The Alpha in the Basement

Chapter 1

"... and that's the great tragedy of modern woke culture, that we ask men to change who they are, to accommodate the tiniest of minorities, just because they scream the loudest. No one is oppressing you, Shaniquah, you just have a victim complex so strong you want to turn a good honest man into a villain."

Ray laughed, a deep rumble into the microphone, then hit play on a commercial. He'd close the show off after the ad, but some suckers would keep listening to the whole thing, and his revenue would go up.

'Oldest trick in the book' he thought, catching his own eye in the mirror visible through the door to the next room.

'Not bad for 52,' he thought, flexing a little and pulling his shirt open, so the mirror could see.

The ad finished and Ray signed off, "you've been listening to the Frame with me, Ray Locatelli, stay frosty guys."

He checked his phone to find a message from his realtor, Monica. Early 30s, nice, slim figure. Mix of Latina and middle eastern, he guessed, dark hair, coffee skin. 'I bet she tastes expensive' he thought idly.

He opened the message, "Think I might have found someone M xx"

Two kisses. That was progress. Also, finding a tenant was excellent news. He didn't like to admit it, but money was tight, and renting out the pool house would keep the wolf from the door.

"Who'd you get? R xxx" he replied. Three kisses. That way she knows it's available if she wants it.

Just don't let it be a middle-aged hippy with crystals and incense, he thought.

He opened his email app and scrolled down to his last email from Monica at CasaLux Retail. It has a large image of Monica attached, stood in front of an expensive west Hollywood Mansion, clipboard in one hand, pen in the other. She was biting the pen and winking at the camera. She looked so hot.

He could just imagine her dropping the pen and bending over in front of him. He'd look down her top as she did, and she'd catch him, crawl across the ground and start unbuttoning his pants.

His hand wandered over to his belt as he felt the swelling of his member underneath. Hmm. She'd get it. She'd get to ride the monster, those caramel breasts bouncing up and down as she did. She moan his name over and over.

His phone buzzed again.

"Her name is Mia -- you'll like her. You'll get on well, I'm sure. M xx"

Two kisses still. She was playing games. That's all women did. They played games. But she wanted Ray's cock. He knew she did, even if she didn't know it yet. 9 1/2 inches with a bulbous tip, curved slightly, so that he could hit a girl's g-spot directly.

Pow.

Bullseye.

Niagara Falls.

His girl from the agency told him he had a beautiful cock. Sure, she was being paid, but he knew truth when he heard it.

I have to give her a call later, he thought.

"Recent USC grad. She's 22. From Minnesota. M xx"

She sounds delicious, Ray thought. Maybe Monica would be open to a threesome.

"Can she afford it? What does she do?" He messaged back, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah, she's good for it. Therapist apparently. Good money in it. - M xx"

He let out a long sigh. Good. He needed a steady steam of income. The residuals from 'Death Rider 2' weren't what they used to be.

"Good. Good. Thanks Mon. -R xxx" he messaged back.

"I'll drop by with her at 3, if that's okay?. -M xx"

"Sounds good - R xxx"

He decided to take a shower. Top up his hair dye. Smell nice for them. He picked out an expensive shirt, left the top 3 buttons undone, and found some board shorts and boat shoes that went with it. Rolex. Boss cologne. The real gold chain. Aviators.

He looked himself in the mirror again.

"Not bad. Not bad at all"

-----------

Ray was in the spare bedroom when 3 o'clock rolled around. He had a pretty good view from there over the driveway that served the pool house.

He saw Monica's Porsche pull up onto the driveway and watched intently as She slipped effortlessly out of the driver's door and took the keys from her purse.

The passenger was more difficult to spot, shielded by the car. She was blonde. Average height. Cute. As far as he could tell from here.

He decided to go make an appearance.

Ray stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him with just enough force to make it feel like an entrance.

"Ladies," he said, flashing his signature grin--the one that used to close casting rooms. "Welcome to Casa Locatelli."

Monica looked up, gave him a polite smile that stopped just shy of reaching her eyes.

"Ray," she said, with a tone that fell somewhere between hello and you ridiculous man. "Thanks for letting us come by."

She turned to the blonde. "This is Mia Byrne. Mia--Ray Locatelli. Landlord, radio personality, former action hero."

Ray extended a hand, eyebrows raised. "You heard of Death Rider 2?"

Mia looked at his hand. Then took it.

Her grip was firm. Not aggressive. Not showy. But solid--like she knew her strength and didn't feel the need to prove it.

"Hi," she said. "Thanks for showing me the place."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, but the way she held his eye contact made his stomach shift--like she was measuring something about him.

Ray grinned wider, mistaking her stillness for shyness. Nervous, he thought. Sweet.

"You're from Minnesota, huh?" he said, still holding her hand a beat too long. "Hope you like sunshine and bad influences."

Mia gently withdrew her hand.

"I don't mind the heat," she said, still watching him.

Ray chuckled, pleased with the flirtation he thought was unfolding. Monica didn't bother hiding the way she pressed her lips together to keep from smiling--for the wrong reason.

"I'll show you around," he said, already turning toward the pool house, motioning grandly like he was unveiling a kingdom.

Behind him, Monica gave Mia a quick, knowing glance. Mia didn't react, but something in her mouth twitched. The smallest flicker of a smirk.

Ray didn't see it. He was already narrating the architecture.

----------

Ray wrapped up his impromptu tour with a wink and a slap on the kitchen counter.

"I'll let you get settled," he said, already backing toward the door. "You need anything, I'm just a holler away."

Mia gave him a pleasant nod. "Thanks again."

He paused in the doorway, waiting for something--another smile, a compliment, who knew. She gave him nothing but politeness.

Then the door shut behind him.

Silence.

The air in the pool house felt cooler already.

Mia moved to the breakfast counter, unzipped her shoulder bag, and pulled out a slim, leather-bound journal.

She opened to the first blank page, clicked her pen, and wrote:

Subject: Ray Locatelli

She paused, lips parted just slightly, then underlined his name once. Slowly. Deliberately.

Outside, a distant splash echoed from the main house pool.

"Subject presents with exaggerated confidence masking low-grade insecurity. Ideal candidate for the procedure." She wrote, in a beautiful, looping hand.