Date: Thu, 22 Oct 2015 18:51:18 -0700
From: Emri S. <tarzanacide@gmail.com>
Subject: Lincoln's Pride - 1

This story picks up where Emerson and the Lion left off so it may be
helpful to read that series first. It has mostly the same characters. But
this can also stand on its own.

Input and comments are definitely appreciated. Please send them to:
tarzanacide@gmail.com

Please remember to donate to nifty to keep this site free and open!

Thanks for reading!


                     +{Lincoln's Pride}+

                               Part 1


*******

"Leenk-un," He said it slowly, showing his gleaming white teeth as he
enunciated, scrunching his large nose as though deciding if it really
should be my name or not. It made his trimmed, black beard form a square
around his full, reddish-brown lips. "Lincoln, why the second L? You don't
pronounce it do you? English is so wasteful with letters... Lincoln Karsten,
a very blonde boy name. Why were you named after a president?" He lifted
his eyes from my wrinkled, hand-written resume to meet my gaze momentarily
to indicate I should respond.

I cleared my throat. "I don't know, sir. I could ask my father if you
like."

He waved a dismissive hand towards me with a smile to indicate he was
joking and went back to reading the paper I had painstakingly written with
a ruler and my best handwriting. I fidgeted with my new shirt. I had no
interview clothes.

------

My friend Bridget had found this royal blue, barely worn polo from the
donation pile at the thrift store on main street. She saved it for me. It
fit a little snuggly on my small, but somewhat muscular frame. Rarely, one
of our town's better families threw out stuff they had purchased rather
than drive back down into Los Angeles to return it. In my town, you either
got your clothes from there or the Walmart if you could afford it. Leaving
town took gas and ambition, something most families in our poor little
mountain town lacked.

------

"You've played baseball since you were a kid. Are you any good, little
president?" He looked up at me with a smirk, again mocking my name
somewhat.

------

I'd never been around Arab people. It was something strange to me. His
voice; deep, thoughtful, but also relaxed and completely in power. It was
an accent I'd never heard and it had a lulling rhythm to it that made me
sleepy. He was easy enough to understand, comfortable with English tones
and phrasing. But something about it let me know he was a man used to
people complying to whatever he willed. He pronounced my name like it was
exotic to the taste, but bitter going down.

He was handsome enough but foreign, dark, and I had a hard time reading his
expressions. He was a hulk of a man probably brought on through hard work
with expensive gym equipment rather than actual sports or labor. His coffee
colored face showed flawless skin and a powerful jaw. Large, almost black
eyes peered into me from below heavy black eyebrows. A prominent brown
nose, though large, added an air of importance to him. It suited him and
accentuated his looks. His lips, reddish-brown, were framed by a neatly
trimmed black beard and opened to perfect white teeth. For all his
expensive trappings and trimmed beard, he still very much had an air of
youth to him. He couldn't have been that much older than I am.

"Yes... yes sir. We won north county pennant my Junior and Senior years," I
smiled as my chest puffed out, excited to talk about something where I
excelled. I pushed back my blonde hair. My sister had cut it this morning.
It was shaved on the sides and had about two inches on top. His was a
similar cut, but he had it slicked back with gel. I thought I noticed it
thinning slightly on top. I smiled to myself.

His office was on the top floor in downtown LA. This wasn't a place I'd
ever been. Glass, steel, corporate, I was far from home.

I'd awoken at 5 this morning and my family helped me get ready. Getting
this internship would mean a new life for me, far from anything I'd ever
known. After my haircut, I'd showered and put on the tight, new-to-me polo
shirt tucked into khaki pants a size too small. I'd made a PB&J for the
trip and piled into my dad's old truck.

He'd driven me all the way down to Valencia to catch the metrolink. I knew
he'd spent the last of his gas money to get me there and I'd spent the ten
dollars I had saved from my tips at the local cafe to get train fare into
the city.

"Do your best, take what you are offered. Be polite and follow orders. This
is your chance to get out of here," he had signed to me before I got on the
train. He's deaf, so is my sister. It runs in my family, but I ended up
with perfect hearing.

"You are 17," he raised an eyebrow at me, a look of disappointment crossed
his face.

"No sir, that's my birthdate on there. Today is the 17th, I'm 18. I can
start work with you whenever you like," I quickly inserted. I sat up in my
chair, subconsciously trying to look larger, older, important.

"Your birthday, your 18th. No party? No wild first night of manhood?" He
was smiling with confusion.

"No sir, this interview is everything to me, my future. My family made a
cake for me last night," I said with a smile and licked my lip, still
tasting the fresh strawberry icing.

"And you have a passport?" He asked.

"Yes sir, my father takes scrap metal back and forth from Mexico sometimes.
I go with him to translate and haul things," I assured and raised an arm to
flex the bicep as proof of my lugging ability.

He went through a million other questions, wanted me to prove my ability in
sign language. It didn't seem strange though since the internship came with
payment for signed interpretations. He even put me on facetime with some
blonde man who signed back and forth with me for a few minutes before
giving him a smile and the Ok on my skills. He was very kind and had asked
me about my family. He signed that the job would take me far from home and
far from my comfort zone.

It was going really well. I turned back when the facetime man hung up and
he told me all about the internship. I would work as his business assistant
and take college classes online. I would do sign language interpretations
when he needed it and his company would pay for my schooling. He even
offered a place to live including clothes and food. It was the chance of a
lifetime.

Finally he set down my resume and adjusted his blue, silk tie. Folding his
hands in front of him on the desktop, he leaned towards me.

"And what of your morals? What should I know about Lincoln?" he asked
flatly with a slight insinuation that I was somehow lacking, hiding
something disgusting.

"I..." I stammered, at a loss. "I don't do drugs. I do have a girlfriend. We
dated through high school. She was my cheerleader. She's good though and
wants to wait until we can go to college and get married. But... well you
know. I did mess around with a few other girls. But, If you give me this
chance. I promise I will follow whatever rules or customs your um, your
people follow. I'll try any food, really I'm not picky. Bugs, dogs,
whatever. Oh wait, that was offensive. Sorry, I..."

"Very well!" he cut me off, seeming amused at my floundering, "And no
tattoos, correct?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, sir, never," I was feeling uncomfortable.

"You don't sound very convincing. Stand up," It was definitely an order,
not an invitation. I got to my feet. He stood too and came around the desk.

It was the first time I had seen him on his feet. He was quite impressive.
He was nearly my same height, maybe an inch shorter. But he was larger,
stronger, and seemed to relish the confident power he exuded as he strode
towards me. His expensive blue button-up shirt was filled with a muscular
chest and arms. From behind the desk he seemed harmless, up close it was a
different story. His strong cologne hit my nose and gave my allergies a
stir.

He stared me down for a minute and then straightened his back, seeming a
little taken aback that there was even a millimeter difference in our
heights.

"Take your shirt and pants off, have a seat on the table," he pointed
towards an actual table with chairs that was over in the corner framed by
the floor to ceiling windows. He turned away from me, pulling what looked
like a black medical bag from the floor behind his desk.

"I... uh. What?" I stammered and he turned back to me with a look of
annoyance.

"Clothes," he said very slowly with a look of disdain. "Clothes, come, off.
You, sit, table. I, check, you, for, health, so, I, don't, hire, a, sick,
assistant." He enunciated each word like he was talking to his dog.

I watched him roll up his sleeves and take a stethoscope from his bag. He
seemed legit but it still felt odd. I heard my dad's signs in my head
telling me to do my best and take whatever was offered. I don't think he
knew this was going to be part of things.

I slipped off the polo, showing my bare, pale chest crowned by small sharp
nipples. I had muscles, definition, but no hair to show for it. My khakis
came off next. They were tight on me and they pulled my boxers down with
them over my proud ass. I stumbled against his desk as I tried to pull them
back up. My cock, soft but proud dangled out and I stuffed it back in the
waistband. I caught his eyes as I raised my head, he just shrugged.

"Your clothes don't seem to fit. Do you have some reason why things need to
be so tight? Who are you showing off for?" He cracked a smile.

I folded my polo neatly on the chair where I'd sat and did the same with my
pants. I placed my shoes under the chair and stood there in black socks and
my old, worn, red flannel boxers.

"I uh, they were what I could afford for the interview." I said feeling
humility hover over me like a threatening cloud. I lowered my eyes to look
at his tie. It was hard to meet his gaze standing there in his office on
display. I felt my cheeks blush.

"On the table then," he instructed. He followed me over to the table where
a hot ray of sunshine splashed across me, warming my bare skin in his cold
office. I sat up and scooted back. He started to touch me freely, listening
to my chest and then my back. His hands squeezed my muscles to check their
firmness. My cock started to twitch in my boxers at his touch. It was
confused as no one had explored me like this before. I tried to calm it.

I'd worked hard to erase the baby fat of my youth. Sports and work had left
me with something that impressed the other players in the locker room. I'd
felt their eyes on me too, but theirs held jealous, his held interested
amusement. I felt a mix of humility and pride as he felt around to confirm
this.

As he leaned in close, his cheek near my nose, I got another full whiff of
his cologne. I hoped I'd get used to it.

He had me cough and he took my blood pressure and felt around my throat and
looked in my ears and all that stuff doctors do, only he was a businessman.

Again, he seemed amused by my body. I'm pretty proud of it. I'm not mega
muscle like he seemed to be, but my life is a workout; running, lifting,
batting, pitching. I just kept staring ahead as he explored. He flicked at
my nipples and squeezed my pecs. I knew he must have had a medical reason,
but it made my cock grow full in my boxers. He seemed to ignore this, but I
kept a hand in my lap to cover.

"You aren't used to being touched?" he asked though it was more of a
statement.

"Not by a dude, no," I admitted honestly. I'd had my pecs squeezed by
girls, felt soft hair against my nipples when my girlfriend would go as far
as she could and just "nap" with me. It was a different feeling and I was
annoyed at how my body reacted to it.

I watched the clock on the wall hit 1pm. I'd been there over an hour, that
had to be a good sign. I knew he wanted to hire me. I was jumping through
all of his little hoops.

"Not bad, you obviously don't smoke and your signs are all nice. Any health
concerns?" he asked.

"Just a few allergies, nothing much, sir," I lied and thought of the
Epi-pen I kept in my backpack in case I ever met a bee. I hadn't needed it
in years, but my father spent good money replacing it every time it came
within a month of expiration. I didn't want to seem defective.

"I'll need to measure you, the job comes with clothes, proper fitting
clothes. I hope your body can handle them," he mocked my interview clothes
as though I had chosen them willingly.

He pulled out a measuring tape next and had me stand. He weighed me and
commented that I needed to bulk up and he would have to train me hard. He
measured my chest, arms, biceps, making little notes on his phone. He went
for my hips, waist, legs, inseam, getting dangerously close to my cock. I
felt myself get hard again as he brushed my sensitive thigh.  I jumped back
a little. He looked annoyed by that.

"Stand still, why so squirmy?" He barked.

"Sorry sir, I'm ticklish there," I said and covered my growing erection.

"Ticklish? Still just a boy, little president," he laughed and rubbed his
hand firmly but slowly up my thigh again. It sent a shiver through my body
and I moved my hand to stop him. But then I realized my tent was jutting up
near his face.

"I, oh God. I'm so sorry! It never does that, I swear!" My face blushed and
I stepped back away from him and covered myself. I cursed myself for not
having better control.

"You are still just a boy," he confirmed, "You cannot yet control it. It is
nothing to be embarrassed about, or is it? I know white boys are on the
smaller end of the international spectrum, but it can't be that small,
right?"

"I am quite blessed, thank you. I have seen the competition in many locker
rooms and I have no fears there," I beamed proudly but reminded myself not
to overdo it.

"Of course," he said with a mocking tone and smiled to himself. He stepped
back and held his phone up, "now some pictures for the stylist," he
assured.

"Oh uh, do we have to, sir? I feel kinda weird about it," I hugged my chest
awkwardly, feeling a little too on display here.

"Am I wasting my time here, Lincoln? Did you want a future here with my
business or not, little president? I'm not hiring someone who questions my
authority, am I?" he said flatly.

"How do you want me to stand, sir?" I straightened up and swallowed my
pride. I wasn't about to go back to my father empty handed, bringing back
the burden of my failure to them.

He took pictures of me standing tall, arching my back, raising my arms. It
was an odd little photo shoot. And then he stopped and swiped thoughtfully
through them on his phone.

"No, no, it's these hideous old boxers. They make your body look misshapen.
Why would you wear something so unflattering? They need to go, lose them,"
he barked.

"Uh," I shifted uncomfortably, looking in all directions like somehow
movement would solve this. "I can't. That's not... no... sir."

He laughed, "You are worried about getting turned on by being naked in
front of a real man."

"No, I'm not gay. I mean there's nothing wrong with gay people, but I... no
sir. I'm not gay," I was blushing like a tomato farm and suddenly covering
myself. I felt a heavy air of shame settle over me like a noose.

"This job requires you to do as you're told. If you can not do that then I
suggest you stop wasting my time. This is twice in the same assignment you
have questioned me and the job hasn't even been offered to you," he said
harshly and looked stung at my reluctance to comply with his orders twice
now.

"I'm not gay," I said again more to myself than to him and went towards my
clothes. This was turning out to not be worth it at all. I was here for a
job, a future. He was offering me a porn shoot filled with humiliation. I
may be a jock, but I'm not a dumb one.

His words stopped me as I reached for my shirt, "Your family scrapes by. I
investigated your situation in considering you for this internship. You
could send home only half of your paycheck from working for me and they
would live like royalty here. Or you could leave now and go back to
scraping alongside them. It's a hard life, but it is one to which you are
accustomed. It's your choice, little president."

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. Did I hear right? Was he offering to
provide for us? Would my dad be able to rest after so many years of working
every odd job he could find to eek out a life for us? Wasn't a little of my
pride worth it to make everything better for my family? I sighed and bit my
lip. "Fuck," I whispered to myself. I'd do it for them.

I didn't look back at him. I pushed my boxers to the floor and stepped out
of them. My cock, normally about three inches when soft, shriveled a little
at the thought of what I was preparing to do.

I went back to the sunlight, spread my feet apart and looked right into the
lens of his phone. I clasped my hands behind my butt as he snapped away
with his phone making little clicking noises. My eyes wandered down to his
pants, but they had been pretty filled out before this, so I couldn't
really tell on what level he was enjoying this.

"Yes, quite impressive," he smirked sarcastically at my soft cock. This
wasn't what it normally looked like when out around others. After a win it
was stuffed like a horse. When I was in the backseat with whatever girl
wanted to thank me for that win, it was at full mast.

"It's... normally," the words weren't coming out well, "forget it."

"It's ok. Don't worry your little pride. These are just for clothes
selection. Backside now," he said and I turned, put my hands on the table
as he snapped away at my proud, hard muscled, white butt. And then my dick
turned on me like a cold traitor. It started to rise up against the touch
of the expensive smooth wood table. Maybe it was being under the microscope
of insane wealth and power this man so confidently possessed.

"Your ass is well worked," he stated.

"I... what does that mean?" I turned a head behind me, shifting my weight and
bouncing my hard, muscled glutes.

"It's quite large, you must do a heavy squat routine," He commented and I
swear I saw his tongue trace across his lips.

"No sir, never in my life. Just a lot of sports and lifting," I said
honestly and turned back to the table with a smirk.

"Well," he said and I heard his voice crack and then regain it's position,
"No need to spread your legs so widely. Your little pink bud is on
display."

I quickly brought my knees together, but I thought I heard the click of his
phone camera.

"That should be good enough for now." I pushed off the table still thinking
about his eyes on my ass. I forgot that my cock was rock hard until I saw
his eyes appraise it as I turned towards my clothes.

"Not bad, for a white boy. I'm sure you're quite the prize amongst your
mates," he laughed sarcastically and set his phone down on the desk as I
turned back to face him.

I turned around at him with flared nostrils and fuming eyes. "Yes... Sir." I
barked a little too harshly, this was a job interview after all. I tempered
my tone to him, "Sorry, I mean yes sir, yes I am."

"I hurt your pride with the photos, but I proved that you can take orders.
They are necessary for a proper wardrobe which you obviously lack. If you
are here to learn how to run a company such as this," he spread a hand
towards the window to remind me how high up we are and how much of his
company was below us, "Then you must first learn to follow orders."

"Yes, yes sir," my face softened a little. I had met his expectations.
Someday I would exceed them.

"My stylist will have clothes for you tomorrow. You will return by 10 AM.
Now go home and be with your family for one last night. Tomorrow your world
explodes." He turned and went to his desk as I put my clothes back on. I
was tying my shoes when he came back over and handed me an envelope.

"You will pack one SMALL bag and leave the rest behind. I don't want you
lugging around much when you are traveling with me. You will have enough to
handle carrying my things. Do you need a ride home?" he asked, "I can send
a driver."

"No sir. I can take the train home," I said. I shoved the fat envelope into
my backpack and went back to stand in front of him. I shook his hand and
stared him in the chin. I couldn't look him in the eyes after what we had
just experienced, what I had just done.

"Lincoln," he said softly as I walked away. I turned back to him, hitching
my backpack over one shoulder.

"Yes sir?"

"Happy Birthday, little president."

"Thank you, Mr. Hamad."

*********

It was a hot 12 block walk back to Union Station from his office. I was in
uncomfortable shoes and I really needed a shower. My mind reeled with what
had happened. I couldn't go back there. I had made such an ass of myself
and let him control me. That wasn't me. No one had ever done that to me. I
was always the star, the popular kid in our little town. I led the team,
coached other kids. No one ever made me do things I didn't want to do,
things I knew were wrong.

I fished my ticket out of my backpack and the envelope fell to the ground.
I picked it up and shoved it back in my backpack. I thought it was probably
just some papers, a job description, whatever he wanted me to know about
the internship and signing job.

I settled into the seat on the train which was nearly empty, too early for
rush hour commuters. I'd have to call my dad, get him to pick me up at the
station. I went for my cellphone to text him that I would be there in an
hour. That's when I decided to look at the envelope.

The envelope was his business stationery. It had his name and an address in
New York City. "Wow," I thought to myself. I would be going to New York and
maybe London and who knows where else. My heart perked up at that. I hadn't
thought of that when he asked me to undress. "No," I shook my head. I am
not some prostitute.

But then I thought, "Well he did just ask me to get naked so he could take
pictures for his stylist." I'd gotten hard on my own. He didn't ask me to.
He also didn't try to touch me. He didn't stare at me like some perv. Maybe
I really had misread the whole thing.

"Stupid Lincoln," I whispered to myself. I was the one who mentioned the
gay thing. I totally embarrassed myself by misreading the situation. I'd
promised to go with whatever his cultural norms were and here I was acting
like some hick from the sticks the second he asks me to go outside my
comfort zone.

"Fuck," I whispered and checked around me to see no one had heard my
cursing. And he still wanted to give me a second chance. He'd even offered
to take care of my family's financial situation. He hadn't asked anything
dirty of me. I was so stupid. I slapped the envelope against my forehead
and the seal broke. A few bills fell out, hundreds.

"Holy Shit!" I exclaimed, this time attracting a disapproving look from an
old lady in the other aisle. "Sorry ma'am!" She grunted at me and went back
to her novel.

I pried open the envelope and tried to discreetly count the bills. There
were twenty crisp bills in there. They couldn't be real. I didn't even know
what a hundred dollar bill looked like. Paired with the five that had
fallen into my lap that made $2,500. I looked around again, this time
checking for thieves. I stuffed the envelope back down into my backpack so
I could look at it more discreetly. Next to the hundreds was a piece of
paper.

"Happy birthday, Lincoln. Tomorrow your world explodes," it read. Below it
was his signature in thick, black ink that looped in eloquent cursive,
"Samir Mohammed Hamad."

********

"No way," my dad said when I got into his truck and signed all that had
happened. "That just doesn't sound right."

"It is, dad," I assured him. "He wants me to start right away and..." I
didn't know how to explain it honestly. It really didn't even make sense to
me.

So I lied, "He said they are desperate for people who can interpret sign
language. Apparently it's a big deal in the middle east." I felt a stab at
my heart for lying to my father and even worse for doing it so easily.

"Well thank God I'm deaf! 45 years later it finally paid off!" he signed
with a laugh. I saw a tear form at the corner of his eyes. "I knew you
would be ok. I knew you would make me proud. I knew you were the one I
wouldn't have to worry about." He sniffed back a few tears. I don't think
I'd seen him cry in years.

"Aww dad, no don't cry. We're going to be ok. I'm going to make sure you
don't have to break your back trying to give us a nice life. This money is
for you. We can pay off bills and the rent for the trailer. Maybe we can
get a nicer one! He says I will make a lot of money and he can have some
sent to you each month." I was signing a mile a minute as we sat there in
the station's commuter lot.

We went and filled my dad's truck with gas. I don't think the gauge needle
remembered how to go that far. He insisted that we stop somewhere before
heading back up into the mountains.

"It's your birthday, Link," he signed, "You need to buy something for
yourself. Some new clothes maybe." He was so proud of me.

We went to a department store in the mall before leaving Valencia. I picked
out two new shirts. One was a blue v-neck shirt with white stripes across
the chest. It fit me snugly, showed off the pecs I had worked hard on at
the school gym this spring. The other was more for business. It was a nice
button up with almost the same blue color as the one Mr. Hamad had worn. It
certainly wasn't as expensive.

I got a pair of jeans that were the right size and then I picked out two
new pairs of flannel boxers. I knew I would torch the old ones when I got
home. I'd spent enough but my dad insisted that I also get shoes. I was
just going to look to make him happy, but I found a nice pair of blue deck
shoes. They would go with the two shirts I had bought.

We stopped at the grocery store and stocked up on the way home. I made sure
my dad had a lot of steak and good vegetables for meals for the week. My
sister would flip out when she saw it all. I was a man now, taking care of
my family. It was a pride I hadn't felt before. It filled my chest and
strained my muscles.

**********

The next morning everyone got up early and went with me to the train
station. Dad, my sister, two older brothers, we all piled into dad's truck
to see me off. I started to feel uncomfortable at my sudden rise within the
family. I was sure my brothers were brewing resentment. I pushed that
thought out of my head though. Making sure they would not have to worry
anymore was worth it all. It was worth everything.

I took the train back down to Los Angeles. I had on my new shoes and jeans
with the button-up shirt. The other shirt and the other pair of new boxers
was in my small duffle bag. I had taken a small plastic photo album and my
dodgers cap and pajamas. I'd gelled my blonde hair up in spikes. It
wouldn't slick back like Mr. Hamad's hair. That took training.

I was outside his office 15 minutes early and checked in with his
secretary. He wasn't in yet, she told me. I took a seat in the waiting room
by the window.

Los Angeles laid out before me like a slab of concrete punctuated by a
mismatch of architectural hits and misses. I'd never seen it like this. We
took a field trip once a year in school. I'd gone to the tarpits, the
getty, the zoo. In High School I was on the math team and we once went to a
school up in the hills for a competition. It proved we were idiots, but we
did get a participation prize and free pizza.

And now here I was, staring over it like my kingdom. I wanted to rule it
some day. I would work hard here. I would do whatever weird cultural thing
he wanted and this would be mine. someday...

"You are early, you listened," a surprised voice said from behind me,
interrupting my fantasy. I turned to see Mr Hamad standing over me. He had
on a red button-up shirt with a matching silk tie and nice pants.

"Yes sir, I am here and waiting and thank you so much for my gift, I..." I
started.

"Your gift?" he stated with amusement. "You will earn that, little
president. You will earn what is given to you, for better or worse."

"Yes, yes sir. I definitely," I scrambled to my feet. He shoved a black
leather workcase into my chest. I grabbed my duffel bag and scrambled
behind him to his office. I made a mental note to stop blubbering like an
idiot around him. It definitely didn't build confidence.

He didn't comment on my outfit or ask me to get naked. I guess that was a
good sign. He walked me through his filing system and started to explain,
impatiently, what his business was about.

His secretary came in and set a delivered box on the edge of his desk.

"Oh, that will be your laptop, go ahead and set it up." he said to me, "I
needed a break anyways. I'll be back in 5."

I opened the box to find a shiny new laptop with an apple on it. He had
said it was mine. I'd never had anything so nice. I tried my best to walk
through the setup before he came back, but I was still finishing the
updates.

He returned with a blonde man in an impressive suit trailing behind him.

"Oh," Mr. Hamad said as though he'd forgotten he'd hired me. "This is your
replacement," he said to the man with him while pointing a finger towards
me.

"Oh,. Hi. I'm Lincoln," I went and offered him my hand. He was fit but
slight, his fancy suit made him look a little gay. When he opened his
mouth, his tone confirmed his sexuality.

"He is adorable! Little Ken doll. He's awfully young though, but you always
did like that," he said to Mr. Hamad without shaking my hand. He spoke
about me like I was a dog who wouldn't understand.  "I'm Caleb," he said as
though I needed to write it down.

"Pleased to meet you, Caleb. You were Mr. Hamad's old assistant?" I asked
with a smile.

"Old? I'm 25," his eyes burned into me and I heard Mr. Hamad give a genuine
laugh as he went to his desk.

"Oh uh... No, I... I meant former. Sorry, former, not old. Definitely not old
sir, um Caleb," I fumbled.

"Oh yes," Mr. Hamad called over, "I forgot to mention that Lincoln tends to
blubber on with words. Add that to my list of things to fix about him."

"I was NEVER," Caleb punctuated the last word and then repeated it, "NEVER
Mr. Hamad's assistant. I was his cub. You will learn the difference. Now I
am in charge of his California operations. You will get used to taking
orders from me when you are in town."

"Yes sir, I will. Of course, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," I started.

"You see? He blubbers," Mr. Hamad called from behind me to interrupt my
awkward word stream.

"I do," I said and then stopped myself.

That got a laugh and an adoring smile from Caleb who was a good six inches
shorter than me. "He's cute, Samir, keep him close or I might steal him."
Caleb put his hand on my shoulder and let it slide down my right arm. He
squeezed my bicep as he spoke. I blushed, hoping Mr. Hamad would rescue me
from the gay. But I didn't move or flinch at his touch. I was determined to
not fuck things up like I had done yesterday.

"Oh," Caleb said as he turned to leave and then turned back to me. He
raised his hands and signed to me, "I almost forgot, you sign, right?"

"Yes, it was my first language," I signed back excitedly. "I signed with
the guy on facetime yesterday during my interview." I smiled. For some
reason, knowing he signed created an instant friendship between us. I felt
a big grin spreading across my face.

"That was Emerson. You will want to keep him happy. He is key to keeping
Samir happy. Don't forget that when you meet him," Caleb signed and then
leaned up to kiss my cheek.

"Thank you. Any tips you have. I can use them," I signed back and then
Caleb left.

I went back to setting up the beautiful new laptop Mr. Hamad had given me.
He had me sync the calendar to his and it instantly filled with a billion
appointments and reminders.

"That is one of your jobs, keep me going," he said and then set me up with
email and everything else I would need.

By the time we finished my stomach started to growl. I hadn't packed a
sandwich today, but I'd kept twenty dollars of the money he had given me.
The rest was for my family.

"Lunch, you need lunch," he said as I was knelt next to his chair helping
him adjust a picture on his computer of some property he was purchasing.
"We can get lunch at the hotel and drop off your things. We'll finish the
workday there. Come!"

He stood and I went for my duffel bag and then his work case but he stopped
me and said I needed to get his laptop as well as my own. I loaded his into
his work case and then packed up mine in the new carrier that came with it.
I was carrying a ton now, but I kept up with him as we made our way to the
elevators.

"Wow, nice car, sir," I exclaimed when we got down to the parking garage
and he opened the trunk of a shiny new silver mercedes sports coupe."Would
you like me to drive you?" I asked desperate for the chance to feel it
move.

"No, that's quite alright. It's a rental, my cars at home can actually
perform." He said nonchalantly as I loaded his things into the trunk. I
packed them nicely and closed the trunk gently before following him. He
opened the passenger side door for me and I slid into slick leather seats
that held me like an angel's cloud. "Seatbelt!" he barked, interrupting my
pleasure moment, before closing my door.

*******

His hotel was close to West Hollywood, a towering glass structure that
looked brand new. I struggled again with our work bags and my clothes. He
seemed amused, but offered no help.

We ate in his top floor suite at a circular glass table by the window after
he changed into a pair of workout shorts and a t-shirt. I was getting used
to seeing LA from high perches.

"Caleb is very nice! I'm sure with the training you gave him as your intern
that he will be very successful with your operations here," I complimented
before shoving a forkful of salad into my mouth.

"No," he laughed, "Caleb is a failure at business but I needed something to
keep him busy and distracted from spending my money."

"Your money, sir? Why would he spend what he does not earn?"

"Because, little president, I did not discipline him properly. I gave in to
his whining. I let him get away with disrespect and laziness. I was young
and.... I will not make the same mistake with you," he said it as though
Caleb was more than just an assistant.

"Definitely sir! I am ready to learn what you have to teach me. I can take
orders well. I was going to join the army if this didn't work out!" I
assured with a smile. It earned a nod from him.

*****

After lunch, Mr. Hamad left to workout. He had me enter sets of numbers
into spreadsheets while he was gone. There was no music or tv on to
distract me and so I finished before he returned. I hoped he would be
proud.

I looked around the hotel suite. There was a bar, a living room, the small
dining area where we had just eaten and the. A door which I presumed led to
the bedroom.

I needed to pee and didn't see a bathroom. It must be in the bedroom. I
started to go in but he had it locked. I danced around trying to distract
myself.

After what felt like an eternity, a very sweaty man returned to his suite.
I bounced as he entered, "please sir, the restroom!" I begged.

He looked annoyed and took a sip from his water bottle. "And the work? Show
me first," he stayed by the bar indicating I should bring the computer to
him.

I brought it to him and opened it. I was crossing my legs and feeling a
pain in my stomach. He scrolled through the sheets and pretended to find
little mistakes but I saw the smile on his lips. He enjoyed making me wait.

"Please please!" I begged but he held up a finger to silence me.

Finally, he fished a key from his pocket and let me into the bedroom. The
bathroom was on the other side. I ran over and was about to close the door
when his strong hand leaned against it.

"I have needs as well," he said and followed me inside. I didn't have the
power to argue so I raced to the toilet and pushed the seat up. I let go of
a heavy stream as soon as I got my cock out. My dick was rock hard so I had
trouble keeping it pointed in the bowl. I wasn't sure if that was from my
severe need to piss, or from being watched.

"Keep it in the bowl, does the little president need a lesson on that as
well?" I heard his voice dangerously close behind me. I smelled his sweat
as he peeled off his shirt and tossed it to the floor. It was the heavy
musk of a grown man of power. In all of my years in high school locker
rooms, nothing else compared. It knocked me a bit, but I couldn't help
taking a deep breath.

"Oh!" I jumped a little and splashed some on the floor. "I'll clean it,
sorry sir."

"Yes, you will. Now get out, I need to shower before I go meet Caleb for
drinks." He ordered.

I finished and tucked myself away. I turned to see his naked backside as he
stepped into the glass shower. His body was pure steel, muscles everywhere
they should be on a man of his status. I found myself feeling jealous. I
had a long way to go to get to his size. I washed my hands and tried to
force myself not to watch his silhouette in the foggy glass door. I saw him
stretch this way and that, soaping his shadowy body. I was fascinated. I
had never seen a muscle mass like that up close or naked. It was a work of
art, a work of determination.

"Out, Lincoln! Leave... or join me," he called from behind the glass to let
me know my admiration, fascination were not unnoticed. I heard him laugh as
I split from the room.

I felt like a complete pervert. What was I doing? I wasn't into guys like
that. I had spent hours in the showers and locker rooms with my teammates
and I never got turned on like that.

It was admiration, I suddenly named as though that excused everything. I
just admired him and wanted to learn from him. Isn't there a level of
sexual attraction we hold to all of our idols?

Pro baseball players who can knock it out of the park; The rocker whose hit
I can't stop playing on repeat and banging my head to on the school bus;
That skater whose videos I watch on youtube and try to practice the tricks
he does. If they were in that shower with Mr. Hamad, I couldn't turn away
either.

And then I got hard thinking about the four of them in the shower. What was
wrong with me? I was turning into a total hornball around this guy.

*******

I was back in the living room working on the next assignment he had left
for me when he came out of the bedroom. He had on a tight black t-shirt and
red shorts that hugged his bottom. He slipped on red canvas deck shoes and
came over to see what I was working on.

"I'm just going down to the bar on the corner to meet Caleb for drinks. You
will finish working here and then tidy up in the bathroom. Collect my gym
clothes and work clothes into the laundry bag. Housekeeping already came
today so for the rest of the day the job is yours. I should be back for
dinner. If not, I will have something sent up for you. Do not leave the
suite unless you hear the fire alarm. I left clothes for you to change into
when you finish work here. Be good, make me money."

He leaned over me with his cheek close to mine, both facing my laptop's
screen. His arm was spread across my back, gripping the armrest on the
other side of me. I felt his warmth and my body stirred. His cologne was
back in full force, but now it seemed palatable, nice. He rubbed his hand
through my hair to mess it up and then left.

I tried to finish the work. My mind kept thinking about seeing his naked
body. "Admiration, not gay, Admiration, nothing queer about it," I kept
telling myself, but my dick was hard just thinking about it.

I pushed away from the table and closed the laptop. Sitting here boned up
wasn't going to get my work done. I knew it had been awhile since I'd
jerked off. Maybe that would help.

I went to the bathroom and grabbed at my bulging jeans. I leaned against
the marble counter and tried to picture a hot girl kneeling in front of me
with a willing mouth. I'd shove it into her. Well, that had never actually
happened to me, but I saw it once in a porn clip I'd watched at a friend's
house.

"Fuck yeah you want it," I said to the imagined girl sucking on me. I had
pulled out my meat and was working it in my hands. I was rock hard with the
need to release all the tension that had built up over the last few days. I
unbuttoned my shirt and stepped out of my pants. I put my clothes on the
dry part of the counter.

I turned back to lean against the counter, but the imagined girl had
disappeared. I was back to reality as my eyes caught his heap of gym
clothes on the floor near the shower. On top of it was a black jockstrap
with red stripes. I'd never seen one that wasn't plain white. I wore them
for baseball.

I don't know why, but I went to pick it up. His pungent musk hit my nose
and watered my eyes as soon as my fingers touched it. I turned it over and
looked inside the pouch. It was well worn and the pouch was stretched in
the middle as though someone had used it for a sling shot.

I brought it closer to my face and pushed my boxers to the floor. I stepped
forward wearing only my white socks and took a breath of his scent. I
turned towards the mirror, saw my white, muscled frame. I felt a wave of
guilt hit me. I had my dick in one hand and my boss's black jockstrap in
the other sniffing it close to my face. My hair was still tousled from
where he'd mussed it before leaving.

I closed my eyes again and stroked my cock. And then for some strange
reason I pictured my girlfriend. It was the night I had my dad's truck and
drove her way up to the overlook over our small town. There she was, in my
head, laid out on the blanket in the back of my dad's old pickup truck. She
was naked and playing with her pussy and I was rock hard and ready to go at
her.

Just as I was about to slip in, I felt a heavy hand rub across my chest and
I looked down to see his coffee colored muscles. He pulled me back against
his hair, rippled chest. I knew I couldn't put it in her like I wanted to.
Instead he pushed me to the side. I was on my knees and watched as Mr.
Hamad, naked and stroking a huge club that dangled between his legs, pushed
into her. She was in pain but loving it. Her eyes looked over at me and
seemed to say, "Lincoln could never get even close to filling me the way
this man does."

I wasn't hurt by my hijacked fantasy. I was strangely turned on watching
him in my head fill and stretch her. Something inside me told me she would
never let me near her again now that she had been with him. She was begging
for it as he pounded into her. I knew I wouldn't last long with that scene
playing in my head.

I leaned back against the cold marble counter of the bathroom and fisted my
hard 8 inches until my body tensed, rocked, and sprayed all over my chest
and the mirror. I collapsed back against the counter and pushed myself up
to sit on it. My hard muscled ass felt warm against the cold marble. I
leaned back against the mirror feeling my cum squish against my back form
where I had sprayed on it.

My chest heaved as I regained my breath. I still held the jockstrap
covering my mouth and nose. I breathed it deeply to get my air back, get
his scent deep into my lungs. It was the hottest fucking fantasy I'd ever
fisted to, ever dreamt of. Watching him take her like I never could was
something now burned into my brain.

One last breath and I let it slip down to my chest. I was back to reality
and feeling strange about my mind's choice in fantasies.

I scrambled off the counter and started wiping the cum with his jockstrap.
It would go to the bottom of the laundry bag. I started picking up his
other clothes as my cock dangled, softening but still dripping the last
bits of cum.

I put everything into the laundry bag including my work clothes. He hadn't
told me to, but I assumed they would need to be laundered as well. Maybe
he'd want me to use the pay machine on my own? I'd ask him later.

And then my eyes caught sight of a pile of rocks covered in coffee-colored
skin that appeared next to me. He looked confused and then amused and then
slightly angry. I froze with a look of severe shame. Our eyes met in the
mirror but then I lowered mine quickly. Maybe he hadn't seen this.

"You always tidy up in the nude? Maybe you like being naked in my
presence?" he laughed and brought a hand to my shoulder.

"No sir, sorry. I thought you were still out. I was going to catch a quick
shower before I got changed," I tried to shrug it off, look like things
were innocent.

"Well then," he patted my bottom. "Off with you then," he said it with a
wink that I couldn't quite figure the meaning of. "Come out for dinner when
you're finished and don't daly around."

"Yes sir," I set down the bag of laundry and went to the shower. I cleaned
myself up and then found he had set clothes for me on the marble counter.
It was a small pair of light blue skimpy briefs. I tried to pull them up
and they struggled with my ass and held my cock a little too firmly, but
the material was very stretchy and soft. There was no tag to read what it
was made of.

I turned to look at myself in the mirror. They certainly did a lot more for
my ass than the boxers. I strained them to the limit but they had a lot of
give. I laughed to myself thinking about what the girls would think of me
in this. A little too gay for my taste.

I pulled on the small white shorts and blue tank top that matched my
briefs. I saw myself when the neck of the tank cleared my eyes. I stood up
proudly and smoothed it down over my muscles. It hugged my body and made me
look like those guys in the fitness magazines in the coach's office. I
turned and flexed for myself.

Mr. Hamad was waiting for me in the living room area. He told me to set the
laundry bag out in the hall and he'd call down to the maid service to take
them. We ate steak and talked about the job. He said we would only be in LA
for another week before he took me home to his country.

"Where is that, sir?" I asked when he said it's name was Satra.

"On the Persian Gulf, a kingdom of powerful lions like myself." He said.
That brought on more questions, but he wasn't so inclined to talk.

I covered the dishes when we finished and set them outside the room. It was
getting late and I gave a yawn and stretch when I came back inside and
walked back to where he sat on the couch. He took the opportunity and
reached up to scratch at my abs. I flinched and laughed.

"So ticklish," he mused to himself. "Let's get ready for bed."

I took the couch and slept in the clothes he'd laid out for me. He had a
small, thin blanket and pillow set out next to it.

I had the craziest dreams that night. He was in them, going one by one
through the girls I'd messed around with and showing them how "a real man"
should take them. My dick was hard all night and I woke up with cum stains
in my briefs.

As the morning sun laid warm rays across my cheek, I awoke and looked out
the window. My world had indeed exploded.

**********
Thank you for reading and please let me know what you thought.
-Emri
tarzanacide@gmail.com