Curiosities The Simba Strategem By The Weaver

Curiosities The Simba Strategem By The Weaver

Postby Philbill » Fri Jan 24, 2020 4:07 pm

I do not own these stories they were posted on the Patreon page of this Author and have since been taken down and not able to be reviewed anywhere. If you are looking for a story by The Weaver, I can post it quicker if you message me about it.


It feels like every song on the radio taunts me. They’re all about people winning, people finding love, people doing all the things I wish I could do but haven’t ever been given the chance to. I pull my car over and turn the radio off. Maybe if I give it a break, the songs will be about someone overcoming obstacles. We need more songs like that for people like me. Not everyone is born rich, beautiful, and lucky. There are also guys like me who women always perceive as only best friend material and have literally zero desire to date or even sympathy fuck. I get to hear all of their problems with men and how they hate men, but always accompanied by “But not you, August.” I guess I’m too fragile to consider a man. Too considerate and caring. Too… safe.

I take a deep breath the steel myself against the onrush of emotions. I’m in no mental state to drive. I’ll either smash my car into the next guy who cuts me off as an act of revenge or steer into a guardrail and end it all. There’s a coffeeshop across the street, but I’m really not in the mood to deal with people at the moment. There’s an empty looking used bookstore type establishment in front of me. Perusing stacks of books sounds like just the panacea for what ails me. Short term solution at least…

Once inside, I realize that I was mistaken. This place is more like an antiquities shop than a bookstore.

“Curiosities, actually,” a voice comes from behind me and I spin to see a person of indeterminate gender dressed up in a vest and tie. They remind me of the snake oil salesman you’d see in one of those old Western movies.

“Who do you think inspired them, August?”
Their statements seem completely out of the blue, until I think about… what I’ve been thinking about… and then it seems like their reading my mind and answering accordingly. Which couldn’t actually happen.

“Or maybe it’s that you’re easily read. Like a book.”

They extend a book to me, but I’m certain I must be dreaming. Either dreaming or I’ve died in a car accident and this is some weird afterlife.

“Take the book and find out,” they say, wiggling it in front of my face.

That makes sense. Maybe the book is the key to progressing beyond whatever level of the afterlife I’ve managed to land myself in. And if I’m dreaming, I won’t be able to read it anyway. I think I learned that in an episode of Batman: The Animated Series. Something about the side of your brain that enables reading and the side that controls your dreams.

I’m able to read the cover — The Simba Stratagem — no book I’ve ever heard of, but I read the title so dreaming has been ruled out. This must be the afterlife. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life… afterlife.

I get back into my car and drive home, wondering if home even still exists.

When my normal life persists for the rest of my Sunday, despite my initial belief that it won’t, I start to think that maybe I am still alive… that I’ll have to go to work tomorrow and keep on keeping on. I’ve cultivated a very active imagination all these years of being single and unwanted. I’d think that I Walter Mitty’d the whole thing, but the book still exists. Since it does, I start to read it.

The inside cover has a longer title — The Simba Stratagem: The Beta Male Way to Get Laid. I don’t know what’s beyond this first page, but color me intrigued. Loathe as I am to admit it — and I’d have to be a fool to walk the earth these twenty-five years and not know — I am a beta male.

Once I start reading, I can’t stop. Each word, each sentence, each paragraph propels me forward. A lot of the repeated message is to keep doing what you’re doing. I don’t know how that will help anything. Won’t I just continue to get the same results that way? A sexless, lonely life like the one I’ve been living?

It does recommend more cardio for a longer life and increased sexual capability in the exercise chapter.

The mindfulness/meditation chapter offers up some mantras that I can’t help but to repeat over and over in my head —

Smothering is just ‘mothering’ with an S.

The weaker the man, the stronger the pull.

The stronger the woman, the stronger the pull.

Stay weak, unique — they’ll freak.

I don’t know how many times I repeat them, I just know it’s a lot. I shiver in my bed as I cycle through the phrases. I shouldn’t be cold, I have the heat cranked up to a balmy twenty-five, but I’m shivering regardless and I don’t know when the repetition ends and the dreaming begins.

I wake up sweaty and can’t remember my dream to provide any insight as to why. As I’m showering, I feel even thinner, even weaker than I did the day before. That’s hopefully something that a good breakfast will fix, but I check the clock once I’m dressed and realize that I’m potentially running late as it is.

I’m starving when I get the the reception desk and that’s why, when Katie asks, “How are you doing today, August?” In her typical I don’t actually care and I’m just saying this as a pleasantry tone, I actually answer, “I’d be doing better if I’d managed to work in breakfast this morning.”

Her blank face changes instantly into show some genuine concern. “Oh. Poor baby…” she says with sincere empathy. In my three years with the agency, I’ve never heard Katie give any sign of concern beyond doing her job, greeting guests and answering phones, and checking her social feed and makeup.

I step into my cubicle and start to clear the emails that came through while I was in transit. I’m barely through the dozen or so when Katie pops her head above my cubicle. “Hey. Thought you could use this…” She then walks around the cubicle to present me with a toasted bagel, a side of butter, and a side of cream cheese. “I wasn’t sure which you preferred so I got you both.”

I’m shocked by her kind act and try to meet it with flattering words that still maintain a friendly tone. “Wow, Katie. Thanks. You really know how to take care of a guy.”

I watch as her cheeks flush a lot more than my simple compliment warrants. I swear, she sways on her feet for a moment, too, with a dreamy, dazed expression on her face.


I hate Mondays. Everyone’s in a bad mood and they try to pass that negativity along to me. I’ll personally have none of it. I typically don’t make eye contact with the other agency employees, just registering them by their gait, making small talk so that when the holidays roll around, they remember that I remember them and they should lavish me with gifts and gift cards.

I identify August immediately by his tentative steps. “How are you doing today, August?” He’s usually good for a gift card.

He answers, “I’d be doing better if I’d managed to work in breakfast this morning.”

And something inside of me breaks. I shouldn’t care. I don’t know why I care, but suddenly, I do.

I look up at him, this poor neglected schlub, and give voice to these intense feelings, “Oh. Poor baby…”

I’ve never baby-talked an adult in my life. Not even one of my pets through the ages — and I once had the cutest chihuahua ever. I’ve always judged people who do it as idiots, but it just came out of my mouth like that. Wish I knew why.

That’s not where my strangeness ends, because the more I think about August suffering with an empty belly, the more I want to fix the situation. I sneak away from my desk and down to the coffee cart in the lobby securing a toasted bagel, a side of butter, and a side of cream cheese. Don’t want him to have to suffer through eating it dry but I also don’t know his preference. Besides, what if he couldn’t eat it dry? Then, his suffering would continue and it’d be partially my fault. I can’t have that. Not at all.

I pop my head above his cubicle to make sure he’s there and then I produce the carby sustenance.

“Wow, Katie. Thanks. You really know how to take care of a guy.”

I swoon at his compliment. What the fuck is going on with me? I’ve had better compliments from hotter dudes — I mean I once had a professional football player pick up my bar tab in its entirety and that didn’t phase me. Why am I getting butterflies in my stomach for weak pathetic August?

Just thinking about how needy and useless he is has my nipples hard enough to cut glass.

“Is there anything else you need? Anything?” I ask in a breathy voice usually reserved for boyfriends.

“I don’t suppose you know any desperate girls willing to go out with me, do you?”

Fuck. I have to rub my legs together to stop myself from rubbing my lady bits with my hand. If I’ve ever been this turned on in my life, I sure as hell can’t remember.

“I’ll go out with you, August.”

“Ha!” He laughs. “You don’t strike me as the desperate type.”

I don’t know why, but the more he talks down about himself, the more I want him. I know this much about August — no one is as self-deprecating as he is. If I can’t find a way out of this conversation, I’m going to wind up masturbating in the hallway. I’ve already been away from my desk long enough to probably earn a stern talking to.

I’m very specific and direct with my exit line. “Take me somewhere, anywhere, right after work. Just… take me…”

I quickly walk back to my desk, tempted to step into the ladies room as I pass it to Jill myself silly to thoughts of taking care of weak little man-child August. That thought stops me in my tracks just a few yards shy of making it back to reception. Instead, I turn around and use the ladies room to find some sexual release and pray no one hears me moan out his name as I cum.


I’ve always found Katie to be attractive, even is she also always seemed distant and detached. Her soft brown hair. Her light blue eyes. The way she always looks put together. Seeing this new side of her at my desk, paints her in a whole new light and shows an internal life I’ve never caught a glimpse of previously. She seemed so warm and caring and nurturing.

Smothering is just ‘mothering’ with an S.

Holy shit.

Holy. Shit.

The book! It’s just like in the book!

I’m glad I remembered to pack it into my backpack before coming to work.

I read on to the next chapter that highlights the “Psychology of Simba.” One passage strikes me in particular —

Women, strong women especially, often don’t take the time to cater to their maternal instincts. This is particularly true for women with a high career drive. A needy candidate offers a chance to fulfill those desires. Properly positioned by this book, those desires become completely interchangeable with ones of a more sexual nature.

Can all of this be true?

Katie did seem to act strangely and the looking the conversation went on, the more she seemed to… want me. Like want me want me. I chalked it up to my imagination again, but then, as she left, she said she’d go out with me.

No, she said I could take her.


The idea of living out a sexual fantasy with Katie sends me into a nerves spiral. Yes, I’d want it — I want it bad — but how can I know that it will turn out well. She’s a beautiful, vibrant woman and I’m a twenty-five year old virgin.


I am particularly peeved to find that Katie is not at her station when I walk into the office. My office. She basically has one job — greeter — and it’s not a difficult one at that. She doesn’t have to deal with all the random nonsense I have to as founder and CEO. She has to sit there and look pretty — a job that an animal could almost do. She didn’t have to fight and claw her way through the ranks at another agency to secure enough clients. She didn’t have to beg, borrow, and steal to pull the money together to launch her own shingle. No, she basically had to show up one day and look presentable and promise to continue to look presentable while wo-manning her post.

I look at my watch and time just how long I’m standing at the empty reception desk, just how long she wastes my time and energy and patience and goodwill. These are all finite resources. My anger simmers up from a five to about an eight before she returns. She looks flushed and red-faced. If she’s sick, she should have stayed home. I don’t have the time or luxury to get sick. I have too much on my plate. I have this office to keep afloat. I have training for my triathlon next month.

“Are you sick?” I ask her pointedly.

“No,” she mumbles back at me, keenly aware that I’m boring into her soul with my eyes.

“Why weren’t you at your desk?”


And I know she’s not talking about the month, because it’s December already. She’s talking about the waste of space I made the mistake of bringing on board in a moment of weakness early on in my empire-building. I walk away. I don’t need to hear any more. Whatever was going to come out of her mouth next was going to indict him in some way and I’m clever enough to figure that out for myself. It will be nice to have an excuse to finally be rid of him.

At his cubicle, I look down and he looks conflicted about something. I’m mesmerized by this. By him. I’m fascinated. Fixated. I don’t know how long I stand there before he gets up to leave his cubicle and notices me.

“Ms. Lowe! Anything I can do for you?”

The fact that he thinks there’s anything he can do for me is so innocent and cute.

“Walk with me, August.”

Standing next to him and his frail frame, I feel like an Amazon. I’m just average. Maybe a little above average. I wonder how a real Amazon would feel next to him.

“How is your day going?” I ask him.

He tells me he had to skip breakfast in his rush this morning and my own stomach drops. Then, he tells me how Katie took care of him and I’m instantly jealous. That bitch. She thinks she’s the one here who should be taking care of people… of August? As the boss, that’s my responsibility. He’s my responsibility. Now that he’s been fed by Katie, I’ll have to figure out what else he needs.

He stops at my office threshold. Is he afraid to follow me in? Does he think he’s not invited? I tell him to come in and then sit on the corner of my desk.

“When I saw you this morning, it looked like you had something on your mind…” I probe, searching for how I can help this lost little lamb.

“Oh!” He exclaims and blushes red. He’s nervous and the quaking in his nature is somehow tied to a quivering in my crotch. “You don’t want to know about that, Ms. Lowe.”

“Please,” I say, “I do. And call me Alice.”

He tries out my name tentatively, “Alice…” and a thrilling chill goes up and down my spine. All of the men I’ve ever dated or considered physically would say my name with authority and conviction. He dips into it patiently, as if testing bath water. God, I want him to dip into me.

“I’m not going to take no for an answer. I don’t care what it is. You’re going to share it with me and, by George, the two of us aren’t going to leave this room until it’s sorted.”

“You’re sure?” He asks. Even when not asking a question, his statements are all timid, uncertain, and it’s driving me mad with desire.

Clearly, it’s up to me to be direct. “If you don’t tell me now, I’ll have to tickle it out of you.”

“Well,” he says, avoiding eye contact. At the avoidance, I sneak in a quick grip of my needy breasts. “Katie said she wanted to go out, but more than that, she seemed to insinuate that she’ll want to be physical with me and I’m a virgin.”

“Ooohhh!” I have a little mini orgasm at his virginal confession. I try to cover it with just being intrigued by the notion. “If you’re worried about being a virgin with Katie,” I say neglecting to mention how much I hate that bitch for trying to claim this prize, “you can just lose your virginity to me. No muss, no fuss.”


I was previously certain that Ms. Lowe loathed me. She always had a look on her face that she barely tolerated my presence. So of course I’m taken back when she says, “If you’re worried about being a virgin with Katie, you can just lose your virginity to me. No muss, no fuss.”

My mind reflects back on my new mantras, specifically —

The weaker the man, the stronger the pull.

The stronger the woman, the stronger the pull.

Ms. Lowe is a strong, strong woman. She’s in her early thirties, but she doesn’t lose any of her appeal because of her age. She has dark red hair and an athlete’s body. I’ve actually always been intimidated by her which I’m sure, if the mantras are to be believed, only adds to my appeal.

She looks ready to tear her clothes off and, in her peak physical condition, she really could accomplish this. Her green eyes cloud over with hunger and need making her look even sexier.

“I’ve barely even kissed a girl…” I pout and raise the flag and she immediately salutes, crossing the room like a jungle cat and pouncing upon me, pressing her lips against mine and pushing her tongue into my mouth.

She’s panting as I pull away to say, “I’ve never held breasts in my hands…”

She takes her powerful hands and pulls mine up to her chest. It’s still covered in her blouse and a bra, but I can still feel the firm but squishy flesh below. As I settle into a good grope, she pulls me back into her kisses. I feel her nipples harden against my fingers. I feel something else harden in my pants to match. I’m worried that I’m going to ruin those pants if she doesn’t back off for a moment to give me a chance to catch my breath.

“I’ve never had a woman do a strip tease for me…”

It’s almost too easy.

I always imagined Alice had a good body, but seeing it slowly and fully revealed in front of me shows that I had no idea how good. Her pink nipples and areola stand out against her pale skin. Her breasts are on the smallish side, but against her otherwise toned body they fit perfectly. I learn that she’s a natural red head because the triangle above her crotch matches the hair atop her head. When she’s standing there completely naked, I see that she’s waiting for my next request.

“I’ve never had a woman suck me off…”

She’s immediately on her knees with her head buried in my crotch. She goes at it with wild abandon, constantly moaning out her contentment. I don’t know if all blow jobs are this good, but this is mind-blowing. I don’t even have to ask as she swallows my load.

I feel sated and sad at the same time. I’m still a virgin.

She jostles my hair. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I didn’t get a chance to have sex with you…”

She starts to gently stroke my spent cock. “We’ve got all day, sweetie. We’ve got all day.”

True to her word, as soon as she’s brought me up to full mast, she’s straddling my dick and taking my virginity. Sex is amazing. Alice has committed to teaching me everything I need to know or, in her words mid-coitus, “You can’t trust that bitch Katie to know how to take care of you and help you learn. You need a real woman. You need me. Tell me you need me.”

“I need you.”

She arcs her back and orgasms.

“Say it again,” she begs.

And she cums every time I say it, louder and harder each time. If she weren’t the boss, she’d probably be in trouble because I know there’s no way we’ve gone undetected.

I’m sure that she keeps me in her office, trying new positions, in an effort to ensure I’m spent by the end of the day and can’t take Katie up on her offer. I don’t know if their rivalry stems from me or was there before I didn’t realize. It doesn’t matter. I can be a plaything for the both of them.

Inspired, I tell Alice with the biggest pout I can muster considering how great this day has gone, “You know… I’ve never been with two women at the same time…”
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