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.
'Yeah, baby!'
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.
'Let's party!'
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.
'Nah.'
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! 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, 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.
