieved my Mom and Sister were kind enough not to acknowledge my obvious state. No one said a word. There was only the sound of clanking dishes and food slopping on plates, until my Sister finally broke the tension.

"I hope you at least washed your hands!" She said.

Mom almost spit her drink out laughing and Carla started in as well.

"I'm sorry, Mark! I shouldn't laugh!" Mom said.

"Yes we should, it's funny! Everybody in this house needs to lighten up a little! You should all be glad I'm here!" Carla said looking me in the eyes and winking. I simply shook my head, what else could I do?

"Maybe you should get a "Do Not Disturb" sign for your door or something! That way we'll know when you're in session and we won't bother you!" Carla suggested.

Mom laughed even harder and that made me start laughing too.

"What's so funny?" I asked her.

Once she got herself under control she said, "I just had an image of the "Do Not Disturb" sign with a male stick figure and a big line coming out of his midsection with his arms furiously rubbing up and down it!" This made her start laughing even harder and Carla and I joined in.

"I have to say though, Mark, I couldn't help but notice the last time I was in your room, that your posters are getting a little more revealing than they used to be!" Mom said.

"Why were you in my room?" I asked not sure what else to say.

"The other day when I found your rogue sock. I just went in to put it on your bed and I looked around at your . . . I can't really call it art!" Mom said.

"They're disgusting!" Carla said.

"They're beautiful!" I rebutted. "You just can't appreciate the female form. It's magnificent!" I said feeling like I needed to defend myself.

"They're much more naked than they used to be!" Mom added. "At first you just had models in bikinis, but now some of them are topless barely covering themselves and posing in VERY suggestive ways."

"Well, I just like to look at . . ." I had no idea how to finish that sentence.

"He just likes objectifying women!" Carla said.

"Appreciating women!" I added.

"Yeah right!" Carla said.

"Well whatever, I suppose all boys like looking at scantily clad women, it's totally natural." Mom said.

Carla got up to grab another napkin, "Yeah, and they like building their biceps as they do it, right Mark?" She said.

"What does that mean?" Mom asked and as Carla walked past me she grabbed my right arm and forced it to make a jerking off motion as she said, "It means I bet Mark's right bicep is a lot bigger than his left one!" Carla said and we all began laughing again.