HIMBO Magazine: Talent Scouting
HIMBO Magazine: The Gay Manās Guide to Modern Fashion & Lifestyleā¢
Despite the exaggerated name, HIMBO has provided joy, hope, and wisdom to countless gay men across the United States. Itās finger remained on the pulse of the latest queer trends, making it a must-have for the social homosexual. For many up-and-coming gay men, a job at HIMBO would be a dream come true. Unfortunately, job openings at HIMBO are few and extremely selective. For the lucky few that do get them, though, it often ends up being an offer too good to refuse.
Christian Le MaĆ®tre, HIMBOās CEO and Editor-in-Chief, is a large part of why that is. As a policy, he selects, contacts, and interviews all potential employees himself, to ensure that only the best men would join his team... and of course, to make sure only the best would service him.Ā āMr. Mā, as the office called him, was a very fair and generous employer: he offers fantastic salaries and benefits. One of the most important benefits, however, was a secret one: a total rewrite to ensure youāll be the perfect fit for HIMBOās elite. You might become a little devoted to your boss, but with Mr. M that was not a bad thing at all.
Currently, Christian is in the market for a new Personal Assistant. A few of his boys would soon be promoted to the house-husbands of Manhattanās elite. Before he let them go, he needed to bring in someone new to fill their role. And also, if he was being honest, he was ready to spice up his selection of boys a bit.
After weeks of studying the area surrounding the office, Christian had found the perfect candidate: A slacker barista at a local cafĆ©. Absolutely gorgeous, but content to smoke all day and let life pass him by slowly. Itās such a waste, Christian thought to himself, that body could be put to such better use. If there was anyone to fix that, it was Christian Le MaĆ®tre.
As for how he would get this young man to join his ranks, that would be a bit more tricky. Usually he would get the fresh meat to come into his office, where they would be fully subject to his... influence. But this man would not accept a job if it came running towards him, so he would need to use a different approach. An email, imbued with special properties that would slowly but persistently bring him around to Mr. Mās way of thinking.
Christian began to type up the email. In his special way, Christian already knew the boyās email address, as well as a whole host of other information about him. As he composed the invitation to HIMBO, Christian let his persuasion flow into the words...
Mark Matthews had two items on his to-do list for the day. After clocking out of his (four hour) shift at the Pink Elephant CafĆ©, he had done #1, and as he headed towards the riverside with a joint in his pocket, he was getting ready to complete #2. Mark had never understood the pressure to aim high: if weāre all just evolved monkeys, why not stick to the natural urge to have a good time? He had always done the bare minimum to get by, relying on his natural charm and good looks to do the rest. Though his friend group had never stayed consistent, and he had never been in a relationship with a woman that lasted longer than a weekend, Mark felt that he was at just the right place in his life.
On his way to the beach, his phone vibrated. He could tell from sound it was the email jingle (aka theĀ āignoreā jingle), but as the phone vibrated in his pocket, it sent an unexpected wave of pleasure through his thigh. Mark gasped as the euphoria shot through his system, but quickly pulled himself together before anyone on the street noticed. He then immediately pulled his phone out of his pocket, filled with the sudden desire to see what had caused the feeling.
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Congratulations
A dull life is a life wasted
And thatās no fun at all.
Respect yourself and those above you
Thatās how youāll stand tall.
When you learn professionalism
And learn to know your place
Youāll suit up like the big boys do
And thatās when HIMBO awaits.
- Christian Le MaƮtre HIMBO Offices, 1544 ________ Street
...What the fuck? This was understandably Markās first reaction. This went beyond regular spam, it was just weird. Wasnāt HIMBO that gay guy magazine, why were the emailing him? And why did it rhyme? Do gay people really like poetry that much? Whatever it was, Mark quickly deleted it and went on his way to the shore.
But even as he walked, the words in the email were starting to scratch at the back of his head. A dull life is a life wasted. Was that about him? It couldnāt be... was he wasting his life? He had never thought so before, but he suddenly found that question eating away at him. He had his routine down pretty well, but could he do better? Did he respect himself?Ā
ā¦What was he thinking? Of course he did. Some junk email was not going to ruin his day.
Mark finally sat down at his favorite bench and lit up. As he watched people go by on the street, he found himself looking at the hot women less than usual. Instead, it was the businessmen that caught his eye today. The big boys, as the e-mail had weirdly called them. For the first time, he found himself wondering how it felt to be them. As they went to and from their offices. They were doing things with their lives. Professional. Could that be him some day?
Mark rode out the rest of his high and eventually made his way home, but even as he unwound in the evening, he still pondered the possibility of living the corporate life. Finding his place in the hierarchy of corporate America. The thought had once disgusted him, but now he didnāt know how he felt. And that scared him.
The Next Day...
Mark had an 11:45 alarm set for his 12 PM shift at the Pink Elephant. It had been a long time since he had clocked in at the actual start of his shift. How he remained employed was anyones guess.
Today however, Mark found himself up and ready at 10 AM. It had been a long time since he had been up this early, but some force inside him felt the urgent need to go to work. I mean, if he was on time for work, then he certainly wasnāt a waste. Mark walked over to his dresser. He was preparing to get out something casual, a band shirt and ripped jeans like usual. But as he looked at his options he felt another stirring. Youāll suit up like the big boys do. Mark didnāt own anything close to a suit, but he had a few bits and pieces for formal occasions. If he really wanted to stick it to upper management and show he wasnāt some dull slacker, he could blow them away with a keen outfit selection. Something that saidĀ āsuccessā, like the men in suits he had seen the other day. He fished around until he found some of the fewĀ āniceā pieces of clothes he owned: a cardigan, some tan chinos, and leather shoes. Paired with a (clean) t-shirt, Mark thought it gave him a look that said business without being too serious.
Mark walked into the bathroom and finished up by styling his hair. After he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror.
... Not too bad! Definitely way dressier than he would ever normally go,Ā but enough to surprise his managers. With an hour to spare, Mark left his apartment and showed up to work at 11:30, half an hour before the start of his shift.
Inside, his coworker Audrey and his manager Todd were already there.
āDo my eyes deceive me? Is Markā¦ early for once?ā Todd sarcastically asked.
āAnd what are you wearing? Whereās the Tommy Bahama shit?ā
Mark got ready to snap back at them, but something held him back. Instead, he just politely responded āFelt like getting a head start on todayā, slipped an apron over his head, and went to his station.
Audrey and Todd glanced at each other, both sketched out at Markās sudden change of attitude. But when you make minimum wage at a cafĆ©, thereās only so much youāre willing to care about, so they dropped the issue fairly quickly. At least he wasnāt dragging his ass for once.
On the contrary, Mark was having what was possibly the most productive work day of his life. Gone was his normal slow pace and unapproachable attitude. Mark was serving every customer in expert time, and doing it with a friendly smile. There was a rush of energy inside him, a desire to show that he could do his job well if he felt like it. It seemed like the outfit switch up was giving him a new perspective for the day.
Mark took customers orders, restocked the food shelves, organized the store room, and much much more. He did it all in rotation. He lost track of time as he let his work absorb him.
It wasnāt until he was in the midst of mopping the floor that he thought to check the time. The nearest clock said 6:30. He usually clocked out at 4.
āOh god! Iāve been here two hours over time?!ā Mark exclaimed with disbelief.
Todd snorted from behind the counter. āI mean, I wasnāt gonna stop you from cleaning the bathrooms. And you did some good work. Iām liking this new Mark.ā
āA guy changes his pants and suddenly heās a different person. Youāre lucky I lost track of time.ā Mark took off his apron and prepared to throw it at Todd for that last remark, but hung it on a hook instead. As he headed towards the shops exit, Mark shouted over his shoulder āI better get extra pay for this.ā
He couldnāt believe he had lost track of time for that long. And he wasnāt even doing anything fun, he was just cleaning up the store. That was the worst part of it: how earnestly he had given help to the job that didnāt give a shit about him. What had come over him? Is this what those businessmen are like? ā¦ Is that what he could be like?
These thoughts weighed on Markās mind for the remainder of his walk home. When he got back to his house, he threw the cardigan and chinos on his bed, leaving him in a t shirt and boxers. Mark walked to the mirror and took a long look at himself. This was who he really was, right? A casual guy who didnāt care about his appearance or making people happy. That dress-up good worker stuff was a nice change of pace for a day, but thatās all it was.
Mark chuckled. Yeah, that was right. He didnāt need this people pleasing businessman bullshit. Honestly, he might skip work tomorrow and get high in the park. Keep Todd from getting too attached to this new hard worker Mark. And besides, he had basically done two days worth of work today, why not take a day off-
Hiss phone buzzed with the same orgasmic tone as yesterday. Even from across the room he felt his legs quiver as his whole body was flooded with pleasure. It had to be the same people as yesterday. He went over and picked up his phone. Maybe this email would help him figure out what had happened. You know, so he would know what to ignore going forward.
FROM: [email protected] SUBJECT: Imagine working at HIMBO - Christian Le MaƮtre HIMBO Offices, 1544 ________ Street
ATTACHMENT: The HIMBO Professional.pdf
Against his better judgement, Mark opened the PDF. As soon as he did, his phone must have glitched and set itself to max brightness, because the whole screen flashed with bright white light that was painful to look at. Mark recoiled as his eyes were assaulted by the bright phone and dropped it in the process. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times as his vision readjusted, but even after a few minutes had passed things still looked blurry.
Something inside Mark told him how to solve this problem. Instinctively, he reached over to his bedside table and put on his glasses. He blinked a few more times, and could see perfectly again.
For a brief moment he felt confused, like he shouldnāt be wearing glasses. But this feeling quickly passed and was replaced with another feeling - no, an understandingĀ - that this was definitely right. He needed his glasses to see, always had. He glanced over to see his reflection in the mirror. Honestly, how could those jerks at work ever say he didnāt take his job seriously. With these horn-rimmed bad boys on, honestly he could be wearing nothing else and still look like a professional.
A professional?
Why the fuck am I so concerned about being aĀ āprofessionalā?
Being professional disgusted him.Ā And yet, even as he tried to vehemently disagree with the word, it stuck to his brain like glue. Like āPROFESSIONALā was seared across his forehead in big letters. He went from disgust to fear at his seeming inability to focus on anything other than this one single word. How could he get this to go awa-
The PDF!
That was it! The PDF was titledĀ āThe HIMBO Professionalā. He was probably just trying to remember what he had been doing before he dropped his phone. Shaking his head, Mark returned to the document.
āA HIMBO Professional is a hard worker
A HIMBO Professional is a good boy
A HIMBO Professional obeys the boss
A HIMBO Professional dresses his body well
A HIMBO Professional feeds his body
A HIMBO Professional is a good boy
A HIMBO Professional is youā
Interspersed throughout these sentences were photos of immaculately suited businessmen, slicked beacons of proper masculinity. Without realizing what was happening, Mark was entranced by the document and stared at the images and words for hours on end. They permeated his mind, absorbed him. The glory of being a HIMBO Professional. The joy of being a good boy. It flooded him. He couldnāt pay attention to anything else but the words.
The hours passed late into the night, and Mark kept thinking about what he read. Putting his phone down, trying to go to bed, and picking it back up to read all over again. His mind could not think about anything else. And as he finally hazily passed into sleep, the thoughts followed him into his dreams, as he pictured himself being serviced by businessmen. They dressed him up in their suits and forced him to strip it all off as they stood over him. He bent down on all fours, as felt pure ecstasy as the men filled him with loads of obedience, punctuality, submission, diligence, ravenous desire, over and over, and over, ravishing his subconscious.
Respect yourself and those above you
Learn to know your place
Youāll suit up like the big boys do
And thatās when HIMBO awaits
The contents of the email hazily echoed through his mind as this scene played out, only stopped by the ring of Markās alarm at 8AM, as he realized it was
The Next Day...
But even as Mark got up and prepared for the day, he still felt the PDF and his dream occupying his mind. He kept thinking about that true calling. He couldnāt stop comparing his own life to those of the businessmen he saw, and the concerning thing was he didnāt know who he felt sorry for any more. Mark absentmindedly got ready as these questions continued to clash in his head. When he had his work clothes on he turned around to check his hair.
And was greeted in the mirror by a total stranger.
Markās usual surf-stoner wardrobe was gone entirely. He had on a button down office shirt with a bright plaid pattern, fully buttoned including the cuffs. It was tucked into a perfectly pressed pair of navy slacks, with a smooth leather belt holding everything together. Instead of sneakers on his feet he had... were those loafers??Ā And of course, his glasses perched on his face, along with his hair combed into a nice neat cut. He could even feel a slight touch of pomade running through it.
I look like aā¦ corporate dork! This was the first thing that came to Markās mind as he viewed himself in the mirror. Where did he even get these clothes?? He didnāt own anything like this. Even worse was how his posture had subtly shifted to match the look: Mark stood straight as a board, with his chest pushed out, derriĆØre turned up, and hands clasped behind his back to accentuate the best features of the office outfit.
He shook his head in horror, and yet at the same time, Mark had a feeling that this was very very right. Look at the way this shirt fit him. He looked professional, and it made him... handsomeĀ was the word that popped in his mind. Why did he feel this way? Why did he feel so good dressed like this?
He remembered the address at the bottom of the email. HIMBO offices. No matter what was happening to him, they were the common factor. Forget the cafƩ today, Mark needed to find out who had been sending him these emails, and get some closure to this whole ordeal.
Mark reached the office building reading āHIMBOā, and inside he was pointed to the appropriate floor by a helpful directory. As he got off the elevator he looked at the occupants of the office. All men, some of them in eccentric fashion and costumes, but a lot more in suits and ties. They were like the office workers he had seen on the streets, but more... refined. As if they had taken the traditional corporate uniform and perfected it to accentuate a clean, crisp man. Markās eyes lingered on several of these men as he approached the front desk, where he was greeted by a twinkish receptionist. He was also suited in a brown and pink number, with a touch more flamboyance than the others. He looked at Mark with familiarity, as if he already knew who Mark was.
āWelcome to HIMBO! How can I help you, dear?ā The receptionist asked.
āI- uh, uh...ā Mark found himself suddenly lost for words. The fact that he had not only seen all these perfectly suited men, but was lingering in their presence, overwhelmed him. Even in his dorky corporate best, compared to everyone else Mark felt underdressed and... inferior?
The secretary only laughed as Mark stutteredĀ āAt a loss for words, huh? I donāt blame you. All these studs walking around here leave me breathless half the time too. Luckily I have the best view in the office.ā The secretary giggled and winked as he said this.Ā āNow I think I know who youāre here to see. Mr. M told me he was expecting an out of office hire to show up soon.ā
Mark stood with his mouth open in confusion. Was he talking about the guy who signed the emails?
Taking this as enough of a response, the receptionist stood upĀ āHere, follow me. I know the guy that can help you out.ā He walked around the desk, took the dazed Mark by the hand, and led him down the hallway.
Eventually they came to a large oak door. The receptionist knocked three times, and was greeted with a deep voice sayingĀ āLet him inā.
The receptionist turned to Mark and said,Ā āHeās ready for you! I think heāll have the answer to all your questions. Just head on in.ā
The receptionist gave Mark an encouraging pat on the back. Mark opened the door and entered the room, unsure of what he even wanted to say any more. Seeing the office had completely thrown Mark off his game. He had been expecting a way out of this mess, but now he couldnāt tell if he wanted to leave or be pulled in the deep end.
When he entered the room, he found clarity in the form of a gorgeous suited man.
Everything Mark admired and envied about the businessmen he had been ogling the last few days was perfectly wrapped up in the man standing before him. He was tall, broad, handsome as all hell. He exuded power and charisma. And as he stared at Mark, Mark felt like a worm writhing in his superior presence.
āMark, itās lovely to finally meet you! Iām Christian Le MaĆ®tre. I believe youāve been getting my emails?ā that gorgeous baritone rang out again.
āI uh, nice to meet you tooā¦ā Mark could not think of a proper response. The sight of this man was overwhelming him and making him reevaluate his life all at once. That was an effect that Mr. M had on people. From an outsiderās point of view, Mark was staring dumbfounded at the man before him, lost in a trance of his presence.
āIām sure youāve been feeling strange these last few days, Mark. And Iām here to tell you that your worries will soon be over. I spotted you a few days ago and I immediately knew that you have a lot of great qualities. Handsome, charming, I bet any girl would kill to have you.ā
Mark slowly nodded. Once upon a time this had been true, though he hadnāt thought much about women at all these last few days.
āBut I could also tell you were missing something in life. Running around, doing drugs and slacking off. It breaks my heart to see it. Because all that great potential in you was going to waste. What you need is a strong male figure in your life.ā
Markās nodding was slowly getting more intense. Upon hearing the words strong male figure he could feel himself getting excited. For some reason this was exactly what he wanted
All at once, Mark understood. There had always been an emptiness in his life. The only way for him to be happy was by making other people happy... The only way for him to be happy was by making Christian Le MaƮtre happy.
The reason he felt inferior is because he was inferior. He was obsessed with the corporate men around him not because he wanted to be them, but because he realized he never couldĀ be them. They had a power and a confidence he could only dream of. Mark realized his place was one of subservience. Subservience to strong, suited men. Subservience to the men of HIMBO. Subservience to Mr. M.
āLucky for you, Iām in need of a new personal assistant. Someone to wait on me hand and foot all day, do all my tasks. Keep me happy.ā
Slowly the fog surrounding Markās mind cleared away, and with it went all of his old persona. What was left behind was a brand new Mark. A very different one, but one that felt like he was seeing things clearly for the first time ever.
āOh yes sir! Iād love to join your team! Youāre the only boss I could ever ask for!ā Mark ran over and kneeled in front of Christian, begging with clasped hands before him. āIt would be an honor to work at HIMBO.ā
Christian chuckled, and Mark was filled with a feeling of euphoria knowing that he had made Christian Le MaƮtre, the greatest man on earth, laugh like this. All he wanted to do was make Christian happy.
āWell Iām glad to hear that Mark! Thatās the kind of enthusiasm Iām looking for at HIMBO. I can see youāve already taken a lot of my emailsā suggestions to heart, but I can still think of a few more changes to make you the perfect PA. And I think it would be bestā¦ā Christian paused. He looked down at Mark, noticing his kneeled position, āā¦ If you got a taste of what youād be working with.ā
Without a second thought, Mark opened his mouth and bared his tongue. He was ready to do anything for Christian, it was his one purpose in life.
The powerful man smiled and unzipped his pants. He pulled out his mighty member (My god! It was the biggest Mark had ever seen!) and Mark quickly went to work pleasuring him. Despite being straight until about 5 minutes ago, Mark did this masterfully, as if his mouth was perfectly suited for Mr. Mās python. As Mark worked, Christian filled him up with massive load after massive load, and with each one Mark changed more and more into the perfect assistant for Christian. His teeth became pristinely white and shiny, as if they were coated in Vaseline. His hair gelled up higher into a permanent quiffed side part. His posture became rigid and obedient at all times. A plaid bow tie slid around his neck into a perfectly done bow, his shirt lightened to a light blue plaid pattern (a voice in Markās brain told him that he always color coordinated his outfits, as Mr. M liked him when he looked put-together. Pastels were his favorite), and a cardigan slipped over the top of the ensemble. His already muscular body filled out more underneath the chaste getup, with his buttocks significantly expanding and pushing his slacks to their limit. Within them, the two pillows contained an insatiable hole, always quivering for one manās cock. As for his own penis, Mark could feel it shrink down in stark contrast to the rest of his bulking body, until it was no more than a nub that would barely provide him pleasure. And as he felt the metal touch of a cage locking around what remained of his manhood, Mark new that pleasure would only come with the permission of his new boss.
As Mark finished satisfying his new boss and master, he stood up, completely changed mentally as well as physically. He retained his buff bimbo body, but it was completely trapped underneath the wardrobe and mind of a wimpy subservient bottom. He could barely get a sentence out without slippingĀ āsirā somewhere in it.
He was no longer Mark Matthews, he was Marcus Meekerson, the devoted Personal Assistant of Christian Le MaƮtre, always ready to assist him in whatever way he needed.
Mr. M chuckled again, and this time Marcus nearly came in his pants listening to the sound of his boss happy (though he knew he could not come without Mr. Mās permission).
āMarcus, I have to say I am beyond happy with your work. Now I know this is sudden, but I hope you donāt mind if I ask you to move into my residence full time. I would greatly appreciate having access to your services around the clock. I have the perfect quarters set up for you to live in.ā
Marcus bounced on his toes at this offer,Ā āSir, this is the best news I could ever hope for! It would be an honor to live in your abode. How lucky am I to have the best boss ever!ā
āIām mighty pleased to hear that, Marcusā
āNo problem, Mr. Le MaĆ®tre! You know Iād do anything for you!ā Marcus burst out in the brightest, most earnest smile he had ever made. No longer would he worry about having no direction in life, he had found somebody to take care of all those decisions for him. What he dressed, what he ate, everything about his life would be under Christianās control now, a figurative lock and key. Not a single thought ran through Marcusā head, and he liked it that way. Things were simpler now, they were better. Marcus had found his purpose.
He could finally say he was truly happy.
