Taking Pride

By MagusX

As usual, I'm posting this with barely a read-through. I really should take more care, but while "Pride" isn't often a problem for me, "sloth" is. This story is a part of an as-yet unwritten series of thematically interconnected short stories that I'm thinking about finishing. Since I have about four unfinished stories already posted, I wouldn't hold my breath waiting for additional installments. Luckily, this one can be read as a one-off without too much trouble.

A warning: It's mainly m/f for some reason. If I write the other installments, they won't necessarily be m/f, and at least one that I'm thinking about will be hard core m/m with muscle man stables and everything (for those that like that sort of thing. ). Also, this story isn't exactly a happy ending story. I hope you enjoy, and all comments will be greatly appreciated.


“This is an impressive list, Mister Hansom.”

“It isn’t, really,” Ted said, looking at his feet.

“Oh, it certainly is. You’ve written three books, two of them best sellers and the third sure to be a classic. You were a founder of the First Street Orphanage, and have even been awarded the key to the city for your work at making the metropolis more ecologically friendly.”

“That wasn’t me, not really.” Ted said, feeling even more embarassed. “There were a lot of people who worked really hard for the orphanage and the Earth First campaign. And without my editor...” he trailed off.

“I’m just a little surprised, Mister Hansom. Most requests for this sort of thing come from people who haven’t accomplished a single thing, or at the very least who have some hideous physical deformity that makes them unbearable to look at. You’re quite a handsome man, pardon the pun.”

“Look, I’m not even sure why you had me make that list. Like I said, I didn’t do half of those things.”

The man on the other side of the desk looked up from the papers, a gleam in his dark eyes. “You are certainly humble.”

Ted shook his head, just a little. The man on the other side of the desk gave him the willies. It wasn’t anything specific, even after Ted realised that it was probably the Devil he was dealing with, but the way that the man looked at him made Ted feel like a piece of meat.

“I’m sure we can do something about that.” The man said. He slid a few papers over to Ted, along with a pen. Ted noticed the ink was red. Could he have expected anything less? “These are the contracts. You only need to sign the first page today, we can handle the others if you find that you’re satisfied. The gist is that in exchange for one of your greatest accomplishments, I will give you something that you’ve always wanted. Something to be proud of.”

Ted scanned the contracts, not really reading them. If he read them, he reasoned, he might not even sign. He did sign, though, and passed the papers back. The man on the other side of the desk smiled. “Done. I’ve taken away your books. You’ll get the exchange tomorrow morning. Enjoy, and give me a call if you need anything else.”


When Ted walked into his large, but not ostentatious, home he noticed immediately that his bookshelf had changed. He’d never been one to brag about the books he'd written, so he’d put them on the second shelf, arranged alphabetically with the others. One might not even know that he had been a writer, unless they bothered to look. Now, that shelf was bare except for a stack of magazines and a few paperbacks that Ted remembered reading in high school. Nothing else was different.

Nor was anything different about himself. He was in decent shape, but only because he was careful to get to the gym. He didn’t really have anything special about himself: his personal lifting records were on the high side of average, his abs showed through when he flexed, and sometimes a woman might comment on his biceps, but he really was nothing special. His hair, even thpough it never needed any special attention, always struck him as infuriatingly normal. Even when he was cleaned up and freshly styled he couldn’t think of anything great or remarkable about himself.

He replayed the conversation with the man, remembered the list. It had been difficult to write that list, and the first two times he’d tried the man had rejected them before even reading them. “You must write down your accomplishments, Mister Hansom!” The man had exhorted. “I don’t care if you don’t value them. If you need to, open one of your books and read what the jacket says. Surely you’ve done that before?”

Ted hadn’t, actually. He hated those summaries that were meant to describe your life, but that night he’d done as the man had suggested and read the three paragraphs that began: “By the age of 33, Ted Hansom has accomplished more than most people twice his age...”

He’d forced himself through it, cringing most of the way. The book jacket said that he was responsible for the First Street Orphanage, for example, but Ted knew that really it had been the co-founder, Alyson Smythe who had done most of the leg-work. She’d been a nice woman, even if she had no head for accounting or politics, and she’d asked Ted for advice a lot, but she really had done most of the work. He’d been furious with her when he found out that she had been giving him half the credit for the accomplishment.

Everything else on the book jacket was the same: his trip to the Aztec ruins where he’d stumbled onto a previously undiscovered tomb had only been because he was looking in the right place when he wandered away from his tour group. Sure, the statue that had prompted him to leave had been in plain sight for years without anyone noticing how it was a different style than the rest of the local ruins, but anyone could have followed the simple trail to the new find. Ted just happened to be lucky.

Even the books...the books...

Strangely, he couldn’t remember much of the particulars about the books. Now that they were gone, it seemed like they had never really been. His memories of writing them, hours of loving labour over his keyboard, of hundreds of discussions with editors who knew language far better than he did, seemed dreamlike and unreal now. As if it had never happened.

Ted decided it wasn’t important, and so he went to bed.


God what a cock he had!

He loved his cock. Nine inches of perfect beauty, so thick he couldn’t quite get his hand around it. He stared at it lovingly as he stroked himself, watching the head jerk fluidly with each motion, the flesh turning deep red as he approached climax. He stopped for just a moment, knowing he wouldn’t be able to put off orgasm for long, just so that he could spend a little more time admiring the flawless organ, its perfection. His one grand triumph.

And with that he exploded, sending streams of cum flying across his chest, the climax filling him with a pleasure that quickly faded.

He lay back in his bed, the morning sun shining across his body, illuminating the one thing he was proud of as it slowly softened, a thick firehose that draped across his abs lazily. The perfect decoration.

It was too bad that he had nothing else to compliment it. His cock was perfect, yes, but nothing else was. Everything else was unremarkable. Now that his morning jerk was over, he found himself sliding back into the grey of mediocrity, a life of pablum.

He forced himself out of bed, showered (washing his long, happy dick lovingly, as he remembered always doing since puberty), shaved, and got dressed. He liked wearing pants that lifted his dick, put it on display. He had one quality and it would be a shame not to show it off. He spent far more time dressing and arranging his package than he did anything else, but that was to be expected.

Work went as it always did, with him muttering brief hellos to the staff at the Orphanage, and giving a few of the kids - the older ones who were sometimes allowed access to the back offices - some hair tousling. Ted was usually early, his perfect cock needing attention just before dawn and with nothing else for him to do before 8am he often just got bored at home and left for work sooner than he needed to.

When Alyson arrived, they engaged in their usual flirting. Nothing ever came of it: Alyson was far and away out of Ted’s league. He had no doubt that she’d enjoy a chance at getting his cock, but their relationship was far too special for him to risk losing it for sex. Other women could enjoy his cock, Alyson would be stuck with the rest of him.

After work, he had another appointment with the man.


“Are you content?” The man on the other side of the desk asked.

Ted considered the question. He’d never been content, not really. Only his dick gave him any sort of joy, any sense of being accomplished, and that was something he might have taken for granted. Still, even though he couldn’t quite remember the nature of their conversation yesterday, Ted had no feeling that he was being scammed. “I suppose I am...somewhat,” he answered.

“But you still don’t feel it, do you? That sense of being important, of being someone that matters,” the man said, leaning forward.

“No. Not really.” Ted said. “I’ve been thinking about that list, and I’m not sure if...”

“Oh, Mister Hansom, that list was perfect. Don’t give it a second thought. It’s exactly what I needed.” The man smiled and passed another stack of papers to sign. “Just the first page, now, Mister Hansom. As happened the last time, you’ll receive your gift by tomorrow.”


Ted awoke to the feeling of a woman next to him. He rolled over, his cock already unfurling, ready to pleasure her some more. She sighed and moved around to give him better access. “God, you’re beautiful...” she whispered as he started to slide into her, letting his beautiful, perfect cock take its time.

She wasn’t exaggerating, he knew. Even though his body was fairly average (maybe a little better than average, due to his gym routine, but still nothing special), he had that amazing dick, and he’d also been blessed with one of the most exquisite faces he’d ever seen. He didn’t think he was being unfair or overly generous: he’d always had a strong jawline, dimpled just slightly by a perfect cleft in his chin, strong cheekbones, and blue eyes that sparkled. Women swooned over him. He practically swooned over himself.

“Ohhh...yes...” she gasped as he thrust into her. His cock was the perfect organ, his face was the perfect image. He smiled at her, and she rolled her eyes back with pleasure. He could have been a movie star, people had told him. He wondered if she fantasized that she was being done by a movie star, some Hollywood bohunk with a face like a star's and a cock to match.

He came at the perfect time, perhaps too soon for her, but she shouldn’t complain: he’d fucked her twice last night, after his good looks won her over at the bar. Besides, he had to get to work.

“You’re amazing...” she breathed as he got out of bed, but already the words were falling on deaf ears. His cock was amazing. His beauty was amazing. But everything else? He was suddenly embarrassed to have her in his home. What did he have to be proud of? An empty bookshelf, a key to the city that he didn’t deserve, and an...Aztec...something... that didn’t seem to be there any more. Ted shook his head and made breakfast while the woman showered. He ushered her out (after apologizing for his poor cooking) and showered himself. As he shaved, he practiced smiles, loving the way he could go from rakish to sensative stud with one swift change of expression. It was the face of a lady killer.

He went to work, and he and Alyson exchanged some playful words. He’d thought about taking her home one night, and she’d certainly made a play or two for him, but he couldn’t imagine coming in to work with her the next day. She’d see right past the dazzle of his good looks and amazing cock, right to the mediocre life he’d built for himself. 33 and hardly anything to show for it, beyond this Orphanage (which he hadn’t really done), and a few “city clean up” days that had gone well more because the weather had cooperated than for anything he had done. So, flirting was as far as it went, though Alyson did sometimes seem interested in more than just sex. “You’re a complete package,” she lied, frequently. “You’re smart, you’re caring...Without you, these kids could be anywhere. Most of them wouldn’t even know what a home feels like.” He did his best to pretend she didn’t talk like that.

After work, he had another appointment.


“You’re smiling, Mister Hansom.” The man behind the desk observed.

Ted looked at him oddly. He was always smiling. He looked best when he smiled, he had one of those faces where the smiles were contagious. Things went more easily when he turned on the charm, though he had an idea that this man wouldn’t be influenced by simple good looks. He smiled a lot, but he still never felt very happy.

“But by your presence here, I guess you are still unsatisfied,” the man continued. He passed the stack of papers over, and Ted signed the top one without even looking. “You won’t even notice what’s gone this time,” the man said. “It was attached to your books, in a way, so it was easier to remove.”

Ted didn’t know what the man meant about the books, but he knew that the other meetings had gone well so he didn’t worry about it.


One mirror gave him the perfect view of his front, the other his back. He flexed his right arm, watching with pride as the biceps bulged. One of the women stroked it, her other hand rubbing his perfect ass. The other woman was sucking on his glorious cock, kneeling between his giant thighs and running her manicured hands along his thick, abdominals. He felt a shiver of glee as she ran her fingers along the ridges of the muscle. He flexed his abs and felt her attention on his cock increase. He was close to coming.

He didn’t want to come just yet. He hadn’t finished admiring his body. He slid the woman off his cock, adjusted his stance so that he could flex his ass, his perfect, amazing, hard, round, bubble-butt ass. His ass was a perfect foundation for the sculpture that was his back, the muscles of his lower back arose smoothly, thickly from it, spreading out into wings of legendary proportions, topped by shoulders that seemed natural only when compared to the rest of him.

The woman in front of him, pushed away from his perfect cock, stood up and ran her hands along his perfect jawline, before letting them drop to his chest, running along the deep, perfect cleft between his pecs. He bounced them, then leaned in to give her a passionate kiss, which she enjoyed greedily. They were sluts, but gorgeous sluts, and his cock didn’t seem to care who it penetrated. His body didn’t care who worshipped it.

He’d always been like this. He’d never had to go to the gym (though he did, sometimes, to pick up and show off): he had this perfect body naturally. It was one hundred percent his, and he loved it. He gloried in the attention he got, loved the way he appeared to be a complete package, was a complete package if all you wanted was a stud.

He led the women to his bed and fucked the prettier one, watching himself in one of his many mirrors as he fondled the other woman’s tits. He didn’t care if she enjoyed it, the point was that he looked good. But they did enjoy it, they had to. How could anyone not enjoy being fucked by this muscle god, this herculean stud, this pretty-boy hung like a bull moose and built like champion thoroughbred?

His pride at his own body got him off far more quickly than the sheer mechanics of the sex, and as he came he let out a roar of triumph. He was a great man! A champion! A hero!

He chased the women out as soon as he could, affording them each a playful slap on the ass. The truth was, after the lovemaking (why be coy: it was raw sex), he didn’t have much else to offer them. Certainly he was a prize specimen, but aside from his body, his face, his cock...what else was there? Some women, when they found out that he worked at an orphanage, seemed surprised that a stud like him could have a heart of gold, too, but he shrugged off the comments, quickly drawing the ladies’ attention back to what was really spectacular about him (the women seldom complained). The orphanage was just something he did, an office job that he really got too much credit for.

On his way to work, between returning smiles to the ladies (and, true, some gents), he lamented the state of his city. Trash accumulated in the gutters, graffitti, the ugly gang-related kind, not the independent artist kind, covered the walls of dilapidated buildings. Smog choked the air.

He remembered a few years ago when he’d thought about doing something to fix things. He’d been fresh off the success of the orphanage and the city had seemed his to conquer. Something needed to be done, so why not him? He’d gotten as far as organising a community meeting, but as soon as the meeting started, his eyes were caught by an attractive young woman and he’d lost interest in everything else. She’d been a hot lay, hadn’t even minded that he was barely out of university and hadn’t done much with his life, or that he was a poor conversationalist. The orphanage had impressed her for about two seconds before she was distracted by his gorgeous dick.

Sometimes, he wondered if the city would have been different if he didn’t have such a perfect body, if he couldn’t have had any woman he wanted. But...he knew, more than anyone else, that his body was meant for one thing. It was perfect for it. Wherever else he might be lacking, he was a god in the sack.

At work, Alyson was friendly. They used to flirt non-stop, but Alyson, while at first dazzled by Ted’s physical perfection, finally admitted that her initial attraction to him had been his good deeds. When she realized that the orphanage had been a one-time thing, that he was content to rest on those laurels (What laurels? He sometimes wondered. It wasn’t like he did more than his share at getting the orphanage started), it seemed he lost whatever hold he had on her. They were nice to each other, but Ted always felt like he had somehow missed the boat with Alyson, that he had made some choice, lost in the darkness of memory, that had cost him dearly. He didn’t dwell on it, mainly because most other women were putty in his hands, and when you had a body like he did you were never short for worshippers.

After work, he had an appointment.


“Welcome back, Mister Hansom. We’re nearly finished.” The man behind the desk said cheerily.

Ted wasn’t sure what it was they were finishing, but he didn’t care. He signed the papers and passed them back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mister Hansom.”


“Yeah, baby, this is it!” He gloated, driving his perfect cock into the cunt’s hole. She moaned, digging her nails into his wide, muscled back. He looked at himself in the only mirror in her room, marvelled at his perfection. There wasn’t a single thing he would change about how he fucked. Not a single thing. His shoulders and triceps flexed and writhed as he pounded into her. She clutched at his mammoth pecs, her fingers running through his perfect chest hair, she groaned and swore and gasped as he moved in her. Everything he did, he did for himself, but he seemed incapable of leaving a woman unsatisfied. He got no complaints, and there was a line up. As it had always been.

Pleasure coursed through him as he came, the woman beneath him coming at the same time. Their moans blended together into a joint sigh of relief and satiety. He was ready to go again, and so he did. She was helpless to resist, even if she wanted to. Who could deny such a perfect stud?

When he was finished, he packed up his stuff. The cash was on the table with a note thanking him for his services. He was a popular guy in the stripper business. He’d made far more in tips last night, a bachelorette party, than was lying on the table. He made a decent living, for someone who’d never accomplished more than getting his first job at a strip club.

It was a perfect fit for him. He had a body that demanded to be oggled, a cock that needed to be seen and worshipped, the charm and charisma he needed to demand the highest prices. He never considered doing anything else.

But as he left the woman’s apartment for his own, he felt the sting of disappointment. Most of the women last night had been mindlessly into his body, except for one. She’d played along, it was her friend’s last night as a single woman, after all, but every time Ted had approached her he never got the feeling that she was into him. He’d tried the tough guy routine, the cocky guy routine, he’d tried to seduce her, but he never seemed to get more back from her than polite attention. It wasn’t that she was a dyke - he thought he’d have picked up on that - but more that she didn’t think of him as being on the same level as she was. Like she was out of his league.

Nothing could be more preosterous. He was godly, he was amazing. Every time he thought he couldn’t be more impressed with himself he would notice some tiny perfection, like the shade of red his cock was when it was hard, like the striations on his perfect quads, like his dimples and his mindlessly hot stare. He was as close to perfect as a human being could get. Maybe that woman was a dyke, after all. He had an appointment to make, but he wanted to give her one last chance. He’d overheard someone say that she worked at that downtown orphanage, the one that was going bankrupt and had lost its government funding. He decided to stop by after his meeting. Perhaps then that woman might change her mind.


“Mister Hansom, it appears you have nothing left to give.” The man behind the desk said. “Take a look.” He slid a paper across the table.

Ted looked at it. It was mostly blank, with “Ted Hansom’s Accomplishments” written across the top and a whole lot of nothing underneath.

“I guess I haven’t done much,” Ted said, not feeling too bad about it. He thought about his dreams as a child, before his body grew into the marvel it was today. He’d wanted to write, to travel to Mexico to see the ruins, he’d wanted to make a difference. But then, things had changed. Not all at once, but as he came to realize how beautiful he was, what a stud he was, other things became more important to him. He couldn’t turn down a hot woman, couldn’t deny her the perfection that was his body. It seemed that every time he’d had a chance to do something with his life other than sex, a pretty woman came along and that was the end of that.

“No, you haven’t,” the man said sadly. “There’s only one thing left on that page, Mister Hansom, that is worth a trade.”

Ted looked at the page again. “I just see my name.” he said.

The man nodded. “It may be a big deal. Some say that our names define who we are, that everything about us is contained in them. I think it’s foolishness, myself. How could so few letters possibly sum up what a man is worth?”

Ted considered it. What was his name, anyway? There was nothing special about “Ted”, three little letters that really meant nothing. He’d even considered having it changed, reasoning that “Ted” was hardly a name for a stripper. To tell the truth, it was a little embarrassing.

“However, I know how much you wanted something to be proud of. If you’ll just sign this paper, I’ll arrange things.” The man behind the desk slid a contract across to Ted.

Ted picked up the pen, looked at it. There was something about this time, this last contract, that gave him pause. Something that didn’t seem right. He looked again at the “list”, the blank page that listed his accomplishments, the person that he was. Then, he looked down at himself. His chest strained the tight t-shirt he was wearing, the bulge in his crotch hid nothing from anyone. He was beautiful, more man than anyone had ever been, and all of it had come to him easily. He’d never had to work for anything in his life.

But looking at the page, he wondered if maybe he should have worked for something. He had a perfect body, perfect looks, a life filled with women and sex and worshippers galore. But it all felt empty, like his life was a cypher that pulled things toward it but never gave anything in return.

“Is there a problem?” The man asked, breaking Ted from his thoughts. “I understood that you came to me because you weren’t happy, that you felt like you had done nothing with your life, that you had nothing to be proud of. Has this changed? Are you happy now?”

Ted was not happy. He was miserable. He signed the paper.

“Very good.” The man said. “We’ll have a new name for you tomorrow. Everything will be worked out. The world will go on as if Ted Hansom never existed.”

Ted nodded dumbly, already the name meant nothing to him.

“I must confess, this has been quite an adventure for me. It’s so rare that I find someone so completely unsatisfied with a life fully lived. Most with your level of ‘humility’,” the man chuckled at his choice of words, “rarely have anything to feel happy about. You, on the other hand, did quite a lot for others and yourself. I think, maybe, if you had taken some time to listen to those around you, you might have learned yourself how to be happy.”

The man behind the desk smiled more broadly. “Pride is a funny thing, a useful thing. And now you have it in spades.”

The man who once was Ted finally smiled. It was true: he had a lot to be proud of. With his body, his looks, his cock, he had everything he could ever want.

End. •

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