Becoming the Alpha Male

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College

As Dad prattled on I added an item to the list of things I’d never do when I grew up: tell war stories. You know, war stories. When some adult male (is it always men?) recounts a life event demonstrating that he is, or was, heroic, brilliant, wise, and/or brave. One of these stories might be interesting the first or second time told, but they are never told once or twice. They are endlessly repeated. The only reason I figured anyone listens is to gain an audience for his story. There’s an implicit bargain: I will pretend to be entertained by your story for the twentieth time if you pretend to like mine the nineteenth time you hear it

Still, it’s probably not a good sign that Dad had only one: How I Met Your Mom. It went like this. My grandfather, John Nicholas, who at the time owned the first of what was now a chain of car dealerships, threw a promotion: “St. Nick in October.” In exchange for his sponsoring an event for a Tulane University sorority, the girls agreed to work the show. Cute college girls sell cars. My mother, Jennifer, had recently pledged the sorority and was, as Dad told it, the cutest girl in the bunch. Grandad, who was quite the lech, spotted her immediately. Dad intervened to protect her. They started dating and soon married. What he did not say but was clear to anyone who could do the math, as had I, was that this particular bun was in the oven at the nuptials.

Dad picked this day to retell the story because he had come upon copies of the company newsletter recounting the promotion along with photographs taken that day. The photographer had certainly noticed Mom. While the newsletter featured a photograph of all the girls, many of the unused photographs featured Mom alone or posing with others. Dad was right: Mom was a knock-out. Her brown hair was cut short. She was wearing brand new tennis shoes, a tee shirt with the dealership’s logo, and tan shorts. She had been on the gymnastics team until her pregnancy; she was well-muscled and fit.

It would not be fair to say I dislike Dad. It would be fair to say I did not respect him. Family lore was that Grandad had tried to mold his son into a salesperson, but it didn’t take. Dad now worked in the finance department. He was apparently a talented bean-counter and made the company a lot of money, but in a sales-driven organization he would always be considered second tier. Unfortunately years of bullying by his father had reduced Dad to a cipher and Dad had made his bargain: he would take any amount of crap if he could crunch numbers, collect a pay check, come home, overeat, and fall asleep in front of the television. Ambition and strength had deserted him.

Mom, on the other hand, had always been the family personality. However, over the past few years she had slid in Dad’s direction. Among the indicia of that change was a gradual weight gain. She was not eighty pounds overweight like Dad, but could lose twenty. Unlike Dad, she was still active in the community, but even that had slowed.

After Dad finished his tale and turned back to the television, I kept looking at the pictures; something about them bothered me. Mom was young and, what the hell, beautiful. She looked squarely at the photographer; she lacked neither intelligence nor confidence. Granddad was not the first older man who had hit on the woman in those pictures; she must have fended off plenty of unwelcome advances. The woman in those pictures did not need Dad’s help to deal with a man’s unwanted attention.

Mom had seemed annoyed most of the night. She was as bored by the story as I and, I figured out later, was bothered to see so many photographs of her younger fitter self. My border-line ogling of the pictures probably didn’t help.

After Dad started snoring, Mom asked, “What do you think, buster?”

“Mom, is there any truth to Dad’s bull-shit story?”

Mom looked surprised. “It makes him happy. And watch your language.”

A little while later Mom woke Dad and they headed for bed.

The idea of my Mom as a young cutie stayed with me. I fetched a photograph album from the basement. It had pictures from the family’s annual beach trip. While the intense musculature of her days as a gymnast was gone, Mom stayed in shape and her hair, make-up, and clothes were stylish. I put the picture album away and fired up the family computer to look at the more recent pictures. These showed a woman who had started to let herself go. Mom was gaining weight and not paying as much attention to her appearance. I shut down the computer and headed upstairs. I was getting in bed when I heard Mom coming up the stairs.

This requires a brief description of the house. We lived in a camel back. A camel back is a long narrow house in which the back but not the front is two stories tall. There are two bedrooms on the second floor, mine and the guest bedroom. The master bedroom is on the first floor at the front of the house. This provided me maximum privacy by isolating me from the rest of the house.

I stuck my head outside the door. Mom was entering the canlı bahis guest room, muttering to herself.

“You okay?”

“Besides being pissed off, hurt, and unable to sleep, peachy.”

She must be mad at Dad, who else was around? Since I had long had a certain prurient interest in Dad’s faults, I said, “Why don’t you lay on your stomach and tell me all about it.”

I started kneading her neck and shoulders.

“Mmmmm, feels good.”

“You and Dad have a fight?”

“Yeah. After seeing those pictures I took a long look in the mirror. I look at myself every day, but I hadn’t accepted how much I’ve let myself go. When I said that to your father, he said he likes his rolly-polly wife. Then he fell asleep and started his freight-train snoring. I was hurt, couldn’t sleep, and all I could hear was him. So I came upstairs. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

This was not, in fact, the first time she had retreated to the guest bedroom. Dad’s snoring could be deafening.

“It’s not a bother at all. Am I working the right spots? Dad’s not exactly smooth. What do you see in that guy?”

“Right now I am not sure. Your hands are amazing. Can you do my lower back?”

I sat up for better leverage and started working her lumbar.

“What did you think of the pictures?”

I took my time, wanting her to believe that I was searching for the right words.

“Mom, well, you’re, kinda hot.”

“You shouldn’t talk that way to your mother.” And then, after a pause, “You still think I’m kinda hot, even with all this extra weight?”

“Yeah, I do actually. You worried about the weight?”

“I think I could lose twenty pounds.”

“I’m not sure of that, I think you look great. But if you’re interested, Coach told me he wants me to move to outside linebacker for my senior year. I am under direction to gain twenty-five pounds of muscle. I talked to a personal trainer who has several spots open; some of his clients are leaving for the summer. He and I are going to start tomorrow. He told me if I know anyone else who is interested I should bring them along. Why don’t you join us?”

“Do you want to work out with your mother?”

“It would be perfect. We could make sure the other one wasn’t cheating on the diet. On the other hand, if you like being called rolly-polly by Mr. Who-Am-I-to-Point-Fingers, I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your fun.”

A moment’s thought and, “You win. I’ll try it.”

I finished her back and returned to my bedroom. At 5:15 A.M. my alarm clock blared. I shut it off, hit the shower, dressed, and headed downstairs. I was surprised to see Mom in a bathrobe. She had the coffee going.

“Morning. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t worry. If I going to start getting myself in shape, I need to see what the well-muscled crowd eats for breakfast. No more sticky buns,” she gestured down the hall to the master bedroom, “with hubby.”

I fished some blueberries from the frig and whipped up protein shakes for two. Mom looked doubtful, but tasted it. “You know, you could come work at the dealership at a less ungodly hour.”

“Mom, I like my job and I don’t want to end up like him,” gesturing to the same door down the hall. Mom raised no objection. Dad must have really pissed her off last night and I was enjoying taking potshots at him. I was gonna ride this one as long as I could.

* * * *

The first few weeks of summer were great. I was working with a crew that installed patios and decks. We started at 6:00 A.M. and worked to 1:00 P.M., calling it a day before the summer heat became oppressive. Unexpectedly, Mom and I got into a regular workout routine. Mom, in fact, loved the program. She and I spent two hours each afternoon at the gym. At night and on weekends we often returned for classes. Mom even took up jogging. While Mom and I were committed to eating healthy, Dad stuck to his old ways, gobbling down junk food and pre-packaged foods in front of the television.

Mom beat her weight and BMI goals each week and, in response, her confidence was growing. Her relationship with Dad remained frosty. It was as if, having gotten herself back in shape, she lost respect for him. Her communications with him became increasingly curt and Dad’s immobile ways became an inside joke. While she would not let me insult him to his face, she no longer stood up for him when I mocked him behind his back.

* * * *

A few weeks into the summer Patricia Miley called. She and I had dated when I was a high school sophomore and she a senior. We had fooled around a lot but had never gone all the way. She went to college in Massachusetts where, based on her intermittent messages, she had discovered her wild side. She was coming home for two weeks. She asked if I was free next Saturday, my eighteenth birthday, and, if so, could I pick her up at the airport and spend the night celebrating in the city.

Over the past few weeks Mom had essentially relocated to the guest bedroom; Dad’s snoring was incompatible with a 5:15 A.M. bahis siteleri wake up. While giving Mom a back rub that evening I told her that Patricia was coming into town on my birthday and that I wanted to spend the night with her in the city.

To my surprise, she offered no objection. “I always liked her, that would be great. I’d like to see how college has changed her. Make sure I’m around when you ask Dad.”

That night I asked Dad if I could spend my birthday night out. Dad started to say no, but Mom interrupted.

“Don’t be silly. You only turn 18 once; it’s a special night and he should get to spend it the way he wants. Look at the kid dear, he’s built like a brick shithouse. I think he can protect himself.”

Dad looked a little stunned by Mom’s language. Mom went on.

“Of course you can Randy. In fact, why don’t you take your father’s Mercedes, that should knock her socks off.”

She turned to Dad and in a mocking tone said, “If that’s okay with you dear?”

Dad started to respond, “But dear.”

Mom turned to me, “You father and I need to have a private conversation. Why don’t you take a walk around the block.”

When I returned Dad said it was great that Patricia was coming for a visit and that he wanted me to take his car. He also handed me $200.00 with instructions, “To show the lady a good time.” Mom must have really lit into him.

* * * *

I met Patricia at the airport on Saturday. She was prettier than I remembered. If not for her height, she was about five feet two inches tall, she could have been a model. She was slender and small breasted. He long straight brown hair reached below her shoulder blades. She had green eyes and wore granny glasses, effecting a certain hippie look. Her facial features were cute and, well, border-line perfect. She was, as always, dressed plainly but stylishly: jeans, a tee shirt with “Miss Me” printed on it, and sandals.

I answered the question on her tee shirt. “I certainly did. You’re better looking then I remember, and what I remember was damn nice.”

“Thanks stud. You’re looking mighty fine yourself.” She ran a hand across my chest. “You’ve been working out, I believe.”

After I loaded her luggage, we headed for a house in Metairie, a suburb of the city. It was owned by friends of her parents. They were on vacation and had said she could use it while she was in town or needed a place close to the city. I filled her in on my life. Her year has been a bit more eventful than mine.

“I pledged a sorority when I got to campus. It looked like I was in, but then I found out that the initiation required me to sleep with a football, basketball, or soccer player. The pledge chose the sport; the sorority chose the athlete.

“I thought about how much you and I had fooled around in my senior year, but I never let you go all the way. Now I wish I had; I didn’t want the entire sorority to know I was a virgin. I thought about asking you to fly to Boston, but that didn’t seem practical. I thought about hitting the bars and screwing the first guy that looked good, but that seemed a bit trashy. Then I thought about my math class. It was in one of those big lecture halls with hundreds of students. Students were assigned to a grad student, who was there to answer questions. My grad student was named Sarah. I liked her; she was funny and down to earth. She was also pretty butchy and I’ve always been kind of curious.

“I went to see her and explained my problem. She invited me back to her place and, with the help of a strap-on dildo, I lost my virginity. We spent most of the next week together and she gave me an in-depth course on most everything she knew about sex. She prefers women, but has had her share of guys. At week’s end I joined my football player – you know I have a special weakness for those guys – in bed. Let’s just say no one would have guessed my hymen had been intact eight days before.

“She and I have been going at it ever since, but neither wants anything exclusive. I really like that football player and I am one of his regular lovers. I’ve been in threesomes, foursomes, and general orgies. I have had cocks in my cunt, my ass, between my tits, and down my throat. I’ve tied up and spanked people and been tied up and spanked. I fucking love sex. My only regret was that I didn’t devote my entire senior year to fucking your brains out.”

We had arrived at the house. After I unloaded the luggage she said, “So, for your birthday I can take you out on the town and spend some money on you or we could skip the preliminaries and start screwing now.”

My hardening cock provided all the answer she needed. She undid my pants, pulled out my erection, and started to frig my dick. I came almost immediately, spraying my cum on her face. I was mortified. She smiled, used a finger to transfer a dollop from her cheek to her mouth, and said, “It appears we are going to need to practice, a lot.” With that she took me in her mouth, throughly wetting my meat and reigniting my erection. She took off her bahis şirketleri clothes and, well, that gentle reader is how I lost my virginity.

We screwed most of the night. Since she didn’t need to be home the next day until 2:00, we also screwed most of the next morning. I dropped her off and got home about 2:15. Mom was dressing for the gym. She started to say something and stopped.

“I hope you two are using protection.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” was my lame reply.

“Good boy, a gentleman never tells, but that shit-eating grin on your face can mean only one thing. You up for the gym?”

“Yeah, let me change.”

* * * *

Patricia and I got into a regular schedule. Patricia’s family was gone during the day, her Mom got home about 3:00 P.M. That meant that I could get to her house after work, get in two hours of bedroom time, and still maintain my work-out schedule. I offered to spend less time in the gym, but her reply, as she stroked my thigh, was that she wanted every little muscle in prime shape.

How we picked a site for the evening rendezvous is more interesting. Mom and I were returning home from a steps class when I told her that in light of Patricia’s short visit, I would be spending evenings with her. Mom’s grin told me that she knew what that meant.

“I’ll miss my work-out buddy, but there are some evening core and aerobic classes I’m interested in. I’ll sign up for those. Do you two have a place to be alone at night?”

Actually, no. There were some high school make-out places around town, but I felt Patricia deserved classier treatment than that. I didn’t have a solution.

“No.”

“The bedroom in the pool house is available. You can come in through the back gate, your Dad will never notice. We’ll have to get rid of your curfew. I’ll inform your father.”

* * * *

As Mom placed his meal before Dad that evening she said., “Your son and I had a discussion about his curfew today. We decided to get rid of it; he can come and go as he pleases.”

“Don’t you think I should be consulted?”

Mom gave him her best exasperated look. “Okay, you’re being consulted.” Her face confirmed she didn’t give a shit what he said.

Dad looked down and fiddled with his food. “If you think it’s okay, dear, then of course.”

Mom did not let him off the hook. “I didn’t say I decided, I said your son and I decided together. Are you going to give us any shit about it?”

Dad never looked up. “No. If the two of you think it best, that’s fine by me.”

Mom stood up. “Your son has a hot date tonight and I’m returning to the gym for some classes. I don’t feel like coming home to a messy kitchen. Do the dishes tonight. And don’t do a half-ass job.” She headed for the door; she didn’t wait for an answer.

* * * *

After Mom left, I met Patricia outside and escorted her to the pool house. By the bed there was a red rose in a small glass vase.

“Nice digs stud.”

I decided to take credit.

“You like?”

“I like.”

We made love, lay in bed and talked, and made love again. After I walked her back to her car I headed upstairs to thank Mom. She was sleeping, a thin sheet pulled over her. I was struck by her body’s transformation. Mom was hot and getting hotter. I leaned over to kiss her t when I noticed a certain scent; she had been masturbating. The bedroom overlooked the pool house. Had she been looking at the pool house, thinking about Patricia and I when she brought herself off? Did all women taste alike? Could I get away with licking her finger to find out?

She was, it seemed, fast asleep. However, when my tongue touched her finger she stirred and in a sleepy voice said, “Randy is that you?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Did you and Patricia have a good time?”

“Yeah, she loved the rose.”

“Good. I’m feeling kind of lonely tonight. Would you mind laying down next to your mother and holding her.” She said thanks and told me I smelled good. I, of course, smelled like sex.

That day set the pattern for the next two weeks. Up early, work, a couple of hours in bed with Patricia at her house, the gym and dinner with Mom or Patricia, a couple more hours in bed with Patricia at my house, and sleeping next to Mom.

* * * *

Mom’s devotion to reshaping her body was unshakeable and I unceasingly supportive. Her new body displayed neither a supermodel’s waif-like thinness nor a bodybuilder’s sculpted musculature. Instead she was a curvy powerful woman. She let her brown hair grow out and was paying much more attention to her appearance. She became careful about make-up, emphasizing her lovely brown eyes, and wore bright jewelry and flashy sunglasses. She wanted people to notice her. After eight weeks she got on the gym’s scale; she had lost seventeen pounds and exceeded her BMI goals. The guys made sure to congratulate her; she flirted with most of them.

Unfortunately, this was also Patricia’s last day in town. She called as Mom and I were leaving the gym. Mom suggested she come over for lunch and a swim. When we got home we discovered an empty refrigerator. Mom asked me to run to the market to pick up some steaks and vegetables for the grill. It would give her and Patricia a chance to visit.

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