ApolloBiotech

Agosto Macedo 
ApolloBioTech, Hardware Division
Sales Executive 
[email protected]

I dumped the business cards from my wallet in the bathroom trash bin. For professional maturity, I tried to make "Gus" happen. "Auggie," only to my birth mother, and reluctantly my ex-girlfriend. "Mac" was the the nickname that followed me from the Yorba Linda High School wrestling team. 

I admired myself in the bathroom mirror, wrapped in just a towel, after a cleansing shower. Looking back at me was an aspiring 25 under 25 tech star. Salt and pepper stylish haircut, leading down to dark brown face stubble and body fur all over my torso, back, arms and legs. 5'10", rounded to an even 6' on the apps, hard jock body with square pecs. I bounced my pecs. Strong core, carved deep adonis belt, bulging biceps. I flexed double bi's. Jutting ass, ham thighs, and bulbous calves. Alpha male discipline built body. Gorgeous mixed race face. 

It took learning self-love in my adult years to appreciate my facial features, high cheekbones and almond eyes from my mom's asian side and double eyelids and roman nose from my dad's european side. Dad always called my prominent and crooked nose, ugly, my eyes and cheeks, chinky, grey hairs since my teens, geriatric. I now saw my nose as handsome, my cheeks as stunning, the salt and pepper as distinguished.

The relationship with my father wasn't close when my birth mother was alive and only grew further apart when he remarried a much younger woman, having my younger brother to complete his picture perfect caucasian family. Our relationship grew even further apart when my stepmom started paying more attention to my developing wrestler body than his middle-aged beer gut body. I haven't kept in touch with my dad but I kept tabs on him through my stepmom and send gifts every birthday and Christmas to my younger brother through her as well.

He wasn't a bad father, a hard, Houston, TX, by-way-of Orange County, California, fiscal and social conservative, but without a close father figure, I was on a path of mediocrity, on the mat and in my grades. It was a revelation finding figures like Joe Rogan, Andrew Tate and Elon Musk on YouTube after searching for life lessons on how to be a successful man. Taking Joe Rogan's advice, I dropped competitive wrestling and focused on building my physique, which I naturally gravitated to over wrestling. The evidence of Andrew Tate's truth telling was displayed by the development of my jock body with visible gratification of growing muscles directly caused by my alpha male effort and work. Following Elon Musk's path, I bullshitted my way through a Bachelor's from Cal Poly Pomona, schemed my way into a sales role at a FAAANG (Facebook, Apple, Amazon, ApolloBiotech, Netflix, Google) company in Silicon Valley and skyrocketed to the top of the industry.

Out of my role models, you were the one I idolized the most when it came to business. You're stupidly astronomically rich. If you weren't American, you'd be labeled an oligarch. But despite your wealth, the news has never covered a story on you for being out of touch like Bezos, nor flaunting your celebrity like Musk. With your fortune, you’ve scrubbed social media clean of your biography. The only information I’ve been able to “Reddit Bureau of Investigation” on you was your utilization of MENSA-level genius to do well with crypto and seed your startups with your own investment, a very difficult thing to do once, much less repeatedly. No one knew how old you were, what your heritage was or your real name. You carried a mystique of vague androgyny, autism and asexuality, yet you’ve maintained an aura of gregariousness, insisting on being addressed as "Buddy", "Pal" or "Friend". 

You were truly wealthy, whereas I only appeared as such. Since this was San Francisco, simply making an effort to dress dapper, I’ve been able to fool everyone into believing I was of higher status than the working class background I truly came from. I’m only able to afford my sartorial effort of Armani and Boss out of season, at the department store clearance section. The business man uniform hides the financial hole I'm in from student debt, bad crypto investments and a coke problem.

You camouflaged your enormous presence in approachability. Unassuming in Allbirds and Everlane and unassuming in your stature. You weren't as tall as I was, but were taller than your VP of Sales and my soon-to-be former boss, Doug. Your build was unremarkable, slim via your relationship with nature, as opposed to being built like my own jock body, by the of repetitive lifting and putting back down of heavy iron.

I wanted you to know who I was. In an attempt to enter your orbit, I’ve even joined some of your company-wide weekly invitations to hike in Marin. I started dating an EDM DJ, thinking it could bring me closer to your Burning Man world.

I unwrapped my towel and finished drying my hair, revealing my cock and balls. My balls were huge, like a spanish stallion's. I blamed my asian side for my cock's length. 4" soft 5.5" hard, rounded to 6" on the apps. At least it was thick. Doug and his husband, my trans roommate Eli, ex-girlfriend Camille, and a bunch of other one-night-stands seemed to enjoy what I'm able to do with little Mac.

I dressed in my snuggest tailored suit: classic black suit jacket, white tank top and dress shirt, black pants, black loafers, with the stylish choice of burgundy thin tie, burgundy belt and burgundy socks. I coifed my hair with setting mouse. Damn, I can't blame everyone for wanting a piece of this muscle hunk. I finished with a single spritz of cologne and headed out to my interview with you.

It was evident from my time as Doug’s boytoy, that the road to "top 25 under 25" was not through ApolloBiotech. That road, however, might be through another one of your companies, Hermes Motors, autonomous vehicle/ride share/delivery. When I saw the job opening for the sales director role, the alpha male in my jumped out because it would take balls to attempt a career maneuver like this, from sales executive to sales director. 

The pay difference would get me out of being a drug debt-owned on-demand fuck stick for the newest Bay Area TikTok influencer couple of a French House DJ and internationally renowned line art tattooist, my ex and former best friend. 

This jump would also get my jock body out of Doug’s faggot grip. He had threatened to leak video and text evidence of sexual misconduct with me and a client’s daughter if I attempted to leave ApolloBiotech. But I was going to outplay Doug because he's a beta bitch. Since I’d still be working for you, I was banking on Doug not wanting to risk a scandal at another one of your companies.

I was hyped when you accepted my invitation for a 1 on 1 meeting, and more hyped when you changed the location on the calendar invite, from Sightglass Coffee on 7th, to your own home. You also lived in SOMA, but west of my co-living apartment, between 11th and 12th and Folsom and Harrison. 

It was a special opportunity to be invited to your home. Your house was beautiful, modern and large. The space you have to yourself is as big as the warehouse I share with several other people. You’ve hosted staff parties before, but I doubt you’ve cared to remember me. It isn't a long walk and the density of unwashed drugged out bums clears up closer to your home. 

“Hey Buddy!” I said with alpha male confidence to your Ring camera. 

“Welcome to my home, Mr. Macedo. Please come in,” you said from the Ring. The door unlocked and I let myself in.

“I’m in the salon,” you invited. I met you in the conversation pit, with two walls covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors and with the ceiling mirrored as well, creating a semi infinity room effect. You were dressed in an off-white flowy wrap-around cardigan, off-white, but different off-white, seersucker pants, and off-white, but different than the other two off-whites, boat shoes. You looked like a someone that was about to lead an ayahuasca ceremony for rich housewives in Monterey Bay. You probably had done so wearing exactly that. We sat across from where the mirrors joined. You offered me a glass of tea. The pour was soundless, as a testament to the exquisiteness of your pot.

“Thank you for inviting me into your home for this meeting,” I began, starstruck that my role model was so personal. “I’m not sure how much you know about me but I’ve come here today to convince you to take the Hermes Motor Sales Director job posting down because you already have the perfect candidate working for you.”

“Mr. Macedo, of course I'm familiar with you. You're hardly forgettable. How could someone as large as yourself not be on my radar?" you flattered.

I saw many of myself blush as the many of you eyed the many of me, up and down, in the mirrors.

"I do pay attention to talent. You're one of my top sales executives at ApolloBiotech. I also asked Doug to send me over your file,” you pull out your phone. 

Shit, my tie felt tight on my thick neck. Doug knew I was trying to make a move. I had to ace this interview to beat Doug to the punch.

"Agosto "Mac" Macedo. 22. Texan born, Orange County raised. Chinese and Galician Spanish," you read from your phone. "Hmm, I think DEI counts you as Asian and Latino but I'll need to have HR fix that since European Spaniards shouldn't be counted as Latino."

"Cal Poly Pomona grad. You've been at ApolloBiotech coming up on 2 years including your college internship with us. Your sales metrics are impressive. You’ve signed our largest client to date, Perdana Saleh, in Singapore with our autonomous surgical tool and then out did yourself with the Dubai deal stocking an entire lab," you refilled my tea.

My heart was beating harder. I loosened my tie to relieve the artery beating in my neck. Yes, my accolades spoke for themself. I deserved this career move.

"5'10", 195 lbs., 16% body fat. Competitive high school wrestler and continue to do so but in the performance entertainment capacity," you rattled off from your phone.

I saw many of me start to perspire, unbuttoned the top button of my dress shirt and removed my suit jacket. At a Med-Tech company, it was in our contract that our physical information may by accessed from our primary care provider, but I forgot about that as something just hidden in the terms of a contract since it's never come up before. Why was this relevant to this interview. Why were you bringing this up? 

"Doug wrote that you were an otter here. Haha, I'd say more like a wolf," you bantered. “Here are some interesting files. Dating app DMs from your company phone. A video from a business trip hotel room the company paid for. That's you with our largest client's young daughter,” you cast my dating app thread with Perdana Saleh's daughter, Maesarah Saleh, to the floor-to-ceiling smart mirror on one wall and cast the video of that Singapore hotel room to the floor-to-ceiling smart mirror on the adjacent wall.

I was immersed with the flirtatious conversation with Maesarah, where she convinced me she was turning 18, on the left display, and her riding my jock body, with my arms restrained above my head to the stability bar in the hotel room hot tub, on the right display. My body was warm. My shirt felt wet under my pecs, between my pecs and in the pits. This panic was familiar. Fuck, the tea was drugged.

"You're familiar with ApolloBiotech, pharmaceutical division's adrenaline medication aren't you?" You inquired, probably already knowing how often I've been victim to its side effect of susceptibility to persuasion. 

You ordered me to stand in the center of the conversation pit. The smart mirrors turned off, back to regular mirrors. An infinite count of me was looking back at myself, disheveled and clammy, in my nicest, clearance, designer clothes, while an infinite count of you admired my jacked physique.