Date: Fri, 29 Dec 2000 11:04:01 -0500
From: David Buffet <tightserve@hotmail.com>
Subject: Alpha Male - Chapters 2 - 4

Chapter 2: The Interview

	I was glad I was early.  I took a seat in the outer office, and
tried to collect myself.  But as soon as I sat down, the receptionist told
me that Mr. Johnston was ready to see me, and that I should go right in.
	Johnston sat behind his desk.  Blond, tanned, and just over thirty,
it was immediately clear that he was not just the coach, but a former
gymnast himself.  His broad shoulders filled out his white jersey,
spreading the top tightly across a full, molded chest.  His face had
excellent proportions, and was full of character -- totally appealing.  He
stood to shake my hand revealing a full basket packed snugly in its jock
under his shorts.  When he returned to his chair, he leaned back, clasped
his hands behind his head, and smiled.
	I realized, again too late, that my dick hadn't gone down yet from
the walk over, and was tenting out my pants.  For the second time in half
an hour, I blushed deeply, and took a seat.
	"It's all right," he said.  "Nothing to be ashamed of."
	"Yes, well..." I stammered trying to change the subject, "...you
said you had a position you wanted me to consider?"
	He laughed, and, after a moment of horror at my own Freudian slip,
I joined him, totally cracking up.  That helped to loosen me up, and we
started to talk more casually.
	Johnston described the gymnastics program at the school.  That
year, he explained, he had the best male squad he had ever coached, and he
was sure that the team was going to be able to win the following season at
Nationals.  The team was strong, deep, committed, and willing to do
whatever it took to achieve victory.
	"That's all wonderful," I finally broke in, "but what does that
have to do with me?  I'm a graduate student in psychology -- not sports
administration."
	"I know," he said.  "Summa cum lauda with a B.A. in clinical psych.
Picked first in your class for admission to the doctoral program here.  Not
bad."
	"You've read my resume," I said.
	"I know a lot more about you than you think.  At only twenty-two,
you've already published research papers on power dynamics in male
relationships, non-verbal communication, and have come up with an
interesting theory you're currently researching for your dissertation on
something you call the alpha-male personality type."
	"Well, you've done more than read my resume, Mr.  Johnston, you've
talked to my advisor as well, which, all in all, is pretty flattering" I
said.  "But I still don't quite see how this fits in to your plans for your
gymnastics program.
	"I think we've got one here."
	"Pardon?  One what?"  The seeming non-sequitur threw me for a loop.
	"An alpha-male."
	The words hung in the air between us.
	A few years back, after reading some papers on the structures of
the societies of animals who travel in packs, I began to wonder if there
were analogies to humans.  Careful study and research had led me to the
conclusion that there should be individuals, rare though they might be, who
were able, somehow, to totally control the society of individuals around
them -- the human incarnation of the alpha-male.  While I had never found
one, I was sure they existed, and it was upon this surety that I was basing
my dissertation.  And now, this man was telling me that not only did he
think they existed, but one existed on that very campus.
	"I see.  How do you know he is?  And how do you know what one is,"
I asked?
	"I don't.  To either question.  I was talking to your advisor, and
started describing him.  It was your advisor who put two and two together.
So here we have an interesting situation; you're looking for someone, and I
may have him.  He's on the team.  On the other hand, I'm looking for
someone, too."
	"Who are you looking for?"
	"The nationals mean everything.  I've said that before, but I'm not
quite sure you understand just how far the boys and I will go to win.
We'll do what it takes," he said, and then, added somewhat ominously,
"whatever it takes.  This summer, they've all signed on to an intensive,
full-time training program.  They'll be sequestered at a facility up in the
mountains -- no distractions.  I need someone who's willing to be there
twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to see that all their needs are
met.  Whatever they want, you get.  Whatever problems they have, you fix.
Whatever their needs, you meet them.  In return, you'll have three months
up close and personal to study your alpha.  You'll be well paid -- a salary
no university could match, plus any expenses.  Room and board, of course.
The only problem is, you have to decide relatively quickly.  The bus for
the training camp leaves in a week and a half."

Chapter 3: Arrival
	Needless to say, I signed on.  I was packed and ready to go two
days early.  The team was taking a bus up to the training camp, but
Johnston told me I should go separately in my own car, so that I could run
errands for the boys should they need it.  When the day came, the four hour
drive into the mountains gave me a nice long time alone to clear my head
and weigh the advantages and disadvantages of taking the job.
	I had signed up to be a gopher for a group of gymnastic jocks for
an entire summer.  Definitely a con.  One of them was, according to the
coach of the team, and, more importantly, my advisor, a candidate
alpha-male.  An unbelievable pro -- one that could potentially make my
career.  I was to be stuck in the middle of nowhere for two months -- a
fact that became more and more plain the farther into the mountains I
drove.  On the other hand, I was going to be stuck with a group of what I
expected to be some pretty prime college beef.  On the other hand, of
course, the chances that any of them were gay were pretty small.  On the
other hand, it was only two months.  On the other hand.  On the other hand.
Part of the difficulty of being a psych major is the inability to see
anything except shades of gray.
	Still deep in thought, I pulled into the compound that was to be my
home for the next summer.  From what I could see, there were five or six
smaller buildings surrounding an enormous complex.  That must be the gym.
One building looked to be a dining hall, another an administration
building.  The rest must be the dormitories.  The setting was spectacular
-- nestled in a pine covered valley between two towering peaks, the air was
crisp and clean, and smelled of evergreen.  The bus was idling next to the
main building, getting ready to leave.  The team must have arrive some time
ago.  I parked, and climbed the steps to what I guessed was the
administration building.
	Coming out the door as I climbed the front steps I found Johnston
who welcomed me, told me that the team had, indeed, arrived, and that I
should stow my gear, and join them in the gym.  He pointed out my apartment
-- a small suite adjoining one of the dormitories.  I headed off toward it
while he veered off toward the main complex.
	My room was nice, if you like spartan digs.  It had no separate
entrance; you had to enter through the dorm.  There was a hallway with five
doors on either side (the guys' bedrooms, I guessed) at the end of which
was a door which led to my apartment.  A main room, a bathroom, and a
galley kitchen.  There was a bed, a table, and two chairs.  The walls were
nouveau cinder block.  I showered, changed into sweats, and headed off
toward the gym.
	Now, as I said, I'm no slouch in the looks department, and I can
pretty much get laid when ever I wanted.  When I had just come out, I
wanted it a *lot*.  I've been with a good share of men, and, at 22 already
felt myself a bit jaded.  Don't get me wrong -- I still love sex.  But
while good looking guys were fun to look at, I didn't view them with the
same...urgency...with which I had five years before.  Still, I was totally
unprepared for the sight that greeted me as I entered the gym.
	There were ten guys on the floor.  Each a little more well
developed than the one before.  They were warming up -- on their backs
doing crunches.  Shirts were off revealing ten washboards each capable of
grating carrots.  Shoulders were massive and sculpted.  There was probably
not an ounce of fat among them.  The one in the middle was calling the
rhythm of the crunches.  It was the guy from the gym.  A cold shiver ran
down my spine.  He was the alpha.

Chapter 4: Introductions

Johnston met me in the gym, interrupting my reverie to explain what my
responsibilities would be.
	"Days are mostly going to be spent in here," he began.  "In the
mornings, you'll meet the boys in the locker rooms, and make sure they have
everything the need for the practice: clean sweats, unis, jocks, towels,
whatever they need.  You do their laundry.  When you're done in there, come
out here and help with the mats, apparati, taping, whatever is necessary.
After the practice, hang in the locker room until they're done.  Clean up
in there and get it ready for the next day.  Dinner is at 6:00.  Their
nights are free, but they're not allowed to leave the compound.  So you'll
be expected to help keep them entertained.  That all okay with you?"
	"Sure."  It was somewhat more than okay.  It would give me all the
time I needed to study my alpha, with plenty of time left over
to...appreciate...the gentlemen with whom I'd be working.

	When the boys were done with their crunches, Johnston interrupted
them.

	"This is Mark," he said, introducing me.  "Mark's going to be my
administrative assistant for the summer.  He's here for you guys.  He'll be
staying in the suite at the end of your hall, and will be attending the
practices.  If there's anything you need -- day or night -- anything at
all, you ask him.  "  The boys called out greetings.  Some waived.  They
were all clean cut, chiseled, and with the easy going confidence that comes
from having complete confidence with one's body.  Together, they looked
like a Neitchean poster for a Midwestern Uber-4H club.  The alpha stared at
me from the center.  Alone of the group, he said nothing -- just raised his
head a fraction of an inch in a nod of condescending acknowledgement.
Having glanced at him, I found myself, as in the gym, unable to look away.
It was as if I was being somehow compelled to watch him.  The analytical
side of my brain recoiled.  What was it about him that was so binding?  It
certainly didn't <i>look </i> like he was doing anything unusual.  He was
just sitting there on the floor, leaning back on his hands with his legs
stretched out in front of him.  And yet -- he was somehow exercising power.
While my analytical side wondered, the rest of my brain went entirely
blank.  I was captive to my eyes, which were captive to him.
	He had short cropped brown hair, a little longer on top than on the
sides and back, where he had had it razor cut.  Short, trimmed sideburns
extended half way down in front of his ears.  His eyebrows, perfectly
spaced under a strong forehead, were designed to draw your attention into
his thick-lashed dark brown eyes.  His eyes were of infinite depth, and
staring into them, I felt lost -- selfless -- consumed.  So trapped by the
intensity I saw there, I hardly registered when his lips curled into a
sinister, knowing, triumphant grin.
	There was a noise coming from far away -- something trying to pull
me away from the state of complete emotional nakedness in which I found
myself trapped by those eyes.  The sound recurred, and though it came from
miles away, this time it was accompanied by a sensation on my arm.
Finally, after how long?  Seconds?  Years?  the eyes released me, and I was
brought back to my body, which, I realized, had grown weak and was slightly
trembling.  The sound was Johnston, who was gently tugging my arm and
saying, "breathe."
	I turned to him, still getting used to being back in the world.
	"That's him, of course," Johnston said, smiling, "but you already
figured that out.  The star of our team.  His name is Adam."