As Jon wiggled down the hallway of the spa, a realization came to him. Sure, he'd enjoyed the steam room, and being able to help out that nice gentleman with his stiff groin was nice, but overall the pampered life just wasn't for him. Maybe it was the sound of his high heeled cowboy boots clicking on the linoleum that brought his mind around, but Jon didn't want to be treated like a princess, he wanted his life rugged.
He'd always liked John Wayne movies, and had a great collection of Clint Eastwood classics on DVD. His favourite was 'The Good, The Bad and The Ugly". Blondie, Clint's character, was such a tough guy.
"Just like me!" Jon said as he adjusted a bra strap. An image of himself formed in his mind as tough Jon, ready for anything, down and dirty. Not the type of guy that would find himself spending the day in the spa.
Taking the first exit he could find, Jon walked out the door and felt a breeze against his exposed skin. No longer was the sun high in the sky, but it had dipped toward the horizon. He figured that Girl World would have beautiful sunsets and made a mental note to be outside with whatever girl he hooked up with to take advantage of it if he could.
The door Jon had used was in the rear of the building, so he found himself standing in an alley. It wasn't the type of alley you'd find in a gritty crime movie, but a wide, clean, well lit alley. Jon figured that there probably weren't any dangerous alleys in town, that the whole place was pretty controlled by the Girl World employees. Not that he couldn't handle whatever he came across, though, since he was feeling tougher than he ever had before.
A neon sign about thirty feet away caught his eye. It read, "Fight Club" in bold, pink letter.
"Isn't the first rule that you don't talk about it?" Jon said, "Maybe a sign doesn't count."
After laughing at his own cleverness, he swayed over to the door that the sign hung above. A fight club would be right up his alley. The way he was feeling, Jon was sick of being in polite society. A little rough and tumble was just what he needed.
Inside the club there was a dim, smoky room filled with shirtless men. As Jon walked into the room, every eye was on him, most with a hungry, greedy look in their eyes.
That's right, thought Jon, Feel intimidated.
As Jon scanned the room, he figured there wasn't one man in the place that he couldn't take. It was too bad there were no women there to impress, but Jon wasn't in the fight club to show off; he was there to rumble. He could feel a need boiling up inside him, like popcorn about to pop. He needed to get physical.
In the centre of the room there was a large empty space that was filled with a pit of mud. Without hesitation, Jon shoved his way through the crowd and established himself in the centre of the pit. He was glad for the boots he was wearing as he worked on keeping his balance; the heels, he figured, were great for grip.
"What? No takers?" Jon shouted at the shirtless men, "You boys too frightened to get down and dirty with me?"
A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd. Jon figured the men were nervous. He too laughed when feeling uncomfortable. The laughter didn't last too long, though, as a large black man stepped into the mud.
Jon sized the man up. He was at least six inches taller than Jon was, although the three inches Jon's boots added were sure to give him the advantage. Muscles rippled over the man's body as he flexed for the crowd.
Pah, though Jon, I can take him.
Without delay, Jon launched himself at the man. Figuring to use the man's weight against him, Jon wrapped his arms around the man's waist and twisted, hoping to bring the man down into the mud. The speed of Jon's attack seemed to work, and Jon now found himself lying on top of the prone man, face in his groin, struggling to hold the man still.
Just where I want him, thought the daisy-duke wearing Jon.
Unfortunately for Jon, the man wasn't ready to give up so easily. Soon he had flipped over, splashing Jon down. Mud ran into Jon's clothes, up his shorts, into his g-string, in his boots. He could feel it squishing between his butt cheeks, inside his cleavage. His hair, too, was sopping with the heavy, dirty stuffy. He grinned as he struggled to regain control of the match. This was his kind of fight!
With their bodies completely covered with the slippery mud, Jon found it difficult to get a grip on the man. He wiggled and squirmed beneath him, but the large black man's weight was just too great. Jon moved his hands all over the man's body, attempting to find something, anything he could hold onto to get the advantage. From his position, he couldn't reach the man's hair, and the man's jeans had no belt rings to grab onto.
Something was poking into Jon's face, which was still grinding into the man's groin, but now from below. Wanting to take advantage of anything he could, Jon squeaked a hand between the man and him and attempted to snake it into the man's pants. Frustrated, he found the material of the garment prevented him from finding the hand-hold that he desperately needed.
Fueled by the cheering crowd, Jon worked his other hand under the man and undid the button and zipper that help the pants in place. Then, feeling encouraged by the progress, Jon made a Herculean effort and shoved the pants and the underwear hidden below down to the man's knees.
Hogtied him! Jon though, feeling the tables begin to turn.
Whatever it was that had been poking into Jon's face was now unrestricted and free, slapping onto Jon's cheek. It was long, hot and black. Jon didn't have time to wonder what it was since he was in the middle of a fight. Anything he could use to his advantage was worth a try.
Again snaking his mud soaked hands beneath his combatant, Jon took wrapped his slippery fingers around the thing. Unfortunately his hands were so slippery that he couldn't get a grip! Sliding his hands up and down the length, Jon felt the thing slap into his face over and over as he tried and tried to hold it still.
The man didn't help, either. Having obviously figured out what Jon was up to, he began to grind his groin into Jon's face, making it even more difficult to hold onto the hand-hold. Jon was proud that he never let go of it, but was finding that his efforts were almost useless as all he was able to do was rub his slick fingers up and down it's length, all the while being slapped in the face with it on downstrokes.
Soon, however, things changed for Jon's favour. The man's groin began to stiffen (probably getting a cramp), the hand-hold seemed to throb, and a hot sticky substance spewed out of it onto Jon's face. Jon had to close his eyes while he was showered by the excretion.
He didn't care about getting dirtier, though, since he was the kind of guy who didn't mind a little muck. What he did care about, however, was that once the hand-hold stopped erupting, the man's body seemed to go limp. Taking advantage of the moment, Jon thrust his whole body weight against the man, throwing his opponent onto his back in the mud. Scrambling, Jon threw his body over the man's, climbing over him and kneeling on his arms, holding him down for the count.
A bell rung declaring Jon the winner and the crowd went wild. Jon, soaked in mud and whatever it was that the hand-hold had shot out, leaped to his high-heeled feet and raised his hands in the air. His shirt had come untied during the battle, leaving his lacy bra and breast-forms exposed for everyone to see.
Who cares, he thought, everyone else is topless, so why shouldn't I be?
The crowd parted as Jon stepped out of the mud, leaving Jon room to walk to the door that said, "WINNERS" in bright red letters. Each man gave Jon a congratulatory slap or pinch on his behind as he wiggled his way to the door. He was glad, once again, that he had taken this vacation. Sure, he couldn't quite remember what the circumstances were that led him to Girl World, but it was turning out to be one of the best trips of his life.
Through the door, Jon found...
