Unmakings of an Alpha
This is a long post, but it’s worth the read, especially if female high school nudity interests you.
Today I’ll tell you a story that contributed to my disdain for player culture and my aversion to the club-hopping pump-and-dump lifestyle which apparently defines the alpha male.
The year is 2001. I’m a last-semester senior in high school. I’m banging out my last 5 required English credits in a do-nothing class called “Honors Major Themes” (I wish I was making that up). I’ve been dating the Indian for over a year. I’ve already been accepted to UMCP, and I have fatal senioritis. In addition to me, Honors Major Themes is filled with every 10 in the junior class.
My senioritis enabled to me to behave bolder* than I ever had before or since in a classroom setting. I openly announced that I had better things to do than read the assigned material, I guffawed at quizzes. I publicly demanded she give the class extra credit opportunities and I even got her to cancel a test simply by protesting. Mind you, this is in the middle of class, audible to everyone. The conversation went like this:
Teacher: “We’re going to have a test next Tuesday.”
Me, without being given the floor: “No, I think that’s a bad idea.”
Teacher: “Well, too bad.”
Me: “But I have things to do next weekend. Well, it wouldn’t matter for me because I’ll ace it without studying anyway like I always do, but some of these people might feel they need to study and the weather is nice. Who really cares about One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest anyway? It’s an insignificant, and if I had read it, I probably would have found it boring.”
Teacher: “Well, it’s either a test or a paper.”
Naturally this raised my alpha status in the classroom rather rapidly. And not surprisingly, it also drew the attention of a cadre of hot underclasswomen. Also, I’m 100% positive that had I so desired, I could have bent this teacher over her desk and plugged her in her classroom after school, but she was over the age of 30 at the time so naturally I declined.
By April, I was dating my girlfriend, a 10 half-asian, a 9 short brunette, and a 9 blonde Eastern European. Yeah, I was dating them. At the time, I referred to it as less damning terms like “hanging out” or “chillaxing” but in reality, I was dating them. I took them to movies, ice cream parlors, smoked copious amounts of weed with them, etc. At the time my girlfriend was her overly conservative parents’ prisoner for 6 out of 7 days a week so I had plenty of time to filander. The other girls were aware and cool with this arrangement probably for one reason.
Despite my own strenuously repressed desires, I was physically incapable of physically cheating on my girlfriend, even though she was only a 7 and I was in the company of 9′s and 10′s. Spend more time, money, and attention on other girls? Sure. Form deep, emotional connections? Sure. Get my dick sucked? Can’t do it. I have some kind of moral mental block against rabbit-holing. All three of these girls were single, two of them were virgins, and one of them claimed to be a raging bisexual. I’d love to say that even now, in hindsight, I should have screwed them, I know that even today knowing all of the nights I beat off thinking about what I could have done to all those nubile fawns, I wouldn’t be able to do it now either, for the same reason as when I was 17. At least two of them knew it.
The Eastern European chick was a slut in the making. She was only 16 when I met her and she had enough in her to stay vaginally virginal but that’s about as far as that went. She told me stories about late night nude pool parties and lots of oral sex. EE and the 9 brunette were BFFs so I spent a lot of time with the two of them. Part of our relationship involved a barter arrangement in which I would write their papers in exchange for bumming weed. Back then, as in today, whipping out a 1,000 word masterpiece in less than half an hour took very little effort, so I was definitely getting the better end of the bargain. However, one night, after several weeks of faithful paper writing service, these girls decided to tip me.
I showed up to EE’s house and hung around with them for a while. The hours passed, but that night we were planning on hitting up Mine Brook Park for a little toking under the moonlight, and I wanted to get their latest English paper done before we went, so I sat down at the computer, cracked my knuckles, and got to work. The brunette was sitting on the bed across the room and I started cranking. EE hopped in the shower.
I wrote EE’s paper first. She got out of the shower wearing only a knee-length towel, and asked to proof read the paper I had written for her, so I got up and sat down on the bed with the brunette. After barely enough time to skim the paper once, she spun around the chair to face us and started yakking about our night plans. She looked straight at me with a devilish, coy, extremely flirty face and very innocently propped her left leg up on the edge of bed.
Well, there it was, in all its glory. Her unmodest leg position raised her towel plenty high enough to give me a panoramic view of her freshly shaven beaver. She kept up the flirty grin as she wrapped her hands around her raised knee, quite comfortably exposing her puss to me (and the brunette, who didn’t even bat an eye), and continued to chat for a few minutes. I, of course, was unable to do anything but stare at the gash between her legs. It was obvious, but then again, so was she. She knew exactly what she was doing.
Then it was brunette’s turn to get into the shower. EE followed her into the bathroom and started mucking with her face and makeup, her towel conservatively covering her D’s. The door was of course wide open. Tragically, I couldn’t see brunette’s naked body through the textured, steamy glass, but by this time, as I lingered in the doorway of the bathroom bullshitting with EE as she applied eyeliner, I had a mental image that wouldn’t go away.
I had always taken the brunette to be the more modest of the two. She kept her sex stories to a minimum – she was the non-virgin of the three, lost to the future prom king of my graduating class, whom she dated for a number of years – and was the quieter one. Maybe EE’s abject exhibitionism inspired her. Maybe for once she didn’t want to be upstaged by her more outgoing friend. Or maybe she just didn’t give a shit. She shut the water off and grabbed her towel off the rack, and got out of the shower.
Needless to say, I was expecting the towel to be on her body, not wrapped up on her head. She non-chalantly popped out of the shower ass naked, her freshly prepared landing strip ordering my cock to stand at attention. I was a little bit flabbergasted. I think I was in mid-sentence when she popped out of the shower, but I stopped dead in my tracks. The two girls shared wicked grins aimed at my direction. They both knew exactly what they were doing.
EE proceeded to remove her towel as well and begin drying her hair. Here I was standing in this girl’s bathroom with two of the hottest girls in my high school ass naked drying themselves and each other off, casually talking about whatever crossed their minds. Britney Spears, designer shoes, the price of tea in China… I couldn’t tell you what we were talking about to save my life, because I was too busy trying both at the same time to wage a mental battle between my desperate urge to make every man’s three-way fantasy to come true and my moral integrity which condemned me from cheating with my girlfriend, and concealing my growing erection.
They pranced around the upstairs of their house from room to room ass naked except for a towel wrapped around their wet heads, their nipples stiffening as their amazingly sexy bodies air-dried. They decided to put on a lingerie show for me as they literally tried on every pair of panties EE owned to “see which ones they wanted to wear tonight” (yes, they were sharing) but in the end, naturally, they both decided to go totally commando. No bra, no panties. Just skank tanks and booty shorts. It took every ounce of willpower I had to resist this temptation, but somehow I managed.
The haters might extrapolate that I’m exaggerating the availability of these girls. Maybe they were just cockteasing, right? Teasing because they knew I had a girlfriend, and must have figured I was safe or they wouldn’t have done this, right? Neither of these girls were chaste, and if the stories they had told me were true, this naked parade might have been tame in their minds. I didn’t go into all of the details of what these girls were doing – this post is border-line erotic literature as it is – but trust me when I say that all I would have had to do was pull it out and I would have at least enjoyed a two girl knob job.
I count it as a mark of pride that I could resist these nymphs. I also cry inside every time I think of what could have been.
Cool story, Evan. What does this have to do with unmaking an alpha?
Even though I was incredibly turned on by this display and almost euphoric that two of the hottest girls in the whole school would more or less beg me to tag team them and cocktease me without abandon, at the same time, I was disgusted. This was one of the first moments that I actually became aware of the many aspects of myself, because the me I thought I was would have thrown those girls down and made babies, but the me I actually am had no interest in banging these little sluts. I couldn’t even begin to understand then why this voice inside of me restrained me from everything every sane healthy male should have done to them. I remember feeling sweat on the nape my neck as I literally trembled with desire. One part of my brain was screaming, as loud as any voice could scream, “fuck them! fuck them!” But the other voice inside me stopped me dead in my tracks. It wasn’t saying anything, it was just asking me a question: “do you really want to bang girls like this?” The answer was no. At 17, it was no, but I didn’t know why. At 24, the answer is no, and I know why.
And this is why I am not doing what the club boys like Roosh, and Roissy, and Virgle Kent, and all of the other “alpha males” are busy doing with their lives. I don’t want to bang girls like that. They have no value. I can’t say anthing other than that, I can’t explain it. No words I can use will make any sense to someone engaged this lifestyle. No words I can use will defend the arguments they would make about the infinite pleasures of humping a different pussy every night of the week, which are largely true. No words I can use will refute the fact that a man who can routinely score hot women with “game” has both balls and social wit. But then again, no words exist that can accurately describe the feeling that men like me get in their gut when faced with the prospect of banging a bar slut, or working a girl for days or weeks just to get her in bed. All I can say is that it’s just wrong.
So, I didn’t fuck EE or brunette. I didn’t let them suck my dick. I didn’t even kiss them. But they desperately flirted with me for another six months, until I went off to college and we lost touch. I knew what they were doing and it amused me. It was a game to them – they were trying to see how much it would take to make me finally crack and do it, to cheat on the girl they knew they were so much more attractive than. I know it frustrated them at times, to the point that they would tease me – they would giggle that I might be trying to hide something (a small penis was implied). They would sit three feet away from me, look right at me, and start tongue kissing. The nudity continued all summer. They would “accidently” brush up against my crotch. But I never budged. I never indugled them.
I hope in the end that I showed them something. I showed them that they won’t always be able to wrap a man around their fingers and win with their pussies. That some men will resist them even in the face of open invitation. That some men don’t respond to the only approach they knew. It may have worked on brunette. I don’t think EE ever got it.
This story takes place in 2001. I met EE for drinks in 2005. That post is forthcoming.