Objectified

I shifted in my seat, but it didn't really help. There was no way to get my six-two frame comfortably into seat 26B, which I'd already been squeezed into for an hour-and-a-half. Not even halfway there. Maybe I should shell out for Economy Plus on the way back? Leffing-Wright wouldn't pay, but with four days of expenses in Chicago, maybe I could bury the cost somewhere else.

I tried to sleep. That must have worked a little because the next time I checked my watch there were only 45 minutes to go. Sure enough, we had the beginning-descent announcement, and soon this torture would end.

Work over the next few days was going to be hard. We had a new just-in-time system to launch, and the mid-west operations guys hated anything new. Maybe four days of well-lubricated meetings would loosen them up. It's worked before, but this time we were going to be asking a lot.

The only thing that was sure to be fun was dinner tonight with Charlotte, my old college friend. I hadn't seen her in three years, and last time she wasn't in a good place. Depressed, even. Her job wasn't going well, her boyfriend had left her (or maybe she left him), and she seemed to be getting bored with Chicago. I always thought of it as a great place, but I'd never actually lived there. I hoped she'd be happier this time. But, in any event, we always enjoyed each other, as friends.

There'd never been anything romantic, or even sexual between us. I'd gotten married right after college, a big mistake, but it ended after five years, and that was seven years ago. So, yeah, Charlotte and I were both single, but only friends. Not that she wasn't great-looking. Tall, slim, blonde, and with a great smile. Gently muscled legs that went on forever. Perky breasts, just the way I liked them. I probably shouldn't even be thinking of her that way, but, well, you can't control your thoughts, right?

At least we landed on time, and soon I was free of seat 26B and on my way. I took the train to Clark/Lake and then it was only a short walk to my hotel. I was checked-in by 4:30. I called Charlotte and we decided to start with drinks at six at the Palmer House. I spent most of an hour on email, took a quick shower, and was at the Palmer's lobby bar right on time.

So was Charlotte. She was as beautiful as ever. I stood up. "Hey, Charlotte!"

"Mike! So great to see you!"

We hugged and she settled onto the stool next to me. A few men in the room had looked up at this new arrival, and then looked away, obviously disappointed.

"What can I get you?"

"Cosmo, don't you remember?" She giggled.

So far, she was definitely happier than the last time we'd met. "You seem happy," I said.

"Oh, I certainly am. Things are going great all around."

"Job, too, then?"

"Yeah, finally. My manager got transferred to New York, and I pretty much demanded his job. And, amazingly, it worked. So, finally, I'm getting somewhere."

"Good for you! Was that scary?" I knew that Charlotte had always been very shy about tooting her own horn.

"Not as much as it would have been a year ago. Maybe a little. But, shit, I deserved the position, so it was just a matter of making them see that."

"Is this the new Charlotte?" Our drinks had arrived. "If it is, then let me offer a toast to you."

She clinked my glass and took a sip. "Why, thanks, Mike. Yes, it's a new me."

"Outstanding! How did you get transformed?"

"Well, you remember how down I was back in 2015? That was your last trip here, right?"

"Yeah, that's about right. Three years I think. And, yes, you were down. I was sad for you."

"I'd hit bottom, that's for sure. Stayed that way for a couple years, and then I met a woman at work who took me to a meeting. Changed my life."

"A meeting?"

"A Chicago group. WEGA. Women Empowered to Get Ahead. It's amazing. I've been going now for a little over a year, and I've never been better."

I'm totally supportive of women's rights, but, like most men, I'm always put off by militancy. "A feminist group?"

"In a sense. But it's non-political. Much more about personal growth. What I learned is that I'm held back by self-imposed restraints, and, well, also by societal restraints that I buy into. WEGA helped me get past that. Mostly, anyway. And that's why I'm the new Charlotte."

That sounded better. I raised my glass again. "Well, then, here's to WEGA." Charlotte raised her glass. "What do you do at meetings?"

"Depends. Sometimes really nuts-and-bolts stuff, like asking for a raise. Sometimes more abstract, like understanding the role of women in modern American life. Sometimes really personal stuff."

Now, this was starting to get more interesting. "Give me an example."

"Well, since you asked. Tomorrow it's about physical objectification."

"Which means?"

"Women are objectified. Physically. Sexually, more often than not. If we can get past that, we can break through another personal barrier."

"Oh," was all I managed to say.

"So, come on Mike, be honest here. You've known me for what, going on 15 years, since freshman year at UCSD. Have you ever thought of me as a sex object?"

"You mean had fantasies about you?"

"Not necessarily going that far. Just, like, ever looked at my body just to look at it. I know I'm easy to look at. Ever looked at my legs or my breasts?"

Busted. I smiled. "OK, well, then, honestly... yes, I have. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry!" she laughed. "It's normal. You're a man."

"Got that right."

"Anyway, tomorrow a professor from the University of Chicago is going to run the meeting. According to her website, her theory is that women can better handle being objectified if they practice objectifying men."

"So you ogle us?"

"That's one way to say it. What I think is going to happen is that we spend time treating men as sex objects. We're conditioned to think of them romantically, so this professor is going to try to get us to objectify men, as they objectify us. Then, she claims, we'll make more progress towards empowerment, which is what WEGA is all about."

"So, what, you have beefcake photos? Porn?"

"Nope. Actual men."

Yikes, I thought. This conversation had gone down a path I wasn't expecting. I pointed at Charlotte's empty glass, and she nodded. I ordered another round.

"You mean you have models?"

"Not exactly. We have male volunteers who understand what we're doing and agree to be objectified. I'm not bringing anyone, but I know many of the women are."

"You mean husbands and boyfriends? They come to the meeting to be objectified?"

"Husband, boyfriends, friends, whatever." She stopped talking and looked at me for a few seconds. "Why, you want to come?"

"To be objectified? So what, I stand there and take insults?"

"I'm sure not that. We never insult anybody. It's not an angry organization. We're just trying to better ourselves."

"So, then, what's the deal?"

"You sure you want to know? I'm not sure I want to tell you."

"Charlotte, dear friend, tell me anything. We go way back, as you just said."

"Alright, you asked for it. The men strip naked, and we treat them as sex objects. OK, well, there's no other way to say it. We treat them as penises that can walk and talk. Although I don't think they get to talk. You know, like women are sometimes treated. As walking breasts and pussies. It's reversed."

I didn't know what to think of this. The thought of stripping naked and being treated like a walking penis sounded incredibly erotic. Also really, really humiliating. And embarrassing. Certainly, I'd never do it with Charlotte in the room.

"Mike, for the first time ever, you seem to be out of words!"

I was. I didn't know what to say. Finally, I said what was on my mind. "It's interesting, Charlotte, but I don't know if it's for me."

"Probably not. I only brought it up because you wanted me to. We don't have to talk about it anymore if it makes you uncomfortable. Tell me about your meetings this week. Over four days there must be lots."

Actually, I wasn't done talking about being objectified. Although I wasn't sure what I thought about what Charlotte had described, my cock was responding. When Charlotte glanced at her phone I readjusted my pants to provide some extra space where it was needed. But I followed Charlotte's lead and got into just-in-time production and how we were going to sell it to the factories. Charlotte seemed interested, or at least did a good job of faking it.

Finally, she said, "I'm hungry, and this isn't a bad place to eat. You want to get a table?"

Dinner was delightful, as it always was with Charlotte. We never mentioned sex objects or factory production. Charlotte had seen Hamilton, just down the street as it turned out, and told me all about it. Then we got into politics, both equally upset with how things were going, and all too soon we were out of time. It was nearly ten.

I waited with Charlotte for her Uber to arrive. "Let's get together once more this week, Charlotte."

"Yes, by all means. Not tomorrow, that's my meeting, but Wednesday?"

"Yeah, Wednesday, I'll text you."

Then, as her car pulled to the curb, for reasons that I still don't completely understand, but definitely without thinking, I said, "I'm on for tomorrow night. Let me know when and where."

Charlotte was already in the car with the door open. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yes, I do," I said. "I really do."

She smiled and blew a kiss as I closed the door.

As I was getting ready for bed a text came in. "Old Dearborn Station. Upstairs. 8pm. Enter from Polk St."

I texted back: "OK." So, I was going to be objectified. I was scared. This is a big mistake, I thought. How the hell did I get into this? But there was no backing out. I'd already promised Charlotte. We never broke promises. I looked at my penis. Get ready, my friend.

* * *

Dearborn Station was just a few blocks from my hotel, so I walked it. The station itself, with its trains long gone, was some kind of shopping mall. I walked along Polk St. and found a door with a paper taped to it that said: "WEGA 2 floors up." I went up two flights to a large loft space. One side was all glass and looked out onto what must have been the tracks, but was now a parking lot. About a dozen women were at the opposite end, drinking wine and talking among themselves. They were all within a few years of Charlotte in age, maybe 25 to 35. Three other men were huddled near the entrance. I spotted Charlotte across the room and she waved but made no effort to walk over.

Finally, a woman approached us and started reading from a list of names. "Dave? Bill? Mike? Stefan? Dalton?" We nodded when our names were read, except for Stefan. "No Stefan?" asked the women. None of us knew Stefan, so we said nothing. "Well, just four of you, then. If Stefan arrives, maybe he can catch up. Follow me."

The woman in charge led us to a much smaller room with no furniture other than a dozen folding chairs. We sat down.

"Thank you, men, for volunteering tonight. As you know, we couldn't do this without you. But, bear in mind that this entire evening is for the benefit of our women members. You're only here to help. It's most important that you understand that. You're not to take an active role, or even to speak, unless you're asked a direct question, and I'm not sure even any of that will happen. Just do as you're directed, and allow the women to do whatever they want with you. Don't worry, nobody is going to hurt you, although there might be a bit of discomfort. But nothing really painful, I promise."

The other men looked as tense as I felt. Now I was sure I was in the wrong place. Oh well, too late now, I told myself. None of us spoke.

"OK, then, you're all pretty silent. But surely you have questions?"

Dave was the first to speak. "What exactly goes on here? I mean, what's the agenda. The plan. You know."

The woman smiled. "Not much. We'll chat here for another few minutes until you're all ready, and then we'll mingle with the WEGA members in the large room. You're free to have drinks if you want them, but otherwise, you just stand around and let the women take the lead."

"What will they be doing to us?" asked Dalton. I had the same question. I'm sure the others did, too.

"Whatever they want is the simple answer," said the woman. "As I said, they're not allowed to hurt you, and, believe me, I know these women, and they won't want to anyway."

"But they can touch us, right?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah, they will, definitely," answered the women. "And when they ask you to do things, like remove your clothing, you have to comply. That's part of the deal, so you need to know that. But don't worry about what you need to do. As I said, the women will take the lead, and they'll tell you what to do."

None of us had anything else to ask. I think we were all too intimidated by the situation to even think of what else to ask.

"One more thing. Before we get started, you need to sign this release. Mostly, you waive any rights to charge anyone with physical or sexual assault."

Shit! Sexual assault? What the fuck? But it seemed far too late to ask anything else. Backing out was out of the question. I signed the paper.

The woman collected the four papers. Stefan, smart man, had chickened out apparently. "Follow me, men. I imagine you'll want to go to the bar first. Go right ahead, and then we'll start the meeting."

We walked as a bunched-up group to the big room and straight to the bar, where I ordered a beer. I stood leaning against the bar. Charlotte looked at me, but almost without recognition. Not even a smile. This was getting very weird very fast.

Just then a somewhat older, but still good-looking woman entered the room. She was in a beige suit, so I assumed she was the professor. She chatted for a few seconds with the woman who had briefed us, whose name we never got, and then the professor walked to the edge of the room across from the bar and started to speak. Everyone was immediately quiet.

"Good evening, everyone!" she began. "I'm Dr. Redding. I'm so happy to be given the privilege of leading this meeting tonight. We're going to have fun!" She laughed.

A few of the members laughed along with her, and a few called out: "Yeah, fun!" "Fun for us, not for them!" "Strip 'em down."

The professor held up a hand. "Slow down, people! You'll scare our men off. Let's take our time. I think there are enough sofas and chairs here. Let's all sit down. Men, you can sit on the bar stools."

Dr. Redding began to speak in a fairly abstract way about sexual objectification. I found it interesting at first, mostly stuff I was very aware of, and disapproved of, but I'd never heard the subject treated in such an academic way. My mind started to drift, and I think some of the women started to get fidgety, too. I must have missed some important things, because next thing I knew Dr. Redding said, "Well, that's enough lecturing. Let's get to the exercises. See any male asses you'd like to grab? Stand up, everyone. Men, too."

Everyone stood up. We men still stayed near the bar. The women started to approach from across the room. I felt panic. Grab asses? Within seconds I found out that it was meant literally. A lithe woman with long, brown hair came up to me, smiled and grabbed my ass. "Hey, what's your name, fella?" she asked.

I jumped. She grabbed harder. "Mike."

"Nice ass, Mike. You work out?"

"Yeah."

She was joined by another woman, equally great looking, wearing a very short strapless dress. She started to squeeze my upper arms. "He does work out," she said.

This went on for maybe 15 minutes. At times three women were pawing me all at once. One of them then started stroking my thighs, running her fingers almost to my crotch. I started to get hard. My panic had subsided once I realized that they were trying to be friendly. Too friendly, yeah, but I could start to see what Dr. Redding was trying to prove. I think I've seen women pawed in bars once or twice. Things were reversed, in a way.

Dr. Redding started speaking: "OK, women, good start. Now let's go to the next step."

I guess the women had been told what the steps were. The men sure hadn't. We found out soon enough. Two women started to take the next step with me. One unbuttoned and removed my shirt. "Take off your shoes and socks," commanded the other one. I did so and put them against the wall. My shirt got tossed on top of them.

When I stood up, the two women began stroking my chest. "Nice hair," said the first one. "Furry!"

"Love those shoulders," said the second. Then the women walked over to another, similarly shirtless man, only to be replaced by other women. It just went around and around like that. I had hands all over my upper body, not even sure whose hands were whose. At one point Charlotte had her hands on me, too. The only sign of recognition from her was a smile and the words, "Nice, Mike."

Honestly, all those female hands felt kind of good. My panic had been joined by excitement. I was getting turned on.

Dr. Redding gave the next instruction: "Pants off."

In a flash, my pants were off. I'm not even sure how many women, or which women, did the deed. That's how fast they were off. I was in my briefs, tented by a huge erection. The other men were the same way.

Now things got even more frenzied. There were hands all up and down my legs and, after a few minutes, inside my briefs on my bare ass. Some woman reached around and grabbed my cock through my briefs and squeezed it. "Can't wait to get you naked," she said. "We're gonna own your cock and balls."

Things had escalated fast. Dr. Redding was circulating through the crowd, nodding her approval. She'd set it up, after all. Four men in their shorts being fondled by a dozen young women fortified with wine and an inspirational lecture. And, what I guess you'd have to call empowerment.

Now Dr. Redding went to her bag and took out eight lengths of rope. She handed two to each of four women and said, "Leashes on, women."

I soon found out what that meant. There were three women to each man. One of mine was Charlotte. She whispered in my ear: "Mike, the old Charlotte would never do this to you. Meet the new me!"

With that, she dropped my briefs. My cock, now freed, sprang up and out. One of the other women grabbed it, while Charlotte tied the rope around my cock and balls, then between my balls, separating them, and then around each of them. The third woman helped by stretching my scrotum. I'd never had anything like this happen to me before. I didn't even know how to react. There wasn't any sharp pain, just the extreme discomfort of having my balls tied off with the rope.

Charlotte stepped back to admire her work. "Mike, I think we got your balls pretty good."

One of the other women started slapping them. "Ouch!" I yelled.

Dr. Redding came over and admonished the woman who'd slapped me. "No, no, no!" she said. "No hurting." She examined my balls herself, squeezing gently. She looked up at me. "They're OK, no worries. Now his shaft."

Charlotte took the other rope and wrapped it around my shaft, not too tightly, thankfully, and tied it off, leaving about three feet loose. She yanked on the end, and I felt the tug on my penis and balls. I lunged forward.

"Hey, cool, we can pull him along," said one of the women.

Charlotte looked at her handiwork and smiled. "Yes, Mike, I think you're pretty much leashed up."

The women continued to yank me back and forth, and finally, Dr. Redding spoke: "Are the men leashed? OK, well, now, let's take a break to refresh our drinks, and walk our pets."

It's hard to describe the scene. The women were more-or-less having a drinking party, while us four men were led around, pulled, jerked, yanked, and generally treated like disobedient dogs, except that our leashes were around our cocks and balls, instead of our necks. The women would hold their drinks with one hand, and stroke, squeeze, and poke us with the other.