The Master of Women

I had become the master of women. Even before my transformation, they had never been hard to read. I no longer understood how the other boys would complain about never knowing a female’s heart. Perhaps those Betas merely didn’t pay any attention to the opposite sex and certainly didn’t put in any effort. Were they trying to die as virgins?

Like what Professor Silva Inc. said in his genius book The Lonely Path to the Sigma Male, “Self-Improvement is not a choice; it is a duty for real men. And it starts with getting good at rizzing up the ladies.”

Saying that this masterpiece was illuminating would be the understatement of the century, as my life had changed so much since I had stumbled upon this textbook about women, even though I had not yet encountered a chance to apply my skills as a budding womanizer. It was all good. Because the book still served as part of the preparation needed for my interview.

Of course, I graced my fit upper body with a dress shirt, a blazer, and a tie to give the illusion of standard formal attire. This was all to catch them off guard when I tear off my pants to reveal my naked thighs like a stripper would. The trick would have been less obvious if the fasteners weren’t exposed at the sides, but that was a sacrifice I had to make, in preparation for a striking impact when they inevitably asked me to undress.

The outfit was only the tip of my preparation. The basics of sexual intercourse pervaded my mind like the blood in my veins as I set off for the interview site. Taking the pains to browse through several porn sites last night, I had all the terms and positions memorized.

What greeted me was a concrete wall topped with barbed wire that gave the air of a military base rather than a college campus. The entrance was marked by two stone pillars, supporting a double steel gate carved with a lacy pattern. I strode towards the guard post to register as a visitor.

“Excuse me. I’m Kuronuma Shuntaro, here for the interview at three.” I gave the guard a wink and a thumbs-up. Couldn’t be too careful about when the interview would start. Maybe this unassuming, bland person could be a secret interviewer too.

The guard shot me a deadpan gaze, as if I weren’t standing in front of him. I was about to wave a hand to test whether he was actually asleep with his eyes open.

His gaze, originally scattered, sharpened on my face. I was confident in my looks more than anything; my bold jawline and broad shoulders oozed maturity. Even heterosexual men would be impressed, or perhaps even intimidated.

No change in his expression, unfazed by my appearance. At his age, I would expect his vision to start deteriorating, so it was probably that. After sluggishly dragging a record book from his drawer, he skimmed through the pages.

“You can’t get in yet.”

I huffed a salty breath and pointed at his notes. “What? Why? I have a scheduled interview. Check carefully. I have it. It’s at three, by the way.”

The guard rolled his eyes, as if he was trying to max out his disrespect. “Yes. You have an interview at three. But look at what time it is now.”

“One o’clock already.”

“Already? Buddy, you aren’t boarding a plane,” the guard said in an unnecessarily harsh tone. He wasn’t making any sense. Everyone knows that preparation is paramount in every aspect of life, a piece of wisdom bestowed by the esteemed Professor Silva.

“What do you expect me to do? Go fumbling for the interview room in the last few minutes?” I tried to reason with this buffoon with all the patience I had left.

“Yes.”

“That was a rhetorical question.”

The guard might not have heard my correction, because he had already slammed down the window, cutting our conversation short. I knocked on the glass surface in the hope that he would let me continue presenting my case, but he treated me like the passing wind.

Hold on… Is he gaming? On his phone? Outrageous. And worst of all, it was a matching game too. Why was he so intent on acting like a stereotypical middle-aged man who had been hit by a midlife crisis?

He should do his job and… Wait a second. Putting his full attention on the mobile screen naturally meant that his mind was distracted. He wasn’t watching me at the moment.

As Professor Silva would say, a Sigma male should never miss an opportunity. Taking a deep breath, my years I’d spent in the gym would finally pay off. My sinewy legs lurched forward into a smooth sprint before my body shifted so that my right shoulder would slam into the gate.

Clank.

The security guard’s gaze snapped up from his diversion. But it was too late. I had already burst through the entrance with my awesome physique and started dashing my way across the campus lawn, despite there being a sign saying ‘do not step on grass’. The guard could do nothing to stop me.

At least that was what I had expected would happen.

In reality, the metal gate didn’t budge. And the impact sent me falling backwards, almost causing me to land ass-first onto the floor. Even though I barely regained my balance, the display definitely subtracted a few of my coolness points.

My head whipped towards the security booth; coincidentally my gaze directly overlapped with the guard’s. He didn’t show any reaction to my fumble, maybe his eyesight was so poor that he didn’t see it, and even if he was laughing at me on the inside, his midlife crisis had numbed his face so much that he wouldn’t have shown it.

With a sigh that I couldn’t hear through the glass, he scratched his forehead and spoke barely audible words. “The gates are for cars. People enter through the side door.”

Oh. A side door loomed a few meters next to the main gate, but in my defense, even though I had dropped by this area a few times for scouting, the monument sign next to the entrance was way too eye-catching.

To me, the name of the college was more than simply words etched on a piece of marble, as it represented a glimpse into the next stage of my life that gripped my eyes and mind like flashing neon tubes. Such a surreal experience, graduating from high school. Being forced to think about my future. About my life.

Oh right, I’m a virgin. Reflection brought about this inconvenient truth, one that was out of my control. I was fully aware of the terrible circumstances that held me in this state. A burdensome obstacle that stood between me and my potential first time.

I was just too handsome.

Girls were overwhelmed to approach me. They could only admire from afar my curvy ass and harmonious features on my face. As a result, no one had ever asked me out in high school, though I caught them sneaking glances and even swooning as I entered the room. To be fair, that was before I had the fateful encounter with Professor Silva’s work. Things would certainly be different after I started applying what I had recently learned from him. Even with my heavenly looks, I would no doubt get laid soon.

“Excuse me,” a soft, female voice from behind yanked me out of ruminations.

“Yes?” I whirled with grace, ensuring my smile was on standby, prepared to enchant the maiden who had wandered into my net.

The perfume that had drifted into my nose reminded me of an evening walk by the beach. Before me stood a girl, dark green hair swaying like a weeping willow touched by the night breeze. Her jade-colored eyes blinked at me, certainly amazed by the grace I exuded. Her plump bosom caused the ‘COOL’ printed on her gray hoodie to pop out. My mind tried to comprehend the why of wearing such a lame shirt, but the only thing I realized was that I was gawking at her boobs for far too long. Although Professor Silva Inc. said we should check out women proudly, he certainly didn’t mean it for the women that I had just met.

I raised my head in a hurry to meet her eyes. Not a whiff of revulsion on her face. Did she not notice me staring? Or did the people here all lose the ability to emote?

“Excuse me. Do you need help?” She asked.

Right, the classic ‘using help as a pretext for flirting’ strategy. Putting on my signature smile, I rested my hand on the back of my neck, deliberately flexing my arm muscles for her to enjoy. “Actually, yes. I’m here for an interview, but that mid-life… but the security guard won’t let me in.”

“I’ll let you in,” she said. This stranger deserved my applause. She had managed to keep her eyes on mine during the whole conversation, able to restrain herself from checking out my arm muscles, not even sneaking a glance for a single time. There was always a chance that she had trained herself to peep without moving the eyeballs, but a person as hot as she was wouldn’t have to do that.

“Are you a student here?” I asked, while subtly adjusting my pose to fish for a reaction.

She didn’t answer. And she didn’t need to, as she drew out a student ID from her pocket for the side gate. With a beep from the card reader, the mysterious world of college life had lent a preview to me. I followed my guide into this unknown land, taking one last glance at the signage next to the entrance.

National College of Sexual Arts.