Date: Mon, 30 Mar 2015 20:40:07 +0100
From: Jonathan Forrester <niftyencomiums@gmail.com>
Subject: The Symposium - Chapter One

The Symposium
Chapter 01: Iain's Interview

This story is a work of fiction. Resemblances to real persons, places or
events would be extremely surprising.


A summer shower had started ten minutes into Iain's ten mile run. The sun
was out and the temperature was a half-decent 25 degrees. So at least the
rain was warm, Iain had mused to himself. In a vest and jogging shorts,
Iain was wet with sweat and the provincial Scottish weather. Iain's train
of thought dwelled on this and he was sure his cousin Callum would be quick
to point out they'd had two good summers and a mild winter which was hardly
consistent with the rain-swept heath stereotype that Scotland carried.

Ever the optimist, Callum would choose to see this as a sign of things to
come – a benefit of global warming perhaps. Ever the realist, Iain would
reply it would probably piss down for a year and a half to make up for his
naivetι. Iain was enjoying the warm summer morning but wouldn't be
confusing his home town with Magaluf any time soon.

He's spent most of his run thinking about his final exam (again). He
retained a quiet confidence he'd get the grades he was looking for. After
taking a year out before starting his honours degree, he was now 21 years
old and looking for a half-decent job. One that would pay better than the
pennies he was getting paid just now. As well as graduating Callum
persuaded Iain to also applied for Accreditation of Prior Learning to
become accredited personal trainers ("Options!" Callum told him, "Don't
want to look like we're sitting with our thumbs up our arses, do we." He'd
also said an Iain had ignored the obvious joke). To that end, he'd applied
for the job of personal trainer at an esteemed gym on the other side of the
city and had gotten a reply this morning.

The mail had arrived as he'd raced out the door just over an hour ago. Iain
open a carton of juice straight from the fridge and drained half of it in
ten seconds flat. He took the slim white envelope from the kitchen table
where Callum had left it neatly stacked along with a `this is not a
circular' letter and something from his local MP. Iain slit the fold of the
envelope using a kitchen knife and extracted the letter. An invitation to
an interview no less.

"The prestigious Symposium Athletics Club would like to invite
you... please wear the following... interview will involve an intensive
physical component..." Iain spoke allowed to himself but began to mutter
under his breath the italicised sentence near the end of the letter. "It is
imperative you do not discuss your interview or potential employment with
anyone; any such discussion could invalidate your candidacy." The final
sentence pointed out that the club's prestige meant they catered for high
status clients who appreciate anonymity and discretion – hence the need
to compartmentalise and minimise the number of people who knew about the
employment lists.



"Morning." Callum said, entering the kitchen door behind Iain.

"Oh, yea..." he replied, stuffing the letter back in the envelope. "G'
morning."

"You alright?" Callum asked. "Anything good?" he tapped the remaining mail
pile.

"Eh, no. Not really." Iain felt guilty lying to Callum. They told each
other everything. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g! "You got anything this morning?"

"Same as you." He replied. "Bank statement, in the black if you were
wondering. And that MP chap of ours is talking about getting a filter for
the traffic light at meadow road."

"Goodo. Only took a fatality to swing that one, eh." Callum said dryly.

"Wheesht." But he smiled. Callum always smiled at Iain's sarcastic and
pithy sense of humour. It was a nice smile too, Iain noticed (not for the
first time).

The boys shared many similarities. Both were a couple of inches over six
foot. Both had very short blonde hair with the faintest tint of
ginger. Both had handsome faces and carried athletic builds, a sparse
scattering of chest hair between the nipples and fine fair hairs on their
legs. Indeed, even their mothers admitted they were similar enough to pass
as twins.

Until they hit puberty they passed for identical, but even now the
similarities were so slight as to be negligible. Their respective fathers
had been identical twins so the boys shared their dad's looks. Except the
eyes; where Iain's are green, Callum has clever blue eyes. The boys always
got on well and when Callum was twelve his parents died; his mother of
liver cancer and his father from the sudden stop at the bottom of his
office building.

They had talked about it on and off for years, and still occasionally did,
and Callum often expressed the pain he felt as a boy – to lose his
mother like that and then to lose a father who didn't love him enough to
carry on for him. It wasn't that simple of course and it was Iain who
rationalised that it wasn't about a lack of love but a abundance of it –
Callum's father had loved his wife so much he could not live without
her. Leaving Callum behind was a selfish side effect but it wasn't that he
was not loved. Iain found it hard to say things like that – sensitive
sap was more Callum's thing.

After they died, Callum moved in with his closest family – his dad's
brother and his wife, and of course his cousin Iain. They grew up together,
shared together, watched the last episode Friday Night Lights together. It
helped too that both boys parents were rather wealthy and Callum's father
had left a healthy inheritance, not that that made up for losing his mum
and dad. It had however give them the cash they needed to study Physiology
and Sport Science (hon.) and to afford an indulgently expensive house of
their own...



Callum looked expectantly at Iain, who realised he'd missed
something. "Sorry, what?" he asked.

"Earth to Iain... You back on planet Earth? Will you be in for dinner? Or
have you got other plans?" Callum repeated patiently, after the gentle
teasing of course.

"Yea." He replied. "And also yea." He smiled amiably. "You know my `other
plans' evaporated when Natasha moved to Manchester with her suspiciously
intimate `friend'."

"I know. Just checking you weren't meeting up with some of the boys."
Callum replied.

"Like Craig?"

"Shut it!"

The rest of Monday was warm and dry and uneventful. The late afternoon
passed into early evening and featured alcoholic beverages – both boys
choosing to mix their drinks. Neither were working today but and both held
part-time hours that paid a few pounds above minimum wage but Iain knew he
could do better. They both could. Iain hoped to have a better job by the
end of the week, his interview coming on Thursday gave him a few days to
prepare.



On Thursday morning Iain rose at six and ran like he was being chased. He
enjoyed pushing himself every once in a while. He passed far fewer of the
regular fellow runners and dog walkers than usual, but he was completing
his run rather earlier than normal.

When he got home he ate breakfast then showered. He stood naked under the
stream of hot water and pushed his hand over his cock. He wasn't really one
for wanking in the shower but his penis responded favourably to the
attention after a couple of days amnesty. His invitation to interview had
instructed him not to masturbate for 48 hours before the interview as there
would be a test of his sexual health. Iain tried to recall how the letter
had phrased the rationale...

Due to the holistic needs of our clients and their tailored training
regeime it is important we can meet their individualised needs. This might
also require sexual health information and education that, as your
employer, we must ensure you are capable of demonstrating.

...Iain had read the interview invitation and the attached instructions
several times and had prepared himself for the possibility of
embarrassment. As if! Iain wasn't easily embarrassed – and reminded
himself why he ought not to be as he looked in the mirror while drying
himself. If Michelangelo was around today he'd push David off the pedestal
to make way for him. Actually, Iain would share the pedestal if the pay was
good enough.

This too had occurred to him, the club was indeed prestigious and notorious
also. He knew only pretty boys worked at the club and their client group
was, not exclusively, extensively homosexual. Offended by the drooling
attention of men? Yes, grossly offended that someone thinks I'm hot enough
to wank over. Er, not - Iain would enjoy the attention.

Iain wrapped a towel around his waist and headed to his bedroom, peeping
out of the top hall window as he passed – enjoying the early morning sun
on the street and the people passing down the road towards the bus stop or
town centre, or beyond towards the city centre. And he always felt a thrill
at the thought of being seen from the street below – almost naked, the
towel low on his hips. Today the mail man got a look.

In his room he tossed the towel on the bed without even closing his door –
he only shared the house with Callum and felt little need for
boundaries. His bedroom window, like Callum's, faced the street out front
but still he showed contempt for covering up. Let them look was Iain's
philosophy. His skin was almost dry, his hair only damp and his cock was
long and supple from his shower-borne cock fluffing.

He's just about flashed a school bus once – not on purpose per se, just
incidentally. Now he needed to get dressed (as the letter had instructed);
jogging shorts just above knee length and a short sleeve t-shirt - down
stairs he slipped on a pair of trainers without socks. He set out with a
back pack containing his personal portfolio (no bastard was going to bother
looking) and a change of clothes – long joggers, a hooded top and a
towel.



He took the bus. Callum had taught him to drive but every so often he felt
he was living too much off of his cousin's back. It was Callum's
inheritance that had bought the house in a good area and his (albeit second
hand) car. Their jobs paid for utilities, though Iain knew Callum still had
significant savings.

Callum was savvy and clever – probably cleverer than him, which made him
wonder why Callum had chosen a similar career route. Iain asked him once
but in a rare sarcastic moment (sarcasm was really more of Iain's thing),
Callum had replied "I want to work with pretty men."

Perhaps Callum was being half fun but wholly earnest.

The bus stopped a few streets away from the gym, barely a five minute
walk. He drew admiring looks from patrons and staff as he entered
reception; giving his name and purpose to the trim solid-chested man behind
the desk who asked him to take a seat.

Directly inside the entrance to the building was an impressive open-plan
foyer with a small sitting area, where Iain took a seat, with coffee and
vending machines. Iain's back was to the entrance, so patrons were entering
from behind - so to speak. Facing the reception desk, Iain scanned what he
could see. On the wall to the left of the desk was a glass lift leading to
the upper floor, to its right a door led to a corridor that accessed a
variety of training rooms: weights, tennis, badminton, squash, basketball
and a machine room (treadmill, cycling machine rowing machine etc).

From his research Iain knew this corridor turned right at 90 degree angle
at its end, and then again at the end of that corridor – ultimately
joining the back corner of the locker room. Indeed the locker room could be
seen directly behind the reception desk, its wide entrance providing a
tantalising glimpse of several men who were only just out of view as they
dressed or locked up their bags.

To the right of the reception desk was a coffee bar that's main wall was
made of glass and overlooked the swimming pool. Again, Iain knew there was
a similar space for spectators upstairs to watch the pool and a few of the
seminar/ conference rooms would also overlook the pool.

Iain noticed a few men who entered checked him out as they passed and ever
looked back at him with pleasing smiles. It took a few minutes to realise
they could probably see up his loose shorts and take a peek at his cock.

"Mr Carter? Iain Carter?" asked a tall slim man. Bald but sexy, with
chiselled features. He extended his hand as Iain stood. "I'm Mr
Douglas. Managing director"



They shook hands. Firm grip!

"Iain is fine... if that's ok with you?" he replied. He realised he felt
nervous.

"Iain, good. But I am Mr Douglas, yes? I'll be leading your
interview. Would you like to come this way?" Mr Douglas had a way of asking
questions that could be either rhetorical or not. "We'll take the glass
lift up."

Iain stepped into the lift with Mr Douglas who stood a little closer than
was probably necessary. He reach over Iain and pushed the button for the
upper level.

"Are you a local man?" Mr Douglas asked.

"Yes..." a second passed while Iain considered whether to call the man Mr
Douglas or sir. "...Mr Douglas. I live in a town just outside the city -
Foxhill. My parents used to live close to here."

"And now?" he asked mildly.

"They don't." Iain quipped, a little too late to stop himself. Never joke
at an interview: interview etiquette 101.

Mr Douglas smiled though and laughed softly. Ian could see he was genuinely
amused.

"They moved to San Francisco – my dad got work there. A ten year
secondment." Iain felt his mouth growing dry.

"Lucky man." Mr Douglas replied, stepping out of the lift and leading the
way to conference room one.

Inside the rather enormous room Iain noticed a large oak table and the wall
that faced to door which was almost entirely made of glass and overlooked
the swimming pool. Behind the desk were two men.

"Iain, this is Doctor Ledger and Mr Simon Wright, one of our physio
staff. Gentlemen, this is Iain Carter." Mr Douglas had a polite Scottish
accent; gentle but firm.

They all shook hands and made polite introductions. Iain was instructed to
sit on the opposite side of the desk and was asked questions, without any
sense intimidation, for about twenty minutes. Iain was graced with a glass
of water and he felt himself relax. Not too relaxed however because every
so often he remembered an open legged posture meant flashing his goods. He
thought a bit more and opened his legs to increase his chances of
employment.

"Do you have any more questions Iain?" Mr Douglas asked. Iain did not, so
the senior man continued, "Shall we get down to the physical?"

"Sure." Said Iain.



"Would you like to stand up please?" Dr Ledger instructed. "And take off
your t-shirt."

Iain stood and lifted his arms, slipping the t-shirt off. Simon took it
from him and put it on a table by the window. The doctor checked his arm
muscles, his eyes and ears. The doctor's touch gentle but surprisingly
arousing; he explained he was checking for underlying muscular defects –
nodules, lesions etc. His thumb rubbed a mole on Iain's back. The doctor
knelt down as he slid his hands up Iain's legs, the tips of his fingers
passing into the legs of his shorts. Iain could feel his cock thicken.

"Slip your shoes off, please." The doctor asked, not yet standing.

Iain toed each off and again Simon removed them and transferred them across
the room, setting them beside the t-shirt. Iain was asked to stand with his
feet together and eyes closed. Then to take a few steps forward,
toe-to-heel.

Iain knew the doctor was likely observing his gait and balance - and
probably sneaking a peak. Soon the doctor began to examine his legs, which
felt very much like fondling. Iain could feel the head of his cock begin to
press against the inside of his shorts as is thickened and lengthened.

He'd never really been touched like this before – not by a man. Iain was
a little surprised to feel aroused by the doctor's touch, but it had been a
while since he had been touched intimately so Iain ignored the fact a man
was making him hard.

"I understand you have a cousin?" the doctor asked as he stood and
indicated for Simon, younger and cuter than the doctor (indeed younger and
cuter than Iain) to continue the muscular examination. "I haven't checked
his Achilles yet." He told Simon who nodded.

"Yes." Iain answered the doctor's question. "I have a cousin." He could
hear his breathless voice. He could feel sweat on his brow, his back, his
chest. His chest was rising and falling hard and his heart was thundering
inside. Simon's touch was even more sensual. His cock throbbed against his
shorts – his sensitive head rubbing.

"I ask because I'm given to understand you are very similar?" he said.

Iain did not vocalise and answer. He moaned, which was sort of an answer.

"We vet out employees thoroughly." Said Mr Douglas who had not moved from
behind the desk. "Your similarities are quite striking, I believe? And you
have even gained similar qualifications. An unscrupulous person might use
that similarity to share this job, perhaps take the odd day off and send
his doppelganger in his stead." Mr Douglas had a glint in his eye. "Oh, I'm
by no means suggesting you would do such a thing and while I would like to
simply trust you, I rather think it would be prudent to find the
differences between you and... Callum?" Mr Douglas made the final point as
if searching for the answer but Iain was confident that he knew the name
quite nicely without such considered thought.

"Is he interviewing too?" Iain asked.

Mr Douglas realised Iain was cannier that he'd given him credit
for. "Confidentiality, remember?" Mr Douglas replied.

Simon provided distraction by sliding his hand from Iain's left ankle, up
his calf, up the back of his thigh, into his shorts – a glancing touch
to the bottom of Iain's gluteus maximus. Simon looked up at him and gave a
wink.

"I'll examine your penis now." The doctor said unequivocally.



Simon stepped aside so the doctor could tug the front of Iain's shorts
down, resting the waist band under his scrotum. His penis bounced slightly
and stuck straight out. His cock head was already gleaming and his penis
was so hard the foreskin was completely retracted.

Iain wasn't sure how to feel about this - being aroused by a man and being
watched by men while he got hard. But Iain was confident, blasι and more
than that shrewd. If this was how he could get the job, then this is what
he'd do.

The doctor traced a pounding vein on the top of Iain's cock before wrapping
his hand around it and squeezing so pre-cum oozed from the tip. The
doctor's thumb smeared the seminal fluid across the head of his penis and
Iain moaned. He was quickly forgetting this was meant to be a physical exam
for a job. Sex sells he supposed, might as well sell it. Never the less, it
felt rather like being wanked off. But Iain like being wanked off so that
was ok.

"Let's take these off completely." The doctor said, stepping back to
promote Iain to do it himself, a subtle psychological manipulation – if
he did it, HE was doing it. Iain was choosing to comply - because he could
refuse, couldn't he?

Iain pushed the shorts down at the waist so they bundled at his knees then
slipped them to his ankles with a few gentle movements. Once around his
ankles, he slipped one foot out and lifted the other. With his foot raised
and shorts now within reach of his hand, Iain took them in his grip. Iain
was naked and resplendent in the open plan conference room.

He looked deliberately towards the window overlooking the pool – looking
long enough to draw the attention of the men in the room's attention to
it. He was telling them he knew he might be watched, might be seen and he
didn't mind. Iain tossed the shorts towards the window where they snagged
on an upper latch and dangled there.

Iain was not totally naked and everything he owned was out of reach. Iain's
blasι exterior became arrogance. He put his hands behind his head and
slipped them down to his neck – exposing everything.

Then the door opened.



"Sorry I'm late." Said the newcomer – a tall, dark and very handsome man
in a navy polo neck t-shirt and navy shorts.

His black hair was sleek, his beard tidy and sexy, his chest was muscled
and the low cut of his top exposed black chest hair. Iain guessed he was a
little older than him too, though it was hard to age him: thirty perhaps,
plus or minus five years. Never the less, Iain was kind of impressed by
him. That was new, Iain had never noticed himself noticing men before. The
new comer looked Iain over, undressing him with his eyes. So to speak.

"Sorry, man. I'm Findlay - Finn. One of the personal trainer's here."

Finn crossed the room to shake Iain's hand. Iain dropped his hands from
behind his neck and they looked each other in the eye as they shook; not a
longing romantic look, more a who'll-blink-first sort of look. Neither
blinked but Finn had other interests. He nodded in concession to Mr Douglas
who winked, communicating something to the entire room. Dr Ledger and Simon
returned to their seats to enjoy the view and Finn took over the massaging
of Iain's cock.

"Shall I take his profile picture?" Simon asked before actually sitting,
his voice cracked a little as he said it.

"Yes. Good idea." Mr Douglas replied, almost imperceptibly his eyes moved
upwards. Iain noticed it though and realised the smoke detector above the
desk probably had a camera.



Iain smiled for the cameras. Simon took several photo's from varied angles,
some of his face like you would see on an ID card and many long shots
showing his completely exposed body. Photo's of his hard cock – the kind
of photo's he wouldn't even have let his ex have. And he had been having
sex with her.

Sex sells he reminded himself.

Iain wondered if he really believed this conceit. He had spent four years
of university with his fair share of women – a lot of people's fair
share of women, actually – and now he was exploring his sexuality in a
way adolescents usually do. It was... fascinating, stimulating. Yes, he did
believe the conceit.

Once that was out of the way, Finn began again. Resting Iain's cock in his
big hand, the tips of his fingers just brushing Iain's scrotum. "Rather
weighteous." He said, leaning in and kissing Iain on the lips.

The movement was so subtle and quick, the kiss so soft and the pressure so
light it was almost imperceptible – indeed the men behind the desk did
not seem to have noticed. Mr Douglas probably noticed, Iain doubted
anything got passed him.

Finn began to make long pulling strokes of Iain's cock with one hand and
with the other made circles with his fingers at the small of Iain's
back. Sweat made his back sleek and Finn's motions moved lower to the top
of Iain's arse crack. Iain's heart beat fast again. Finn transferred sweat
to his wanking hand and used it to lubricate Iain's cock and slake his cock
head.

A low whistle caught Iain's attention and he looked towards the window
overlooking the pool – some had noticed him but he had higher ground and
the angle was not really conducive to watching the show – not from his
present position in the middle of the room.

No, the whistle had come from the other side – from the door that Finn
had entered and not closed.



Two young men, a little younger than Iain's 21 years at least were watching
from the hallway. Behind them other staff passed and caught a good look but
reluctantly had other work to do and so moved on. Iain closed his eyes as
he began to reach climax.

When he next looked at the door, the two men were gone but another boy had
taken his place. He was dressed in white short shorts and a tiny polo neck
t-shirt. The shorts hid nothing, but from his not-insignificant distance
Iain could see the lad was hard. Finn's wet hand glided over Iain's cock
head and his hand moved faster, he was about to cum and felt obliged to
tell them.

The doctor stepped forward with a specimen container and Iain was afraid
he's cum so hard it could shatter the bottom of the container. But at the
last second Finn squatted down and took Iain's cock in his mouth and
sucked.

Iain's cock blew hot cum into Finn's mouth and once the first few eruptions
had cleared the distance-spewing potential of his orgasm, Finn withdrew. He
took the container from the doctor and collected a sample.

"We need this, is that ok?" he said to Iain, making no attempt to conceal
the wry tone of voice. Iain heard what he really meant – if you believe
that, you'll believe anything.

Iain moved his own hand to his cock and squeezed the last drops out, wiping
them on his thigh. His cock was still almost full length but
softening. Iain felt exhilarated – job interview my arse, he'd thought
after being stripped and fondled – but he was happy enough with the
result.

"Well," Mr Douglas said. "We'll let you know if you get the job."

Iain felt a pang of disappointment he could not himself
understand. Personally, he'd never gone for any label – gay straight,
bi, omnisexaul, metrosexual, pansexual, cissexual. But he'd enjoyed this
experience - more than he could have imagined and he would never have
imagined this.

Mr Douglas and Iain locked eyes, did the man know what Iain had been
thinking. Iain made a choice, a persuasion technique and mind-fuck just to
return the gesture after what he'd endured in the name of an interview and
throughout the `physical examination'. Iain crossed the room towards the
enormous window that overlooked the pool. He was fully exposed to the men
below – he reckoned there was about a dozen of them and most noticed him
quickly.

Iain made no attempt to cover up but instead reached up, exposing his arm
pit, and retrieved his shorts which still hung where they'd landed earlier.

The men were impressed.

Perplexed, but impressed.

Turned on, but impressed!

Iain lifted a foot to put them on just as he had removed them, then changed
his mind. Instead he turned his back on the window and bent over. Slipping
his feet into the shorts and pulling them up but leaving them hung low so
his pubes were just visible.



Mr Douglas was surprised and stunned by the audacity, Iain could tell. The
man stood and Ian slipped on his trainers – he did not put on his
vest. Instead Iain carried it with him in the same hand as he carried his
bag with the unread personal portfolio. No-one spoke, not even Finn who
winked and licked his upper lip but did not speak.

Mr Douglas offered to show him out. He pressed the button for the lift and
turned to face Iain. It was only now he really registered hut how tall Mr
Douglas must be – over 6ft 5. He looked down at (but not down on) Iain
and his low shorts and still thick cock and his shirtless torso and smiled.

"We have another interview but I'm confident we'll be asking you to join
the team. I hope to have two vacancies, though that was not my original
plan." The lift doors opened and they stepped inside. "Would you be
available for a joint, follow-up interview? If all goes well with my
short-listing today?" Mr Douglas asked. Usually his questions were more
instructions but Iain heard something in the voice this time. Mr Douglas
was not just telling him to come back, the man wanted him to come back.

"Yes, sir." Iain said, giving the S word a try and rather enjoying it. He
enjoyed the way it made Mr Douglas smile also.

The lift reached the bottom and opened. "I'll call you tonight if you're
needed for the second interview then. And please remember not to discuss
your potential employment with anyone."

"No problem." Iain replied, accepting Mr Douglas outstretched hand.

Ian stepped out of the lift and headed across the vast foyer for the exit.

"Don't pull those shorts up!" Mr Douglas said.

Iain stepped out into the sun and smiled a smile bigger than he ever had
before. He didn't pull the shorts up either – Iain skipped the bus and
walked home, pubes and ass crack visible all the way.



Chapter Two coming soon.

Write to me if you like the story: niftyencomiums@gmail.com