JACK LENNON / 2 PIECES
High Value Male
Chad moves Chad-like through his surroundings. Chad exudes a potent, masculine confidence. Chad strides purposefully, though in truth Chad has no idea where Chad is going. Chad is a high value male. Chad is so confident Chad doesn’t hear the plain looking TV assistant when she asks Chad what pronouns Chad uses. Chad doesn’t have pronouns, Chad answers in a masculine, confident way. The assistant spends a second or so looking confused in Chad’s peripheral vision before she disappears into the past, effortlessly forgotten. Chad isn’t here to talk about pronouns with some pink haired feminist six. Chad is here to get women. Like actual women. Women with long hair who stand in a row with their hands on their hips in group photos. Women who don’t have pronouns. Women Chad could share a beautiful heterosexual life with. Ten women. Though Chad would settle for nines. Chad had Chad’s sights on one in particular. One woman. The one woman they were all fighting for. The Bachelorette.
It is the first time Chad is meeting any of the other men; the producers keep them in separate stalls like horses. Chad could only hear their low muttering, all night long, was it crying? No. When they finally met the men didn’t even really get to talk, they just barked their names at one another along with their occupations. Now they were lined up in front of Chad, wearing almost identical suits, panting, sweating, champing at their respective bits. Chad steals glances at the other men and it only makes Chad sweat more, which is already a considerable amount. Their profiles are so sharp, their jawlines impossibly defined. Chad thinks Chad might be feeling something and quickly banishes it behind the locked door in Chad’s mind.
The first round of talking heads saw Chad stating Chad thought some of the other men were, including but not limited to: gay, cucks, weaklings, milk-boys, and each one definitely possessed soft hands and an extremely small penis. Chad, however, possesses none of these traits. Chad is a real man. Chad is not human. Chad is superhuman. There are two wolves inside Chad. They are both alpha and could kill people. Chad doesn’t feel anything that isn’t good and confident and right and manly. Chad could kill God if Chad wanted to. Chad is a high value male.
Another six (truly a five if Chad is being honest) is telling Chad how Chad will be put in a limo to drive for three minutes and then all Chad has to do is get out of the limo, walk up the red carpet and briefly introduce Chadself to the Bachelorette. Then, walk into the mansion, and there will be staff waiting to take care of Chad. That’s all Chad needs to do. Does Chad understand that? Chad nods impatiently. Of course Chad does. Why is this four forcing Chad to talk about Chad’s feelings? Chad can get in a car. Chad can drive a car. All the podcasts Chad had consumed in the run up to this day had prepared Chad for this meeting. Chad knew what Chad had to do. Bring down her worth to enhance Chad’s own. The Bachelorette wouldn’t understand just by telling her. Chad had the almost impossible task of convincing a woman of something she could not be trusted to see on her own: Chad’s worth.
When Chad is doing the car scene they have to re-shoot it twice because they say Chad is visibly gagging in all the footage. Chad doesn’t know what they’re talking about, Chad feels fine. Extremely healthy. At peak performance. Chad has never been afraid of anything (not even a bear, or a lion). Chad has always controlled Chad’s body’s output with laser precision. An assistant moves to mop the sweat from Chad’s forehead and the soothing nature of the action makes Chad feel like breaking her arm. Or falling into her arms and letting her hold Chad as Chad sobs. But Chad does neither. The locked door takes care of everything. After the third time shooting the car scene the producers start to mumble that they’ll just leave it in, maybe they can do some quick cuts to try and disguise it. Chad does not know what they mean.
Chad is sick of the lies. A conspiracy, already brewing to undermine Chad’s masculinity. Only a beta cuck would sweat and gag and want to throw up and cry in the back of a car while waiting to talk to a woman. Chad ignores them and stares straight ahead in the car, rehearsing. Chad is Chad. Chad is 32 years old. Chad works in finance. Chad’s yearly income is extremely impressive. Chad is Sigma pilled. Chad hasn’t felt an emotion since Chad was a child. Chad is a high value male.
Chad is ferried back and forth, doomed to drive the same three minutes over and over. Each time Chad reaches Chad’s destination, the red carpet lying invitingly outside, Chad is snatched away again. Chad’s shirt and trousers, already extremely tight, become unbearably so, crushing Chad’s windpipe, wrists and hips, bound in a polyester cotton mix. Chad’s skin is burning, pressed against the searing fabric of Chad’s shirt. It was supposed to be breathable Egyptian, fucking lying cuck of a shirt salesman, Chad would slit his throat.
Just as Chad imagines taking the shirt salesman’s head between Chad’s teeth, the car door opens. Chad freezes for a moment, Chad’s keen masculine senses picking up the scent of a feminine perfume. The Bachelorette is near. A bend at the hip to leave the car makes Chad concerned Chad might rip right out of Chad’s clothes, but Chad’s pristine, muscular body remains concealed for now. Chad is certain there will be an opportunity to remove Chad’s shirt imminently. Then she’d see. Then they’d all see. Chad stands just outside the car door, staring at the woman waving at Chad. She is an eight at least, long blonde hair, boobs. Wearing a dress that was an acceptable, feminine color. It might have been pink, Chad doesn’t know. Chad isn’t gay. It shows her legs, meticulously tanned and hair-free. A potential ten. She is perfect. Chad needs her.
Chad immediately and without saying anything backflips onto the roof of the limo, landing with a horrible crunch that leaves four indents in the metal roof. Cries of alarm and shock echo in the empty Los Angeles air, that to Chad’s ears seem to be saying wow, what an alpha thing to do. Wrong. Chad is a sigma, which is better than an alpha. The woman looks slightly afraid, but maybe she should be. Chad narrows Chad’s eyes masculinely and begins to growl. The growl grows in Chad’s throat and becomes a roar, a force of nature bent on expressing Chad’s manly essence to the world. Chad roars for a long time, longer than is maybe comfortable to do so. Chad’s throat burns, and he fights desperately against the urge to cough. Members of the crew surround the limo, beckoning Chad down, but Chad will come down when Chad is finished. Chad is a high value male.
Eventually, Chad lowers Chadself from the limo, a smile wide and white stretching across Chad’s well-structured face. The woman attempts a smile back, giggles nervously. Most likely intimidated by Chad’s display of masculinity. Or maybe she is a lesbian. Chad walks confidently towards her, suit trousers straining to contain Chad’s immaculate quads. Chad barely manages to suppress the impulse to kneel before her; but that would be madness. That would be cuck shit. Instead, Chad extends a huge, open palm and crushes her tiny womanish hand inside it.
“CHAD!” Chad bellows, squeezing tightly on her tiny feminine woman girl hands. They are so tiny. She grimaces and says her own name in return. Before the word has even exited her mouth, Chad tells her that Chad’s yearly income is extremely impressive. Chad heard on a podcast it was considered beta behaviour to say the exact amount, so Chad doesn’t. The woman smiles but doesn’t say anything. Chad laughs to fill the silence, and stays standing in front of her, smiling, expecting a deluge of compliments that never come. “So, are you interested?” Chad asks finally, since she isn’t saying it.
“Um, I think that part comes later,” the woman laughs. What a bitch. Maybe she wasn’t worth Chad’s time after all. Just like all the others. A stuck up bitch who couldn’t see a high value male when one was standing right in front of her. A high value male with immaculate quads and an extremely impressive yearly income and a very secure job in finance. Chad nods curtly and strides past her, trying to put her into the realm of forgotten women in Chad’s peripheral vision. But Chad can’t. As Chad walks masculinely away, Chad keeps turning back to catch another glimpse of her. Chad feels weak, out of control. To help with this feeling, Chad thinks about a video Chad saw earlier that day of a man breaking apart logs with his bare hands. Chad feels better.
Chad enters the hotel lobby, letting a swagger hide the trembling in Chad’s quads. A line of beta cucks greet Chad, each one’s stance broader than the last on the expensive carpet, their shoes impossibly shiny, their trousers upsettingly tight. They’re betas, Chad tells Chadself. Nothing but betas. “Hey buddy, how’d it go?” One of the betas extends a hand to Chad. A beautiful, masculine hand, the nails meticulously trimmed, the skin rugged yet smooth. “Great!” Chad almost screams the word, and keeps two red, watering eyes firmly fixed on the cuck, trying to make him shit himself with sheer power of will. It didn’t seem to be working. “Cam,” the cuck says, still hanging on to Chad’s hand, shaking it at wildly differentiating intervals. Chad hangs on, hard, to establish dominance, but Cam only shakes harder in response. Soon the two men are swinging their arms up and down with the energy and vigor of two wolves shaking a dying rabbit between their jaws.
Cam brings the manic hand shaking to an end, thus establishing himself as the alpha. Cam was definitely backing down from the extremely emasculating handshake Chad has just dealt. The other men are already circling them, some with hands already extended in greeting. Chad doesn’t know if Chad can handle another hand shake. But Chad does, taking hand after hand, hardly able to notice if Chad’s dominance is being established or not. Some of the men let their hands fall into Chad’s, weak and palpable, practically Chad’s for the taking. Chad could rip their arms off if Chad wanted to. Beta handshakes for beta cucks. These men were not worth remembering. But some were, if only just to know who to look directly in the eye as Chad cucked them. As Chad won the woman, the woman with the boobs and the pink dress. And the hair. She would be Chad’s, whatever her name was.
The men sit around for a while, their legs spread wide, yet somehow managing to keep their knees from ever touching. Some of them bounce their legs in an obvious show of insecurity and nerves, and Chad prides Chadself on Chad’s ability to control Chad’s bodily functions. Chad is suppressing the urge to shake so hard it is causing Chad to sweat profusely from Chad’s forehead and again, the cursed, not-real gags keep forcing their way up Chad’s throat. Chad tilts Chad’s head back to look more alpha, after Chad sees another man, Jason, doing the same. Chad thinks that Jason looks more comfortable and alpha doing it, however, and quickly submits, lowering Chad’s chin in shame. The Bachelorette suddenly enters and all the men launch themselves into standing positions. Her smile is bright and electric, her teeth as white and straight as Chadself. Which is extremely so.
The Bachelorette thanks them all for coming, and assures them that she came here to be real and to have a real connection with someone. She says that she grew up extremely pretty and this opened her up to relationships that didn’t turn out to be real. She says now after becoming Miss Arkansas, she’s ready to settle down and be real with someone. Chad knits Chad’s brow, which makes Chad look like Chad is listening intently. Chad truthfully doesn’t fully understand what the woman is saying, and is trying very hard to imagine how Chad’s delts look from the side. But, Chad supposed, Chad is looking for someone real too. Someone who would laugh at Chad’s jokes instead of pointing out how offensive they were. That wasn’t very real behavior. Chad just wants a girl who doesn’t take herself too seriously.
They clink their drinks together laboriously, all the men crowding around the woman to clang their half-full beer bottles against her delicate champagne flute. Then, seconds after the last clink of glass rings out, Jason descends on the woman, impossibly tall and blue-suited, he envelops her in his lengthy arms and soon they are walking away, his hand on her lower back. The gags in Chad’s throat are fully unleashed, and he dry heaves over the ankle-height table, crowned with a bowl of round husks that Chad previously thought were snacks but nobody was eating. The other men scatter in alarm as Chad’s sweat begins to dot the light brown wood, Chad’s face swelling so much that Chad’s eyes begin to close, reducing everything to a wet, foggy mess.
The betas start touching Chad on the back, asking Chad questions in a language Chad didn’t understand. Chad staggers from the room into the cool night air, searching among the tasteful plateaus for the woman, and the man Chad must slay. Chad finds them quickly by the camera crew crowded closely around them, and pulls Chadself up from the ground. Chad hadn’t noticed Chad had been running on all fours. Sigma behavior. Chad stands upright and walks nonchalantly to the couple, seated facing each other, the woman’s hands cradled in the beta’s. Chad suppresses a growl and instead speaks in a normal, masculine and confident way.
“Hey bro, can I talk to her for a sec?” Jason turns to stare up at Chad.
“Bro, we just started talking, give me five minutes.”
“Yeah no, it’s really urgent bro please, just let me talk to her.”
“No, bro come on I need my time with her, wait your turn.”
“Bro, I’m serious right now it’s so urgent, please.”
“Dude, it’s not my fault you didn’t take the initiative to talk to her first.”
“I don’t need the initiative bro, I’m a sigma male.”
The sentence seems to confuse the beta long enough for Chad to guide the woman up by her hands, slipping them expertly from the beta’s grasp into Chad’s own. The Bachelorette stands, throwing an apologetic smile back at the beta, and follows Chad towards the swimming pool. They sit facing each other, faces uncomfortably close, and Chad encloses the woman’s hands in Chad’s own, smearing them with sweat and tears and stomach acid. Chad speaks without ever knowing what is going to come next, reciting every line Chad has ever heard in any romance movie. Chad has never felt this way about anyone else, Chad could really see a future with her. Chad’s life hasn’t been the same since Chad met her. Chad is completely in love with her and Chad will not leave here unless it’s with this woman. Chad feels it is the wrong time to ask her what her name is again. Tiffany, right? Jennifer?
The woman stares at Chad through watery blue eyes throughout Chad’s speech, and Chad cannot tell until the last possible moment whether she’s in love with Chad or is a lesbian. The woman smiles brightly with impossible teeth, squeezes Chad’s damp hands one last time. “Okay, great.” She drops Chad’s hands and they curl into themselves like dead spiders. Chad stares after her as the woman rises to her feet, pink gown trailing behind her, and moves, angelic, back into the main room. With the cucks. And the warm beers. And the strange, inedible husks.
During the rose-giving ceremony, Chad is living through a strange, cloudy hell. Chad is not cognizant of what is being said to Chad. Chad only knows standing still and staring at the woman as she allocates rose after rose to men that aren’t Chad. To men that are betas. Chad, for the sake of Chad’s sanity, is convincing Chadself each time that the next rose will be Chad’s. But Chad is slowly beginning to realize that the woman does not want Chad. She is a lesbian. But why would a lesbian go on a show like this? The information does not do anything to calm Chad’s nerves. The tension in Chad’s body could crush a small car. Chad is vaguely aware of the sweat soaking through Chad’s navy suit jacket.
The last rose is presented to Chris. Chad has never seen this man before in Chad’s life. He slaps Chad a few times on the back, immediately pulling his hand away from Chad’s slowly spreading sweat. “Better luck next time, champ.” Chad lunges at Chris, locking Chad’s jaws around his throat, feeling Chris’ jugular slide around beneath them. Chris is screaming, the contestants are screaming. Chad is unaware of everything. Chad is living in the body. Chad feels so right. This is the way they should have settled everything from the beginning. Chad releases Chris, who drops to the ground, convulsing and bleeding out in an extremely beta way. Chad immediately sets Chad’s sights on Jason, who lifts his arm to cover his face like some kind of milk boy. Like some kind of coward. Chad opens Chad’s jaw wide enough to completely encase Jason’s intimidatingly wide forearm. Chad also makes a note to focus on forearms more next time Chad is at the gym. Why the hell hasn’t Chad been doing forearm day?
Jason’s tiny bones are splintering and cracking under Chad’s jaw; Jason obviously doesn’t get enough calcium. Jason should go on a calcium bulk. Strengthen up these weak, effeminate bones. Chad’s bones are strong, they’re like metal. How else could Chad be biting down on so many things and making them die. Chad releases Jason’s arm and turns to look at the woman. Maybe she’ll have Chad now. No, she definitely will. She needs a strong man to protect her. She’s probably turned on by all this. But Chad thinks she looks… scared, maybe? She’s screaming and cowering on the floor, with her arms up over her face. Women are so hard to read. So maybe she’s horny. Or on her period. Or a lesbian. It’s hard for Chad to tell.
In any case, it’s important that Chad plays hard to get. Chad’s status has been established, as a high value male. Chad has made Chad’s intentions clear. Now Chad just needs to neg her and wait for the nudes to come flooding in. Chad screams “YOU’RE A STUPID BITCH!” at the top of Chad’s lungs, flecks of spit and blood flying from Chad’s mouth. The woman cowers more on the floor, some of the other men rushing in to protect her. Pathetic. Chad drops to all fours, sprints from the room, down the driveway of the mansion and out onto the road. Chad doesn’t need a car, Chad IS a car. Chad will run home. This will be Chad’s cardio for the day. For the week. Chad runs onto the highway, streams of sweat and blood and tears flying out behind Chad. No, these aren’t tears. Chad’s eyes are cumming. Cumming from the sheer joy of getting one over on those betas. Chad pulls out Chad’s iPhone to check if the woman has texted Chad yet. Chad is hit by a large truck and is killed instantly. Chad is a high value male.
Cum Dumpster
They don’t call it a bin in America, they call it a dumpster and I call it a cum dumpster because it’s where I cum. After I cum, the cum runs silently down the walls of the dumpster and a rat comes out from underneath an empty burger bag to drink it. A good source of protein for her, I think. One wild moment had me worried I’d get the rats pregnant from them eating my cum and then I remember it doesn’t work that way. The rats are bigger here, though they say you’re never more than two meters from a rat in Edinburgh, and I get in a lot of bins. I mean dumpsters.
The next time I cum in the dumpster I’m with a girl I met at the dive bar next door, and she’s drunk in that sad way where you know she got dumped recently and just wants to fuck someone to forget about how sad she is. I take her down the alley and she’s smiling at first, until I lift the lid of the dumpster and get in, smiling really hard at her as I do it to try and convince her it’s ok, it’s actually better to fuck here in the dumpster than in a bed. Is this a British thing? She says, and I hate her. No, it’s not a British thing, it’s a me thing and I’m not even British I’m Scottish. We don’t have bins like this at home, I say to her, and my voice gets loud and tears start welling up in my eyes because I’m feeling things. Everything is bigger and better here. I’m shouting now. You don’t even know what you have.
She faces the wall when we do it, and at first she’s scared to put her hands on the greasy metal but after a few minutes her hands are pressed flat against it and her mouth is wide open to receive the dumpster air. The air in a dumpster is just different, it’s like a different world in there. I say that to her and she doesn’t reply but I keep saying it over and over again until I cum. When we get out of the dumpster the chefs working in the restaurant next door are out having a cigarette and they stare at us and laugh. The girl goes to cover her face with her greased-up hands and then she remembers about the bin juice all over them and she’s sick down the side of the dumpster but I’m not ashamed. I like it in there. I say that to them, the chefs in their dirty whites. I like it in there and it’s better than out here. They don’t say anything, but they keep laughing.
I find this website all about dumpster cumming except here they call it dumpster diving, which is crazy; we don’t even have a word for it at home. I ask this guy if he wants to go dumpster diving with me, and when we meet it’s the afternoon and the daylight is heating the dumpster and it smells ripe and earthy. Such a good time to be dumpster cumming I say to him with a smile and he says what and I say nevermind. Then I get fully inside. Oh do you get fully inside when you do it he says and I say yeah of course. How else are you gonna do it. He has this big bag with him which I guess is to collect all our cum but he leaves it outside.
When I take my dick out his eyes get wide and he slams the lid shut but then he opens it again and just watches me. I say are you not cumming too? And he stammers for a bit and then gets in totally naked. It is hot. Temperature wise, it’s really hot. So getting naked is a good idea. I can see he’s starting to get hard already but he keeps gagging from the hot dumpster smell and I agree that this was a really good idea to do it during the day. Totally changes the dumpster air. And he’s just watching my hand going up and down on my cock like he can’t look away. And then he starts doing it too and our hands keep bumping together.
Then the guy starts saying he’s a dirty little boy and I’m like what and he’s like I’m a dirty little boy and stop killing the vibe stop being weird. Sht up. And I’m like what but he doesn’t hear me and he cums all over me just as I’m saying it’s not dirty to want this and it’s really hot. Like temperature wise this guy’s cum is like the hottest cum I’ve ever felt. The guy slips on a plastic bottle on his way out and looks round at me like I put it there deliberately and I’m like we’re in a bin mate what do you expect.
When I get out it’s night time because I wanted to see the rats so I napped inside the dumpster. The rats run away from me when I wake up and I remember that girl saying I’m British. I’m not fucking British I say to them and they don’t say anything because they don’t understand nations. I would live in the rat nation, I say to them and they say nothing because I’m not a rat and never will be. I start crying at that because it’s not fair because I won’t ever be in the place I need to be. I check my phone and the guy’s blocked me. Fucking weirdo mate d’ye know what I’m saying. I can’t remember now if I’m from Glasgow or Edinburgh but these fucking kids are walking past and I shout to ask them if they cum in bins or somewhere more normal. They run away and the night is dark and the cum is cold and hard.
Jack Lennon is a writer and poet from Scotland. You can find their work published by Vlad Mag, Night Shades and 404 Ink, among others. One of the few still posting on tumblr, you can find them @maso-kist or visit their website, jacklennon.com.