My career as a sports agent has really taken off. I now have in my stable a bevy of top professional athletes. I represent some of the premier football, baseball and basketball stars in America. My ability to attract such stars and the success of my career comes as a surprise to more established sports agents. I had started out with absolutely no background in sports whatsoever, yet seemed to gain the complete confidence of the athletes I approached. In just three years as an agent, I now have over thirty athletes as clients.
What other agents and the sports media often comment upon is the intense loyalty I inspire in my clients. Most of them, while skeptical at first, eventually turn over all aspects of their professional and financial lives to my care. One ESPN commentator has noted that I am "almost a father figure" to the athletes I represent. Over time, my clients fire all of their other advisors and come to depend completely upon me.
So total is their trust that my clients even dispense with all sports doctors and trainers they had previously employed and follow a medical and training regimen overseen by doctors and trainers that I personally retain and supervise. My team utilizes "unique" and "revolutionary" drug training and therapy. Most observers attribute the special relationship with my clients to the fact that I am a trained psychologist by previous profession. I really listen to my clients and understand their problems. I also use meditation and hypnosis techniques to help my clients relax, envision success and reach peak performance on the field.
One fascinating fact about my clients that many seem to overlook is that they are single to a man. All of those involved in a relationship seem to either break up with their girlfriends or get divorced shortly after I begin representing them. The pressures of professional athletics are so hard on relationships. The interesting thing is that none of my clients seem to get re-involved with another woman, despite their obvious desirability from both a physical and financial standpoint.
On this day, I was in Denver for a meeting with John Elway, the Super Bowl MVP quarterback of the Denver Broncos and a future Hall of Famer. Elway was the top quarterback in football and this week I hoped to "bag" him as a client. Recently, Elway had decided to reverse his decision to retire and was preparing to return as quarterback of the Broncos for the 1999 season. At the same time, he wanted to make some changes in his representation and was interviewing potential agents. Given my lack of experience in sports, Elway was skeptical about even interviewing me.
Fortunately, one of my other clients -- 49ers quarterback Steve Young -- was good friends with Elway. He had been working on Elway for weeks to see me. Elway thought Steve's persistence in trying to convince him to see me seemed almost obsessive. Steve called John every day and practically begged him to talk with me. Steve seemed so concerned and upset that John finally agreed to talk with me just to calm Steve down. Heck, if Steve thought that much of this guy, John reasoned, the least he could do was talk to him.
What John had no way of knowing was that Steve had been nearly delirious with anxiety. I had instructed Steve that he must get his friend John Elway to speak with me or I would be very displeased with him. So displeased that I would stop being his agent, stop talking to him at all, and refuse to let him service my penis. Steve had been my client for nearly a year now, and had come to view me as the most important person in his life. He was virtually unable to make any decision without my firm guiding hand. He was convinced that his career as an athlete would be over without me. More importantly, Steve had decided that he was in love with me and that his life was not worth living without the ability to serve me sexually. Steve had withdrawn from his friends and family and become docile and dependent upon me. As John kept refusing to see me, I stopped returning Steve's calls and ended our sexual relationship. Steve began to contemplate taking his own life and his entreaties to Elway became more and more persistent.
On the day John finally agreed to see me, I went to Steve's home in San Francisco. He had just come from a workout and was covered in sweat. He stood in the doorway in his grey workout t-shirt and shorts and broke down crying when he saw me. I stepped inside, told him about the news from Elway and told him that he had pleased me very much. "Oh, God, Daddy, thank you, thank you!. I'm so sorry I ever displeased you."
"Now, now Stevie. Everything's OK. Why don't you show Daddy how sorry you are in the way I taught you?"
He collapsed to his knees and worked down my zipper with his teeth as I had trained him to do. Kneeling back on his haunches he sucked my penis into his mouth. As he did, I ran one hand through his thick, curly, black hair and used the other to squeeze and massage his muscular football player's shoulders and neck.
Taking in this spectacle, I thought about how far I had taken Steve. I reflected on the fact that before I met him he had been a serious and faithful adherent of the Mormon faith. I thought of the machismo and leadership he showed as he rewrote the NFL passing records and led the 49ers to a Super Bowl victory over the Chargers. I remembered how the first time I met him he was so self-confident and masculine, certain he did not need an agent who would make all of his decisions for him. Such a cocky jock.
With those images in my mind I looked down at the new Steve Young I had created. While convulsively impaling himself on my penis, he stared up at me, tears streaming down his face and his glazed eyes locked on mine. The rest of his body spasmed and moans came from his throat as he debased himself and groveled before me. I smiled, stroked his cheek, and came in his mouth. I pinched his nose shut as he obediently swallowed. I zipped up, walked out and left the football star dazed and kneeling on the floor. It was time to visit John Elway.
As you probably have guessed, while the financial and ego rewards of my career are great, there is something else that drives me. My goal is not just to be close to my clients, but to own them, body and soul.
The roots of my career probably stem from my childhood. Unathletic and bookish, I was never very popular. I was constantly picked on by other boys who were tough and good at sports. In high school the trend continued. I was the loser, the bookworm, the geek. I was a target of practical jokes and ridicule by the jocks. Gym class was a horror. Unable to strike back, I just took it and dreamt of revenge. The boys who were good at athletics got everything they wanted and were treated like kings. The culture at my high school was to glorify and mythologize the successful athletes. I, meanwhile, was an outcast because of my proficiency at science and math.
My passive adolescent rage was compounded by the fact that I found myself powerfully sexually attracted to jocks of all sorts. It became clear to me that I was gay. Soon I found myself in a swirling storm of emotions. My fantasies revolved around bringing down the jocks, conquering them and showing them I was as good as they were. Along with the urge to bring down the athletes, however, there came a sexual and romantic urge to be with the jocks and to have them. Confused and contradictory feelings plagued my life.
As I moved on, I became a top student at college, went to medical school and became a pioneering psychologist in the use of drug and hypnotherapy. As successful as my practice was, I felt a void. I was closeted and unable to develop any romantic feelings toward anyone. All of my sexual fantasies revolved around the athletes I saw on TV and dreamt of. They always centered on the dual need to bring them down and at the same time to possess their beauty and grace. Soon I decided to feed my urges and scratch the itch I had for my whole life. My friends were shocked when I left my practice to become, of all things, a sports agent.
Actually, I was using my drug and hypno-therapy much more as an agent than I had as a psychologist. No professional organization, however, would sanction the way I used my skills. Through a combination of drugs, hypnosis and light and sound images I brainwashed my clients into complete submission. Then I re-molded them to my desires. My job satisfaction was tremendous. I only picked the most successful, handsome and popular athletes. Their unthinking expectation that everyone would defer to them, their unselfconscious power and masculinity, the beautiful, spoiled faces that they showed to the world all enraged and attracted me.
What appealed to me most was the thought that these strong, powerful men were now prey hunted by me, as helpless as some feminine co-ed about to be date-raped. The fallen hero was my favorite kind. I find the most erotic part is the (sometimes subtle, sometimes overt) seduction and capture of the jock's mind, and how I then manipulate it. I find sexy the sheer helplessness of the jock's mind before me -- the conquering intruder. As I gradually enslave a young jock, I think of all the times I was mocked and put down as a boy. My heartless lust mounts as I see their faces melt from rugged confidence to weakness and dependence on me. I laugh as I observe their need to please me, to gaze into my eyes. Most of all, I thrill as the super hetero jocks become sexually addicted to me in a manner ten times more powerful than a heroin junkie.
My goal is to make a beautiful collection of my pretty jocks. After I force them into submission, they become mere objects to me. My attraction to them gradually fades and after a year or two I rent them out to closeted businessmen, Hollywood producers or Arab oil sheiks. One of my clients has just given up his all-star baseball career to move to Saudi Arabia as a sex toy. I pocketed a cool million on the deal. The chase and the conquest are the thing; the bringing down of the athletic idol.
Bringing John into my stable would be the crowning achievement of my career to date. He was the prestige client in all of football for an agent to have. I could use him as bait. With John under my wing, I would attract more and more prominent athletes into my web.
Moreover, John's enslavement would be a tremendous personal challenge and the erotic achievement of a lifetime. John was at the peak of his powers as a man and as an athlete. He was in his prime and it was a considerable prime. At 6-3 and 215 pounds, John was the prototype quarterback of his generation. As a physical specimen, he was breathtaking. His dirty-blond hair was full and thick. He was powerfully built, but had no fat. His eyes were crystal-blue and his often-remarked-upon teeth were huge and white. They were displayed prominently when he broke into his famous aw-shucks smile. He had powerful forearms and wide hands. His thighs were thick, his shoulders broad, and his waist and hips narrow. These physical attributes accounted for his ability to power through tacklers head-on, yet still be fast, elusive and graceful enough to sidestep, outrun them and hit long passes on the run.
In many ways, John was one of the last examples of the old-style masculinity that had defined America since the Second World War. Unlike many of today's pampered, selfish athletes, John was -- despite his superstardom -- humble and considerate to those around him. Strong, but quiet. A leader in a Gary Cooper sort of way. He was a role model to children who idolized him. He was constantly speaking to children about the need to avoid drugs, obey their parents and love God. He exuded a virility that women found well-nigh irresistible. Their lust they felt for him was only increased by the widely-known fact that he was religiously faithful to his wife and was a great family man.
Men, including his teammates, naturally looked up to him. Why not? He had led more fourth-quarter comebacks than any quarterback in NFL history. He ran a variety of successful businesses and was a millionaire many times over quite apart from his football income. Elway's string of car dealerships was the largest in Denver. When he ended his playing days, it was believed that when he ended his playing days, he wold become a team owner himself and he was widely rumored to be a potential candidate for political office. John had everything.
I was going to take it all away from him. Essentially, I want to destroy John; eliminate him as a person; wipe away the cocksure grin, the macho will and determination that characterize him on and off the field; the devil-may-care, mischievous "loving life" sparkle in his eyes; all of his ambitions, hopes and dreams. They must all be obliterated. I want to rob him of all of that and leave him a hollow shell -- still possessing his exquisite QB body, but now just an empty obedient automaton, filled only with an overwhelming emotional and erotic addiction to me and compulsion to serve me. In the end, John must cease to exist and be replaced by a glazed, submissive gay sex slave.
My investigative staff had done all of the necessary background work. Elway's wife and children were out of town for a week visiting grandparents. After his 5:00 meeting with me Elway was leaving for a week at his cabin in the Rockies to go fishing and hunting. He loved these trips and took them every off-season. He went alone so that he could clear his head and rejuvenate himself for the coming season. The hunting lodge was so relaxing. No phone, no interruptions, no people. This was the perfect time for me to visit John. No one would be missing him or looking for him. I knew that if I could get him alone with no interruptions for a few days, he would be my client for life.
I met John at his business office which he maintained in a luxury complex in an exclusive Denver suburb. As was his custom, he had let his secretary go early this Friday evening. As I entered the office, we were alone. He greeted me with a firm handshake, his large, manly hand swallowing mine. His wide grin showed off his perfect movie-star teeth.
He was polite, but firm. "Look, Dr. Higgins, I appreciate your coming here, but you should know that I only agreed to meet you as a favor to Steve. I don't think you are a good match for me as an agent. Most of your clients tend to be younger players, maybe a little less settled and mature than me who need someone to hold their hand and totally guide their careers. I'm past all that now. I'm married with kids and I run my own business affairs and manage several large businesses. Also, I don't think I need the physical therapy team you put together. I have my own doctors and trainers and I know my own body and its capabilities. I'm not interested in trying a new training or medical regimen at this point in my career. I know your clients swear by you, but I think I'm in a different league than the rest of your clients and I don't need as much hand-holding. I'm looking for an agent who more or less just takes his cues from me and arranges things as I like them. So, while I thank you for coming, I don't think this will work out."
So sure of himself. And so handsome! That will make this even more enjoyable when he is nothing but a puppet tethered to the end of my strings. "Well, John," I began, "every one of my clients expressed the same views at first. I think that over time you are going to realize that you have less of a grip on things than you think." I had lowered my voice to a smooth, mellow baritone and by this time I had removed from my jacket a shiny gold pocket watch and was fiddling with it. The swaying pocket watch was the oldest trick in the book, but it was often quite effective. In any event, it appealed to my sense of camp and was an indulgence I allowed myself in these initial phases of John's submission. The watch glistened in the light and John began to glance at it, switching his gaze back and forth from me to the watch. "Actually, John, you don't have much confidence in your own judgment anymore." Though distracted by the watch, he was disturbed by my words and a look of displeasure crossed his face.
"Now look, doctor I have told you that I. . . "
"Listen, John," I cut him off in a commanding voice. By now I began slowly swinging the watch from side to side and made my voice still deeper and more authoritative. To my increasing arousal, I noticed that John had begun to stare more intently at the swaying watch. "Whether you know it or not, John, you need me. You will come to understand that you are not able to make the important decisions about your career. You need to let someone smarter and stronger like me make your decisions for you. As for your training, you really need to place your body in my hands. Me and my team will condition you just the right way so that you can perform for me on and off the field. You will obey me, John"
This nightmare vision snapped John out of his reverie. He was furious. "Just who do you think you are, you little freak! Nobody talks to me that way." He rises from his chair. I raise the watch higher and swing it more widely. In that instant, his eyes are drawn briefly to it and he is lost. His voice falters and he starts to sway. As he stares more deeply at the watch the words come out slowly -- almost a whisper -- and in a manner that indicates that his mouth has gone dry. "I . . . think . . you . . . should. . . leave. . . right . . no. . . "
"Quiet, John." I speak in my most commanding yet comforting voice. "You don't want me to leave. Lets forget all of that silliness. That's it, John. Relax and look at my watch. Isn't it fascinating? You need to sit down." He sits. I now stand up and walk around the desk. I turn his swivel chair around and place the swaying watch directly before his face. "That's it John, keep looking at the pretty colors reflecting off the watch."
By now, John's breathing had slowed and he was sighing with each breath. Seeing the studly quarterback dangling like a helpless little boy before me made me hard as a rock. I place the watch directly in front of my eyes so that he is staring at them also. He starts to look beyond the watch into my eyes. I remove the watch so that now he is transfixed staring into my eyes.
His features slacken and his breathing becomes audible and extremely slow. "Your eyelids are becoming heavy, so heavy." John's eyelids flutter. "That's it, you are falling into deep, relaxing slumber." John's eyes begin to roll back into his head so that all I can see are the whites. I take his right hand between both of mine. "Close your eyes John and let me help you sleep." John's eyes close and his head slumps onto his chest.
I place my mouth directly next to his ear and whisper erotically. "Come to me my prince. I love you, John. Yes. I know all about you. All of your petty hopes and dreams. All of your athletic and business strivings and achievements. I love you so much, that I want to own you and make you calm and relaxed. So relaxed that you are going to lose all those ambitions and all that drive. Soon you will be my toy, John, to do with as I please." I see a flicker of defiance and he opens his eyes. He slowly attempts to turn his face away from me. His head turns as if fighting a great weight. The muscles on his face tighten and the cords on his neck stand out as he turns away from me with tremendous effort. I see defiance and he starts to struggle.
Laughing, I reach down and stroke his square jaw. With one finger, I turn his head up and to the left as a powerful man would handle a small boy so that he looks me directly in the eyes. The struggle on his face is so beautiful. I pull him to me and cradle his head in my lap as he writhes back and forth slowly and ineffectually, now as entranced by my voice as by my eyes. "That's it my baby. Fight me with all your strength. That will make this so much more fun. Soon you won't want to resist me. You'll be my little boy and I'll be your daddy. All your jock triumphs are history. Your macho will can't resist me. I'm going to get deep in your head and find out everything that makes you tick. Then I'm going to wipe it out so that all there is for you is me." I lick his ear and neck, tasting the sweat. I lick his ear and neck, tasting the sweat and feeling my tongue trace over the muscular veins. His struggling subsides and he is completely under.
My control of John is steady, but temporary. The hypnotic trance I have put him under is only temporary and cannot be maintained without near-constant contact. The ultimate goal is to completely alter his subconscious so that my control will be total whether John is in or out of a trance state, whether he is near to me or far away. To achieve that goal I must take John away for several days so that I can build on his condition, begin work on his sub-conscious and implement the permanent changes. I take him in his trance to the storage van my staff has waiting in the parking garage of his office building. We head to the ranch I have purchased in the mountains outside Denver. It is filled with my assistants trained in drug and electronic induced brainwashing and equipped with the full facilities necessary spin a web around John from which he will never escape.
| Part 2 | |