"Well, so far we've had four contest entries for the National Nude Day contest. Our first entry was from Nick and his lovely butch dyke wife with an anal story where she changes things around and fucks him up that ass instead of having him fuck her up the ass. Well done, Nick."
"Thank you, Stan. Forgive me if I don't get up and take a bow. I'm still a bit sore."
"In our second contest entry, we had Eddie tying his wife to the bedposts, forgetting she was tied naked and going to work, and leaving her there, as a community service for our police officers and firemen to experience the hidden charms of her in gangbang. Well done Eddie, well done."
"Well, it certainly wasn't my intention to leave my wife tied naked, but it did work out well, after all. Thank you, Stan, and thank you everyone and my special thanks to those of you voting for my story.
"Duncan sent us his third contest entry in the exhibitionism and voyeur category was submitted to us in a letter that explained his arrest when he exposed himself to his new neighbors. We all wish you well, Duncan, with your trial and hope your jail stay is a short one."
"I heard from Duncan," said Hal. "They are trying to plea bargain down to a misdemeanor."
"Our fourth entry was from was from yours truly in the non-consensual and reluctance category when I was devilishly able to strip both my ex-wife and mother-in-law naked at the same time."
Everyone stood and cheer.
"PMS! PMS! PMS!"
"Thank you everyone. Thank you so much for your support. Believe me, it was my pleasure giving my ex-wife and her mother payback on this special of holidays."
"Good luck, Stan," said Sam. "I hope you win."
"Thank you, Sam. So, who's next? Who has a National Nude Day story they'd like to share with the group," Stan scanned the room of perverts looking for a raised hand.
The biggest meeting of the year, it was a full house for this meeting. Understandably, because of the theme of this monthly contest, it was a popular meeting. There were at least, a hundred and fifty perverted men in attendance. They were still passing around the photos of Stan's naked ex-wife and ex-mother-in-law and discussing his story and what they'd like to do to the naked bodies of the women hanging upside down on a bungee cord.
Stan stood on the stage looking out at the gathering of men that increased each month. There were a lot of perverts and this was just a small sampling of those men who weren't afraid of being known as a pervert. Certainly, he was glad that not everyone had a story to tell. Imagine if everyone had a story and there were one hundred and fifty stories to this Celebrating National Nude Day series? He'd be there all night. Generally, they never get more than a dozen who want to tell their story. The rest are content just to listen to the stories of others for fodder to use as jerk off material later while imagining the story as their own.
Every month, Hal participated with something outrageous. The video of his hypnotized mother-in-law masturbating was as hot as was the web cam of his daughter dancing naked while she thought she was dancing for her cyber boyfriend. She didn't know that it was her Daddy that she was dancing for nor did she ever suspect him to show the web cam feed to his perverted friends. Every month Hal won the first prize of $150, more than enough to cover his $100 dues for the year. Maybe, next year, they'll be more stories to tell, but for now, except for Hal's anticipated story, there was just one more.
"Who's that back there, in the back row with their hand raised? Is that you, Warren?"
Stan cringed and the rest of the group physically cringed and cowered when Warren stood. He was weird, very weird. If Stephen King was to write this Perverted Men's Symposium's meeting in one of his novels, Warren would be the main character. He'd be the type who'd live deep in the back woods of Maine. He'd be the one who kept secrets. He'd be the one who had someone locked away in his cellar.
Warren stood up from his seat and strode down the aisle. He was as tall as he was thin, maybe 6'5" and looking like he weighed about 160 pounds, if that. Probably, he was taller, 6'7" maybe, if he stood straight instead of stooping the way he did. He had a body like a crane with long arms and legs and with a giant Adam's apple protruding from his neck. His hair was cropped short all around, as if he had put a bowl on his head, taken sheep shears, and done it himself.
Everyone but Stan called him Weird Warren because, well, he was weird, scary weird. He was always giving you that look. If you are a woman, surely you know the one, that look that makes you look away hoping he doesn't notice you, while running away and ducking around the corner to call 911.
"I don't have you on the list, Warren," said Stan shuffling through papers hoping to dissuade him from continuing his advance down the long aisle and up the stage. Yet, once Warren put his mind to something or someone, there was no stopping him. "Do you have a story to tell or did you just want to make your usual announcement about futuristic worlds like you do at every monthly contest?"
Warren climbed the steps to the stage where the podium stood with the microphone without responding. Normally, he was a man of few words and most times not talking at all, even when spoken to, that is, unless he was talking about his futuristic world somewhere in outer space. Then, he became animated.
"I have a story to tell," he said pointing a bony finger at Stan, while giving him the look.
He turned away from Stan to look out at the crowd of men and stood there without speaking. As if looking for someone or something, it was a long and uncomfortable moment waiting for him to begin his story.
He always wore the same clothes, the same too big, black suit jacket with the same black pants that was a lighter shade of black from the jacket and didn't come much further down than the top of his ankles and not nearly long enough to cover his scuffed, Jed Clampett of the Beverly Hillbillies boots that he wore even on the hottest days of summer. Looking much like a settler from an old settlement in the days of Conestoga wagons, pioneers, and Indians, he always wore that all black outfit with his collarless white shirt. Although his clothes were clean, from the tattered look of them, you'd discern that they had been rewashed more than the manufacturer's recommendation and had lasted beyond anyone's expectation.
"I was taken again," he said in his deep voice and looking out at each and every member before continuing. He did weird stuff like that, such as staring a lot without talking. "They came back for me, again," he said finally.
"Warren, have you been reading Kurt Vonnegut again?" The group of men laughed over Hal's comment.
"He's got a paperback book on the chair back here," called Ray from the back of the room while raising it up overhead. "Yep, it's Slaughterhouse Five, alright."
Now, the entire room was roaring with laughter and howling at him.
"They really exist, you know," he said raising his voice while pointing a long, bony finger of warning to the men. He had a way of commanding the attention of his audience with his stare. "Okay, maybe they aren't the same Tralfamadorian aliens that appear in Vonnegut's book, but there's definitely energy from another world and that's what took me. Energy."
"What did his energy look like," said Sam.
"They probably look like him," said Dave. "Now, that's scary."
"Dunno. I never saw them. There's nothing to see. They don't have faces like you and me. It's just a feeling and like that little blonde girl watching the television screen in Poltergeist when she declares, 'They're back,' that's the sort of feeling you get. It's just a knowing and a sense of someone watching you. Your hair stands up on your arm and suddenly, you are afraid and looking all around you. It's an unsettling feeling."
"Is it like the same foreboding feeling we all get when we just knew you'd be up here again warning us about them," asked Hal?
"It don't bother me none if you don't believe me. It don't bother me none if you don't like me. That's not going to stop me from telling my story. I have to tell someone." He paused for a long, thoughtful moment. "If I don't tell someone, I'll die with what I know and I don't want that on my conscience while on my deathbed."
"Damn, after Kathy and Christine's act, I was having fun," said Dave. "Weird Warren just hosed down the event. I was having a good time before he lumbered up here."
