Date: Thu, 28 Dec 2000 23:17:46 -0500
From: tightserve@hotmail.com
Subject: Alpha Male - Chapter 1

This story is multichaptered, and somewhat slow to get started.  Hope you'll
indulge me.  Tell me if you like it, and if you want me to continue!
Tightserve@hotmail.com

Chapter 1:  The Invitation

	Morning found me checking my box in the mail room.  Mostly usual
stuff -- a bill from the university, a letter from home, a notice that a
book I had ordered had come in.  The last envelope caught my eye.  The
address was hand written, and there was no stamp.  It came from within the
university.  Wondering which of my friends would send me mail when they
could just call, I opened the envelope on my way out the door.
	Underneath the athletic department letterhead was a note from Craig
Johnston asking if I was interested in some summer work on campus.  There
was a phone extension, and a post script saying that he was sure it was a
job I would find interesting.  My curiosity piqued, I headed toward a
phone.
	I had been looking for summer work for months already.  It was
getting toward the end of the semester, and though I had had a number of
offers, I still hadn't found a position I wanted.  Either the research
project was boring or the location was unappealing.  As the top student in
my graduate program at a prestigious university, I could afford to shop
around.  I got to a campus phone and dialed the extension, more to see how
he got my name than anything else.
	Craig Johnston, it seems, was the athletic director of the
gymnastics program at the university.  I knew the school had a renown
gymnastics program, but not much more than that.  It was, after all, a
pretty big campus.  He repeated the information in the note, but not much
more.  He had an on-campus job that paid very well that he felt I would
find interesting, and for which I would be well suited.  When I pressed him
about the particulars of the job, though, he demurred.  Instead, he asked
if I could come in for an interview at 5:00.  I had been planning on
working out that afternoon anyway, so I agreed.
	At 3:00, I got to the locker room and started to change.  As
always, it was filled with an assortment of young, fresh faces atop
strikingly toned bodies.  One guy, in particular, took my breath away.  His
body was unbelievable.  Full, round, cut shoulders topped a body that
tapered to a wasp-like waist.  He was wearing a form-fitting deep blue
shiny Spandex top which hugged each muscular bulge and crevice with adoring
intimacy.  His upper body wasn't triangular so much as it was tetrahedral.
His pecs were thick, solid slabs which extended down to the six-pack below
them.
	His face was as stunning as his musculature.  Short auburn hair on
top was ringed by a buzz cut in the military style.  While his features
were classic middle America boy-next-door , he hadn't shaved that day, and
the slight stubble gave him a rough edge that made my mouth water.
	Now, the world is full of gorgeous men who, despite their good
looks and perfect bodies, are about as appealing as a dead fish.  I've
always found that there are pretty guys, and there are sexy guys, and the
two aren't necessarily the same.  Pretty is a combination of hard work and
god given features.  Sexy is a whole different matter.  Sexy is an
attitude.  Sexy is the way a guy holds himself, and interacts with others.
Sexy is in the eyes and the posture.  And this guy was damned sexy.  He
exuded an animalistic charisma that I had never sensed before, and found
instantly irresistible.
	When he caught my eye, he was talking with a friend.  His stance
was relaxed and cocky.  While he talked, he absent mindedly ran his hand up
and down his stomach muscles lightly stroking the contours, unconsciously
enjoying the feel of the satiny material stretched over his iron frame.
His friend was leaning with his back against a mirror, and he was standing
closer than most men would allow, brazenly invading his friend's personal
space.  His deep brown eyes sparkled as he laughed; his smile was a little
asymmetric, and reeked of self-confidence.
	I went about my work out determined not to let this guy distract
me.  While I'd hooked up at the gym with the occasional horny stud who took
me around to the back of the building and let me blow him, cruising the
university gym was neither the safest nor most productive way of finding
sex.  I'm pretty good looking myself; finding sex isn't so much of a
problem.
	I spent a half hour warm up run on the tread mill emptying my mind
of him.  Working out is somewhat of a Zen experience for me.  When I do it,
I find that the day's cares and troubles melt away as the blood moves from
my brain into my muscles.  It feels really good to be able to spend an hour
and a half each day not having to think, plan, or problem solve.  I set the
tread mill on a speed that was a little faster than I was used to.  Four
miles later, I was a little winded, enjoying the beta-endorphine rush I
always got after a good run, and blissfully brain dead.  All distractions
had left me.
	I went into the bench press room.  Having finished my legs the day
before, it was time to return to my chest, starting the routine over again.
As I turned the corner into the room, I got an eye full.  There he was, on
his back on a bench finishing his reps.  His legs were spread wide on
either side of the bench, and as he put the bar back on its holder, his
hips rotated down, lifting the small of his back off the bench, and
pressing his package against the fabric of his shorts.  The bench was lined
up with the entryway to the room so that as I entered the room I got a
perfect crotch shot.  Thick, log sized thighs, lightly dusted with hair,
disappeared under the bright white shorts.  As his hips rotated, one leg of
the shorts pocketed away from his inner thigh, offering me an enticingly
incomplete view of his full, round jock.
	His exquisite beauty rushed at me like an express train, and, with
all the blood in my legs and without the ability to think, I stopped short,
gaped, and stared.  By the time my wits returned to me it was too late.  I
finally looked up to find him staring at me stare at him, an evil,
condescending grin spreading across his lips.  I was caught red-minded, as
it were, and from his narrow-eyed cocky examination, it was immediately
evident that he knew exactly what I was thinking.  I could actually feel
myself blush under the knowing scrutiny of his gaze.  He got up off the
bench, and walked toward the door on his way to the water fountain.
Despite the ample width of the entry way in which I stood, he walked
directly at me.  Just in time, I took a side step to avoid him running over
me, and as he passed, his shoulder grazed mine, easily pushing mine out of
the way.  The sweat that rubbed off from his deltoid cooled on my skin, and
a chill ran down my spine.
	Who was this guy?!  Normally, that kind of arrogance was a real
turn off for me, but most of the time, the guys with incredible attitude
weren't really all that hot to begin with.  But this guy deserved to be
arrogant.  He had the looks of a god, and he knew it.  He had probably
learned long ago that people went weak-kneed when they were around him, and
that he could get whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.
	With him out of the room, I was finally able to collect myself, and
loaded a bar with the correct weights.  "I gotta concentrate," I thought,
as I lay down on the bench.  I had an interview in an hour, and it wouldn't
do for me to go all hot and bothered.  I started my routine, and was
resting after my second set when he returned.  This time, I was more
prepared, and was able to avert my gaze from the doorway as he entered.
	Distractedly, I worked through the rest of my routine.  Against my
will and better judgment, I periodically stole a glance in his direction.
Each time, my gaze lingered a half a second longer than it should have, and
he caught me.  From that condescending, superior look on his face, I was
sure he was thinking, "another faggot warm for my form." I started getting
a little scared that he was going to beat the crap out of me, and decided
to call it quits.
	I showered and got dressed as quickly as I could, making sure he
was out of sight before I made my way to the exit.  Now, I'm pretty strong,
and can hold my own in a fight.  But this guy could have beaten me to a
pulp, and we both knew it.  And while I don't usually back down in the face
of a threat, I wanted to go to this interview able to concentrate on the
interview.
	Walking down the maze of hallways on my way to Johnston's office, I
couldn't get him off my mind.  Finally out of the confinement of my jock
strap, my dick began to swell as I thought about his combination of perfect
physique and striking good looks all wrapped in an air of rough
contemptuousness.  By the time I reached the office, I was hard as a rock
and aching for release.  Not an auspicious way to begin an interview -- or
so I thought at the time.