
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!
Just as an Alpha can spot a fag a mile away, I suspect that some fags instinctively know who is an Alpha.
I was at a party last weekend – one of those parties where a bunch of people mill around in an overly expensive apartment that has been carved out of an old industrial building where they no longer make clothing or electronic gizmos because those things are now being made by coolies in China who get paid like 16 cents an hour. I was cruising this very, very attractive woman, maybe late 20s or early 30s – the kind of woman who – what with the gym, the hairdresser, the make-up specialist, her cosmetic surgeon, clothes shopping and such – spends probably 75% of her time on her appearance. The lady was cruising right back.
I was about to make my move when this guy – late-20s,, early 30s maybe, good looking, well toned body, designer suit, $100 haircut – shows up with a drink in his hand.
“Bourbon, rocks?” he said questioningly, as he handed it to me, taking away the nearly empty glass I had been holding. “I saw that you were about ready for another.”. And with that he disappeared.
I continued cruising the lady and eventually we struck up a conversation, which led to an assignation. The lady knew the apartment, and led me to a bedroom tucked away in the nether reaches of the apartment where we consummated our cruising with about three-quarters of an hour of intense fucking.The party had thinned out considerably when we emerged from our tryst; first the lady, and then about five minutes later, me. But the dude with the haircut was right there, a bourbon rocks in his hand.
“You probably can use this,: he said, handing me the drink, and adding, softly “Sir.”
“Hmm,” I grunted, but he already was fading into the crowd. I don’t know whether he heard me or not..I never saw the dude again until I left the party an hour or two later. I emerged from the building and tried to hail a cab that was just passing by. The cab continued on down the street. The dude with the haircut was right there.
“Take my car, Sir.”
“Really! I can get a cab easy enough.”
But the driver already was holding the rear passenger door open and haircut dude was edging me toward the back seat.“Take Mr. Xxxxxxx to –:” and he recited my address. I was kind of creeped out, but the door closed and the driver was almost instantly in the car and we took off. Haircut dude was on the sidewalk, a slight smile on his face.
In the week since, I have seen haircut dude several times: at the deli where I sometimes go to grab a carry-out sandwich or salad for lunch, he held the door open as I left; in the locker room at the gym, he got me a couple of fresh, warm towels as I emerged from the shower; several times on the subway, where he tried to give me his seat. (I always refused.)
He’s not told me his name, and I’ve not asked. I have a pretty good idea what he wants and where this is going, but I am Interested in seeing just how long this game will last until he makes his move.
















































































