Series 2:
7 years later.
+{Lincoln's Pride}+
Chapter 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.
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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.
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"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.
