For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Sometimes it takes a while to bring out the fag in a guy, especially when the bitch did not know he was a fag, or a more serious challenge, when the guy has been suppressing his fagdom – trying to convince himself that he was not a fag – for years.

But my roommate my freshman year at college was instant fag.  I could tell when I first walked into the tiny dorm room we had been assigned.  I think his name was Goeff, but honestly, from the very first day I called the bitch nothing but fag.  I didn’t go straight to the room upon registering.  Instead, I went over to the gym to talk with the baseball coach about my scholarship and shit.  So Goeff had pretty much set up his stuff and was relaxing, stretched out on the bottom bunk when I got to the room.  I was wearing spandex biker-type shorts, flip-flops and a sleeveless Under Armour tee shirt.  Goeff’s eyes just about popped out of his head as he sprung out of bed extending a hand to introduce himself.  I suspected that my roomie was going to be my fag.  So I tested this out.  I ignored his outstretched hand, and interrupted him as he tried to tell me his name.  I wasn’t at all interested in the bitch’s name.

“You’re on my bed.  You get the top bunk.”  I’m not usually an asshole, but the situation called for this now.

He hesitated for a moment, and then said “Oh sorry.  I’ll switch now.”

He started to unmake the bottom bunk and make up the top bunk.  I stopped him.

You’ll want to switch mattresses too.  You already laid out on the  bottom mattress, so that mattress is yours now.“

So, the bitch unmade the mattress on the top bunk and struggled with the mattresses.  I just sat on one of the desk chairs, my muscular legs spread and my junk on display through the spandex shorts.  Roomie kept glancing over in my direction.  He was sweating.  We were off to an awesome start.  As soon as he finished making up his bed I said,

“Help me get my shit out of the car.”  And he did. 

Once we got some of my stuff up to the room, I suggested that he could make up my bed since he had done such a good job on his own, which he did.  He also set up my computer, and I commandeered most of his desk for my electronic gear.  He said he didn’t mind since he liked to study in bed.  

“You got a car?” I asked.  He said he had his mom’s minivan for a few days, then he would have to return it home. 

“Perfect.” I said.  “There’s not a whole lot of room for stuff in the Porsche, as you could see.  I got a couple of boxes at UPS.  Could you drive me down so we can pick them up.”  It wasn’t intended as a question or a request.  The bitch understood.  “Of course.”

Walter had shipped up two pretty good-sized boxes of clothes, and bless his fag heart, had included a wallet that had a picture of him and me at the beach and a credit card.  When we got the boxes back to the dorm room and unpacked, there was not enough room in the closet for all of my clothes, not to mention all the boots and shoes that Walter doted on buying me and then worshiping, so I took over most of Goeff’s closet as well.  He said he didn’t mind as he folded his clothes and stacked them neatly in the corner.

I rewarded Goeff’s help by taking the bitch out to dinner at an off-campus restaurant.  We put the top down on the Porsche.  I also offered to drive home with Goeff over the weekend when he returned his mom’s minivan, and drive him back to campus.  The fag just about creamed His pants. 

That (Goeff creaming his jeans) actually came later that evening.  I stepped out of the shower in the bathroom we shared with the two guys in the room next door, and strode into the room naked as I toweled myself off.  Goeff just sighed.

“You like to suck dick, fag?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yes Sir, you mean,” I corrected.

“Yes Sir, i sure do.”

“The go for it.”

Geoff got down on his knees and reached for my muscular thighs.

“No hands,” I corrected.  “Hands behind your back whenever you’re servicing me.” 

He complied, and went to work on my dick.  I could tell Goeff had had some considerable experience.  After a while I grabbed his head with both hands and thrust my dick deep into his throat which opened up nicely and I skull fucked the bitch.  He blew his load, without touching himself, just about the same time I shot about 6 or 7 searing blasts of my cum directly into the fag’s stomach.  The tone of my first year at college (which also was, as things turned out, Goeff’s last year at college – but that’s a story for a different time) was cast.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I learned early on, when I was still in high school, that fags NEED to worship real men, that they NEED to humiliate and debase themselves, they NEED to sacrifice.  When a fag sucks my cock in public, like at a party or someplace, it is as much about giving me his self esteem as it is about giving me head. 

The bitch NEEDS to sacrifice and I deny him fulfillment of that need if I thank him or in any way show the bitch appreciation.  Giving me head, getting fucked by me, just being in my presence is the reward the fag seeks.  He understands that he is giving me only what i am entitled to by my natural state as a true Alpha.  I ruin it for the fag if I thank him, if I even acknowledge his submission or even his presence. 

Gifts are the same way.  They begin to count for the fag when they begin to put a strain on his resources – when they are more than he can afford, or when he gives me something extremely important to him personally – like his own courtside season basketball tickets.  The fag gives me these things because (1) he understands that i am entitled to them, and (2) because he gets fucking hard just giving me such gifts.  I ruin it for him if I even say “thanks.”

A fag once took me to a basketball game and we had awesome courtside seats, second row.  I complimented the bitch on the seats and so he gave me his season pass.  I took one awesome girl after another to the basketball games for about a month.  Then one of my dates had to back out – she was on a photo shoot in the Islands somewhere.  So at the last minute I called the fag and asked him if he wanted to go the game with me.  He had some dinner appointment for his business, but he rearranged everything so he could go to the game with me.  His car and driver picked me up and we went to the game,  As we entered the arena, I ran into an old college bud and we started talking.  The fag stood off to the side.  As game time approached, I invited my bud to sit with me and gave the fag my bud’s tickets in the nosebleed section.  I told the fag to stop by from time to time to see if we needed anything.  The bitch did – about 6 times during the game.  He spent more time going up and down stairs than watching the game.  But I know that the bitch was so thrilled to be with me that it probably was the best time at a basketball game he ever had.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Ever since high school, I have been fascinated by the power i have over fags.  I didn’t seek this out, but once I recognized that I had this effect on fags, I have to admit that I get fucking hard dominating fags.

This is especially so when I come across a guy who has not yet realized what he is, and who I have to bring into the realization of what he is and what his purpose in life is.

They are so innocent.  They delude themselves into thinking that they are just like real men.  But i can spot a fag a mile away – the longing glances at my crotch, the hungry look in his eyes, the nervousness when I approach, or even look in his direction.

I remember once in high school, this student teacher, Mr. Huff, was taking over our English class.  He was still finishing college, getting his Education degree.  He was teaching the class about King Lear but his eyes were on me all of the time.  After about a week, I encountered Mr. Huff in the cafeteria one day.  He was sort of standing along the wall, monitoring (I guess it’s called).  But his eyes were riveted on me.  I finished my lunch and left my tray of dirty dishes on the table – an absolute no-no, we were supposed to bring our trays to the conveyer belt that led to the dishwashers.  As I approached the door, Mr. Huff approached me, but before he could say anything, I said, “Take care of my dirty dishes.  But before you do that, finish what I left on my plate.”  He looked at me, and said nothing but went over to the table where I had been sitting, sat down, and picked up the fork I had been using and ate the rest of the food I had left on my plate.  I stood watching from the edge of the room and just about creamed my jeans. 

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

My current fag is Josiah H.E. Sinclair, III. (That’s not his real name, but his real name has a Roman Numeral behind it and is just as waspy.  I’m just trying to protect the guilty here.)  In any event, I’ve been living in Josiah’s apartment for about 8 months now.  Josiah had been cruising me for weeks at a local coffee shop and when we finally struck up a conversation, I told him that i was looking for an apartment.  He said one was available in his building and that he would get the superintendent to show it to me.  But when I went to see the apartment  I told Josiah that I liked his better, and that I’d be just as happy moving into his place, which was, as it turned out, the most spacious apartment in the building. 

Well, following my usual practice it didn’t take more than a few days before I was sleeping in Josiah’s bedroom, and Josiah was sleeping in the guest room.  Within weeks I had imposed a number of other restrictions on Josiah’s use of the apartment and its furniture and equipment.  Josiah was disarmed and disoriented in his own apartment; although in a practical sense, it has become my apartment.  It is Josiah’s only in the sense that he pays the rent and he takes care of cleaning it and stocking the refrigerator. 

But Josiah is happier than a pig in shit nonetheless because Josiah loves sucking my cock and he swoons over the taste of my cum.  Josiah will do anything for my cum, including sucking it out of the cunts of the various girl friends i bring home.

One of his favorites is the lovely and extremely sexy Taylor, a blond fashion model.  A few weeks ago while he was lapping up a load of my jizz from Taylor’s voluptuous pussy, Josiah overheard Taylor telling me that her best girlfriend was getting married in Paris and how she really would like to go to the wedding.  After I put Taylor in a cab that night, Josiah pleaded with me to let him pay for a trip to Paris so that I could take Taylor to her friend’s wedding.  Reluctantly (!) I agreed. So Josiah has arranged for First Class air tickets, a suite at the Ritz in Paris, a car and driver for the three days we will be there.  And, yet another custom tuxedo for me (my third now since high school prom).

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

Even after our first dinner “date” walter continued to show up at my baseball games for the rest of the season.  That summer i arranged to play in an amateur industrial league – a baseball league that was made up of guys who worked at various factories.  The factory teams played each other.  i was a ringer – too young actually to be employed in our state, but not too young to play in the league- sort of a loophole in the rules.  But it enabled me to keep my skills up and maintain my amateur status.

walter started showing up at those games as well.  After every game walter would hang around and take me to dinner – not always high class restaurants; sometimes just diners where i could go in my shorts and wife-beater. On one of those dinner “dates” we went back to walter’s place afterwards and watched some TV and played on a new Wii that he had bought.  It was well after 11:30 when walter finally drove me home.  The next date, he asked if my parents were upset that I came home so late.  i told him that they were poised and made a real scene.  (In actuality, the ‘rents couldn’t give a shit when I came home or where I was.  On that night, they didn’t even know that i wasn’t home.)  walter probed and I played it up big.  I said that there was a scene and my mom and dad were going to impose a curfew.  walter ate it up.

“If things are so bad at home, why don’t you move out?”  He asked.

“Where would i go?”

“Well, you could move in with me.

“Really!!  That would be cool.”

And so that night I went home with walter.  The next morning, i said that i needed to go back home to pick up my stuff.  walter said that i probably shouldn’t; that my parents would try to keep me there of call the cops.  (How little walter knew about my parents.  The only reason they hadn’t already rented out my room was because it hadn’t yet clicked on them that i was not living there anymore.)

walter insisted that he would buy me new clothes, and he took me shopping.  i picked out only the most expensive sports clothes, underarmour tees and shorts, high end nike basketball shoes and baseball cleats.  walter was grinning from ear to ear as he pulled out his credit card.  Then he took me to the mens department  and bought me a $3000 Armani suit (although where he thought I would wear such a thing, I just don’t know) expensive slacks, custom fitted dress shirts, and neckties.  (Fucking neckties cost like $200 each – amazing!).

We went home and walter arranged all of my new clothes in the closet in the second bedroom.  After about three days i went to walter and told him that I felt weird sleeping in the second bedroom that was made up as a shrine to me. 

“You need to sleep in the shrine,” I said.

“You need to move your stuff into the shrine room, and move my stuff into the bedroom,” I ordered.  “Don’t you think that is more appropriate?”

Of course, walter knew that the only possible answer to that was “yes.”

“And change the sheets on the king size bed.”

walter’s life as my fag was only beginning.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young Apex Alpha, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank the anonymous Alpha writer for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

I played baseball in high school (shortstop -batted third, and pretty good – started all four years).  Baseball is a great game, requiring skill, intelligence and real athleticism.  But it is not a sexy, spectator-attracting sport like football or basketball.  We generally played with only a sprinkling of fans, moms, dads (although not my mom or dad – they were totally uninterested), girl friends, in the stands.  No cheerleaders, no rah rah, no pom poms. 

But my Sophomore year I noticed this guy was always in the stands – sort of off to a side, not with anyone.  Late 20s, maybe early 30s, kinda nerdy.  Too young to be a dad, too old to be an older brother.  And he seemed to be focusing on me a lot.  He was at every home game and pretty soon he started to show up at away games.  I started to wink at him at the end of each inning when I came back into the dugout or when I went into the “on deck” circle before batting.  I hit a home run with two men on base in the bottom of the 9th inning to win the game once, and as I rounded third I doffed my batter’s helmet in his direction.  After that game, he was waiting for me as I left the locker room after showering and changing into cargo shorts, a wife-beater and flip flops, my usual street wear that year.  

“I know you hit that home run for me, Jake” he said. 

“No,” I responded, although surprised that=at he actually knew my name.  “We needed to win the game.”

“Still, an effort like that takes a lot out of a boy.  Let me buy you a steak dinner.  You deserve it.”

What the fuck, I thought to myself.  Either home for dinner for tuna casserole with my mom and dad who could give a shit about my home run.  Or steak dinner with this guy who is a fan.

“Sure,” I said.

“I think you look great in those shorts and shirt Jake, but I don’t think they’ll let you into Mortons wearing that outfit.  Do you have anything else to wear?”

“Nope, all the stuff in my locker is dirty and smelly.” 

He kinda sighed at that prospect, but said, “Well, we’ll just have to get you something to wear.” 

And fuck if we didn’t stop at the mall and he bought me a pair of $300 designer jeans that looked like they had been painted on me,  and a $100 designer tee shirt.  And some expensive cowboy-style boots.  (He really, really liked those boots.)

And when we stepped into Mortons that evening, I noticed that the place went silent.  And I know instinctively that the silence wasn’t for the dude, Walter. 

Walter was literally panting for breath as he tried to order.  So I took over and ordered for him.  I know he was grateful.  Over dinner Walter gushed about what a great athlete I was, how much he admired my skill as a ball player, how he thought i was the best looking guy on the team.  He subtly (well, he tried for subtle, but he was not) speculated that I had the biggest cock in the locker room.  My ears perked up at that.  “How’d you know?” I teased.  (Actually, I did.  Bigger than any of the players, any of the coaches.  longer, fatter. and I was only 15.)  Walter just about keeled over with excitement.   “Would you like to come back to my place?” he asked.

“Well, I don’t know.  I got some homework to do.” 

Well, after a little back and forth I agreed to go back to his place for a while.  (The nice part about having parents who don’t give a shit about you is that you can change plans easily and not even show up and they don’t even miss you.)  We went back to Walter’s luxury condo, and don’t you know that fucking Walter had shrine to me in his second bedroom.  Newspaper clippings about my playing, photos that someone (Walter probably) had snapped surreptitiously, a team hat and a ball that Walter claims was my first homer of the season. 

We sat around, chatting for a while and then I asked Walter to take me home.   He suggested that since it was late (all of 9:30) I should stay the night, but I insisted on going home.  On the way home though, in Walter’s 7 series Beamer I did say that I had a good time.  I specifically did NOT thank Walter however.  But what was left hanging out there was the suggestion (unspoken) that we should do it again.

That was all Walter needed.  We did it again, and again and over the course of some weeks, Walter became my first fag.  It proved to be an education for me – and for Walter.

For the sake of preservation, this thread endeavors to recreate the legendary Tumblr blog str8guys4fags2serve. Written by a young God Alpha named “Jake”, its bluntly honest revelations form the bedrock of Hierarchical truth found on this website and all others. I thank Master Jake for sharing his wisdom. This thread is a tribute to you, Sir. CLICK HERE for all of these posts in chronological order!

At the urging of some of my buds, I am starting this blog to set out my theory and practices in how a real man uses his fags.  A man understands that fags are put on Earth to serve men such as themselves.  A Real Man knows this, understands this and accepts the worshipful service of fags as his natural due.  

Even as a boy, i understood certain things.  I knew that I was a superior guy, a natural athlete and that I was born to succeed in life.  I understood that most guys around me were inferior, and that they could find fulfillment and purpose in their lives by serving men such as me.  I came to realize, early on, that this is the natural order of things – that some men are superior, and that others are born to serve Superior Men; that they NEED to serve Superior Men. 

My first experience in commanding the respect and service of fags was when I was in high school.  I learned that some men just simply needed to give me things and to worship my body; that it gave them deep satisfaction to sacrifice for me.  And I learned that sometimes a Man just can’t have all of his sexual needs served.  The girl may be having her period or sick or tired or otherwise unwilling.  Such a girl rarely gets a second date, but still, the Man’s needs are unmet.  That’s when the fag comes in so handy.  And fags are so willing.  A Man can call them at the last minute, in the middle of the night, or while they are in the midst of doing something that the believe is important to them.  Nonetheless, the fag will drop everything, and brave the gloom of night or awful weather to come to me and service my needs.  And the fag will be grateful.

From that realization, it was only a short step to being aggressive and affirmative in manipulating fags, mind-fucking them, and putting them in the context of their place in the real world.  I see this not so much as controlling them as in giving their miserable lives meaning and purpose.  I see this is my gift to fagdom.

In this blog, I will discuss my experiences in using and manipulating fags, and in enriching my life through their service.  I will discuss some of my past experiences and whatsis going on in my life right now.  I don’t think that I know it all, and I certainly am willing to learn from Men with greater experience.  But i do think I have something to offer other Real Men who understand and are comfortable with their superiority.

About me:  I’m now 22 years old, college grad and professionally employed, about 6 feet tall, firm, muscular body of an athlete (which I am).  Naturally smooth.  Jet black hair, piercing blue eyes, impressively hung and insatiably horny.

I’ll also post pics that I find on the web or in other Tumblrs.  I’ll try to avoid the cute captions.