Lincoln's Pride Ch. 01

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.

---

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.

---

"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.

He had me cough and he took my blood pressure and felt around my throat and looked in my ears and all that stuff doctors do, only he was a businessman.

Again, he seemed amused by my body. I'm pretty proud of it. I'm not mega muscle like he seemed to be, but my life is a workout; running, lifting, batting, pitching. I just kept staring ahead as he explored. He flicked at my nipples and squeezed my pecs. I knew he must have had a medical reason, but it made my cock grow full in my boxers. He seemed to ignore this, but I kept a hand in my lap to cover.

"You aren't used to being touched?" he asked though it was more of a statement.

"Not by a dude, no," I admitted honestly. I'd had my pecs squeezed by girls, felt soft hair against my nipples when my girlfriend would go as far as she could and just "nap" with me. It was a different feeling and I was annoyed at how my body reacted to it.

I watched the clock on the wall hit 1pm. I'd been there over an hour, that had to be a good sign. I knew he wanted to hire me. I was jumping through all of his little hoops.

"Not bad, you obviously don't smoke and your signs are all nice. Any health concerns?" he asked.

"Just a few allergies, nothing much, sir," I lied and thought of the Epi-pen I kept in my backpack in case I ever met a bee. I hadn't needed it in years, but my father spent good money replacing it every time it came within a month of expiration. I didn't want to seem defective.

"I'll need to measure you, the job comes with clothes, proper fitting clothes. I hope your body can handle them," he mocked my interview clothes as though I had chosen them willingly.

He pulled out a measuring tape next and had me stand. He weighed me and commented that I needed to bulk up and he would have to train me hard. He measured my chest, arms, biceps, making little notes on his phone. He went for my hips, waist, legs, inseam, getting dangerously close to my cock. I felt myself get hard again as he brushed my sensitive thigh. I jumped back a little. He looked annoyed by that.

"Stand still, why so squirmy?" He barked.

"Sorry sir, I'm ticklish there," I said and covered my growing erection.

"Ticklish? Still just a boy, little president," he laughed and rubbed his hand firmly but slowly up my thigh again. It sent a shiver through my body and I moved my hand to stop him. But then I realized my tent was jutting up near his face.

"I, oh God. I'm so sorry! It never does that, I swear!" My face blushed and I stepped back away from him and covered myself. I cursed myself for not having better control.

"You are still just a boy," he confirmed, "You cannot yet control it. It is nothing to be embarrassed about, or is it? I know white boys are on the smaller end of the international spectrum, but it can't be that small, right?"

"I am quite blessed, thank you. I have seen the competition in many locker rooms and I have no fears there," I beamed proudly but reminded myself not to overdo it.

"Of course," he said with a mocking tone and smiled to himself. He stepped back and held his phone up, "now some pictures for the stylist," he assured.

"Oh uh, do we have to, sir? I feel kinda weird about it," I hugged my chest awkwardly, feeling a little too on display here.

"Am I wasting my time here, Lincoln? Did you want a future here with my business or not, little president? I'm not hiring someone who questions my authority, am I?" he said flatly.

"How do you want me to stand, sir?" I straightened up and swallowed my pride. I wasn't about to go back to my father empty handed, bringing back the burden of my failure to them.

He took pictures of me standing tall, arching my back, raising my arms. It was an odd little photo shoot. And then he stopped and swiped thoughtfully through them on his phone.

"No, no, it's these hideous old boxers. They make your body look misshapen. Why would you wear something so unflattering? They need to go, lose them," he barked.

"Uh," I shifted uncomfortably, looking in all directions like somehow movement would solve this. "I can't. That's not... no... sir."

He laughed, "You are worried about getting turned on by being naked in front of a real man."

"No, I'm not gay. I mean there's nothing wrong with gay people, but I... no sir. I'm not gay," I was blushing like a tomato farm and suddenly covering myself. I felt a heavy air of shame settle over me like a noose.

"This job requires you to do as you're told. If you can not do that then I suggest you stop wasting my time. This is twice in the same assignment you have questioned me and the job hasn't even been offered to you," he said harshly and looked stung at my reluctance to comply with his orders twice now.

"I'm not gay," I said again more to myself than to him and went towards my clothes. This was turning out to not be worth it at all. I was here for a job, a future. He was offering me a porn shoot filled with humiliation. I may be a jock, but I'm not a dumb one.

His words stopped me as I reached for my shirt, "Your family scrapes by. I investigated your situation in considering you for this internship. You could send home only half of your paycheck from working for me and they would live like royalty here. Or you could leave now and go back to scraping alongside them. It's a hard life, but it is one to which you are accustomed. It's your choice, little president."

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. Did I hear right? Was he offering to provide for us? Would my dad be able to rest after so many years of working every odd job he could find to eek out a life for us? Wasn't a little of my pride worth it to make everything better for my family? I sighed and bit my lip. "Fuck," I whispered to myself. I'd do it for them.

I didn't look back at him. I pushed my boxers to the floor and stepped out of them. My cock, normally about three inches when soft, shriveled a little at the thought of what I was preparing to do.

I went back to the sunlight, spread my feet apart and looked right into the lens of his phone. I clasped my hands behind my butt as he snapped away with his phone making little clicking noises. My eyes wandered down to his pants, but they had been pretty filled out before this, so I couldn't really tell on what level he was enjoying this.

"Yes, quite impressive," he smirked sarcastically at my soft cock. This wasn't what it normally looked like when out around others. After a win it was stuffed like a horse. When I was in the backseat with whatever girl wanted to thank me for that win, it was at full mast.

"It's... normally," the words weren't coming out well, "forget it."

"It's ok. Don't worry your little pride. These are just for clothes selection. Backside now," he said and I turned, put my hands on the table as he snapped away at my proud, hard muscled, white butt. And then my dick turned on me like a cold traitor. It started to rise up against the touch of the expensive smooth wood table. Maybe it was being under the microscope of insane wealth and power this man so confidently possessed.

"Your ass is well worked," he stated.

"I... what does that mean?" I turned a head behind me, shifting my weight and bouncing my hard, muscled glutes.

"It's quite large, you must do a heavy squat routine," He commented and I swear I saw his tongue trace across his lips.

"No sir, never in my life. Just a lot of sports and lifting," I said honestly and turned back to the table with a smirk.

"Well," he said and I heard his voice crack and then regain it's position, "No need to spread your legs so widely. Your little pink bud is on display."

I quickly brought my knees together, but I thought I heard the click of his phone camera.

"That should be good enough for now." I pushed off the table still thinking about his eyes on my ass. I forgot that my cock was rock hard until I saw his eyes appraise it as I turned towards my clothes.

"Not bad, for a white boy. I'm sure you're quite the prize amongst your mates," he laughed sarcastically and set his phone down on the desk as I turned back to face him.

I turned around at him with flared nostrils and fuming eyes. "Yes... Sir." I barked a little too harshly, this was a job interview after all. I tempered my tone to him, "Sorry, I mean yes sir, yes I am."

"I hurt your pride with the photos, but I proved that you can take orders. They are necessary for a proper wardrobe which you obviously lack. If you are here to learn how to run a company such as this," he spread a hand towards the window to remind me how high up we are and how much of his company was below us, "Then you must first learn to follow orders."

"Yes, yes sir," my face softened a little. I had met his expectations. Someday I would exceed them.

"My stylist will have clothes for you tomorrow. You will return by 10 AM. Now go home and be with your family for one last night. Tomorrow your world explodes." He turned and went to his desk as I put my clothes back on. I was tying my shoes when he came back over and handed me an envelope.

"You will pack one SMALL bag and leave the rest behind. I don't want you lugging around much when you are traveling with me. You will have enough to handle carrying my things. Do you need a ride home?" he asked, "I can send a driver."

"No sir. I can take the train home," I said. I shoved the fat envelope into my backpack and went back to stand in front of him. I shook his hand and stared him in the chin. I couldn't look him in the eyes after what we had just experienced, what I had just done.