The afternoon wind passed through the crowded street. The commercial district was packed with men in sweaty dress shirts and black suits - men of all ages leaving their jobs, talking loudly. Young men with huge egos and shiny shoes, and old men with dirty smiles and robust bellies.
The most powerful men were usually larger, with broad shoulders and solid necks. Their hands were big and warm, veined and heavy, smelling of coffee, cigarettes and traces of afternoon piss. Their arms and legs were succulent, emanating testosterone, and were used to dominate. Their torsos were prominent, strong and often out-of-shape, yet wide and intimidating. But most importantly, if you were a curious fellow, you would look down and notice a fat volume between their legs.
But there weren't just big, powerful men outside. They were followed by smaller men, weaker men - malleable young sons, waiting for approval, and defeated old fathers, trying to keep their wives. These men were shorter, slimmer and smoother. The hierarchy of men was never mentioned or discussed, but it was certainly there, imperceptible to starters, and ignored by experienced cynics. It was mostly a physical order, dictated by the stronger men, but some courage and masculine charisma were equally appreciated.
Among these men was Brian, an inexperienced twenty-two-year-old assistant in a media company. He was a short and slim guy, with brown hair and kind blue eyes. His father's friend, Robert, had decided to hire him as a friendly act. Brian wasn't that excited to work, but he felt he needed to please his father and prove that he was worth something.
The first few weeks at the office were tough. Brian's work consisted of miscellaneous activities, such as data entry, taking calls from affiliates and sponsors, organizing arrangements, and even making coffee. Robert, the boss, was a fairly intimidating man. He was around forty years old, with a tall and robust body, broad shoulders and piercing gray eyes. He had a commanding yet relaxed posture, and a deep, masculine voice that filled the entire room.
Brian remembered seeing that man throughout his adolescence, a few times every year, when his parents would visit Robert's farm during summer. Robert had a dominant energy wherever he went, but he wasn't necessarily arrogant - he was simply a man who learned to run a business from an early age, after inheriting his father's business. Brian had an image of him in his head - Robert walking around the farmhouse wearing a cowboy hat and a light, white shirt that accentuated his muscles, which were strong but never too defined. His big, tanned calves, were exposed by beige cargo shorts, and his veined feet stomped the hard ground in sandals. And a dirty smile on his bearded face, while his mysteriously sexy wife sat on his lap at sunset.
Brian quickly walked into the company building, in the late afternoon. When he entered the elevator, he saluted some colleagues that were leaving. The whole place closed around five, and few employees rarely worked overtime.
The elevator took him to the last floor, and its doors opened to the corridor of dark marble floors and large glass windows that encompassed the boss' room. Brian walked toward the main door, drying the sweat off his forehead, and entered the large office. The boss was sitting on his tall leather chair, behind the large desk filled with documents, speaking on the phone. He had one arm raised behind the back of his head, and his deep voice echoed in the room.
Brian walked to the desk and slowly placed the folder in front of Robert, and stood there, waiting until Robert finished the call.
The sunset could be seen through the large windows. Robert spent another five minutes on the phone, while Brian reflected on the fact that it was past five and his feet hurt inside his tight shoes. Finally, Robert put the phone down and stared at him.
"The contract," said Brian, pointing to the folder on the desk.
"Oh yes, thank you," replied Robert, quickly skimming through the papers. "I will take care of this later. I need you to stay and help me organize the next meeting with the board of directors."
"Sure, no problem," said Brian promptly. He didn't want to show any sign of tiredness around his boss.
"Great. Sit down," ordered Robert, nonchalantly. "We'll solve this as quickly as possible."
The process wasn't as quick as Robert had promised. For the next three hours, Brian took many orders and made a few mistakes, which seemed to irritate Robert, and the landscape outside was filled with darkness and sounds of traffic in the distance. Everyone had left at that point.
"We're almost done," said Robert, with a tired sigh. "Would you please make us some coffee?"
Brian stood up and walked out of the room. His back hurt, his feet were sore and he needed to piss, but he didn't want to show any sign of fatigue in front of Robert. He faced the coffee machine and took around fifteen minutes to prepare the coffee the way Robert liked - strong, with a light amount of sugar. He put the coffee in two mugs and took a deep breath.
When he entered the room again, Robert was on the phone, laughing and joking with a business partner. Brian offered one mug to Robert, but his hand felt suddenly weak and shaky, and he dropped the mug just before Robert could grab it. The coffee hit the table and splattered on Robert's torso and arms. The man jumped up and threw the phone on the other side of the table, and quickly removed his shirt.
"I'm so sorry," said Brian, filled with guilt.
Robert didn't answer. He simply used the clean part of his shirt to dry off his torso. Brian couldn't help but feel impressed by the strength and shape of his anatomy, with his muscular chest and tanned, hairy belly. Brian suddenly realized his boss could beat the shit out of him if he wanted to.
"It's okay. Just bring me a new coffee," said Robert, unfazed.
"Did you get burned?"
"Not really."
"I'm sorry... What about your shirt?"
"There's a shirt in my car," informed Robert, raising his hand when Brian turned around to leave. "But coffee first."
Brian stared at him like an idiot for a few seconds, then turned around again to get the coffee.
"Shit," he whispered in the corridor. Robert probably thought he was an idiot.
When he came back, his boss was sitting on his chair again, with his arms raised behind his head, showing his thick muscles and hairy armpits. He seemed to be relaxed, with his legs spread open, staring at the ceiling.
He grabbed the mug and took a sip, while looking at the distance outside.
"You're lucky I enjoy being shirtless," he said with a smirk on his bearded face, "otherwise you would be punished."
"I don't know what happened to my hand," said Brian.
"You got nervous. I have that effect on people," joked Robert.
"It's probably because I'm hungry."
Robert mumbled in agreement.
"But you're also kinda intimidating," admitted Brian, instantly regretting saying that.
"Really?" Robert stared at him with his stern gray eyes.
"I-I mean, you're a big guy," justified Brian, nodding at Robert's muscles.
Robert kept staring at him. He seemed to be thinking about something.
"We need to talk, Brian. Sit down," he said, abruptly.
Brian silently obeyed. Robert took a deep breath and put the mug down on the desk.
"Your father was excited to see you join the company, and you seem like an intelligent guy. I'm just not sure if this is the right place for you."
Brian didn't say anything. He feared that moment would eventually happen.
"You've made a few mistakes that could've cost me money, and I'm not impressed by the way you handle phone calls," Robert continued, his arms spread on the chair. "Don't get me wrong, I know you're trying really hard and I salute you for that, but you need to follow your own path."
"Please..." said Brian, "don't fire me yet. I will be better."
"That's not the point," said Robert. "I know you're trying, but I'm not sure if that's what you want to do in life. Your father told me you want to be an artist."
"That's just a hobby," explained Brian. "I want to be here. My father..." he paused.
"Your father, what?"
"He would hate me being fired... He really wants me to succeed."
Robert kept silent and crossed his arms. He seemed to reflect on what Brian had just said. His legs spread wider under the desk.
"You have to follow your dreams, Brian," he finally said, after a painful minute of silence. "You don't have the right skills to work here."
"I'm still learning. Please..."
"Brian, look me in the eye. You're staring at my arms," said Robert.
Brian's face suddenly burned with embarrassment when he noticed Robert was right. He was staring at his boss' arms and hairy pecs for several minutes. He tried looking Robert in the eye, but he couldn't sustain that magnetic gaze, instead looking at the window.
"What's the matter?" asked Robert, with a serious face.
"What do you mean?"
"You can't look me in the eye?" continued Robert, raising his voice a little.
Brian tried his best to stare at Robert's face, but didn't respond.
"Are you intimidated by me?" asked Robert. Brian suddenly noticed his boss' biceps were pulsing discretely.
"I'm not," replied Brian, but he sounded weak.
"Your body language says otherwise," noted Robert, still serious.
Brian suddenly became painfully aware of his weak posture, the way his spine was curved, his shoulders were forward, and the way he sat at the tip of the chair. He looked like a loser, in front of a confident older man, who comfortably sat on his chair, shirtless. Robert sat like a king in his castle, and Brian was a small little jest. He felt humiliated, and he hated the way his boss was looking at him, judging him.
