Rob Rosen
Work was scarce around those parts, especially for a young guy like me with nothing but a high school diploma and a résumé that could fit on a paper napkin. Was down to eating nothing but ramen noodles, in fact, a cup of tap water to wash it all down with. No new clothes, no new CDs, no new anything—tough times indeed.
Which is why I happened to be on that stretch of road that fateful day. I was looking for work farther away from home, figuring a commute would be a hell of a lot better than the inevitable high blood pressure caused by the seriously massive intake of sodium and ramen preservatives I was regularly consuming.
Too bad for me, though, nothing turned up. Not a McJob to be had, just a lot of rueful frowns and clammy handshakes, followed by one door after the next slamming on my—if I do say so myself—stellar ass.
So glumly I started home, gas running low, energy even lower, morale bottoming out completely, smashing into the floorboard with a loud kerthump. Plus, my tummy was gurgling up a storm, an entire rhythm section beating out an urgent plea for something other than reconstituted Asian pasta. “Would you settle for a stick of Dentyne?” I asked it, rubbing it for good measure. “It’s yummy spearmint.” But my stomach was having none of that, belching up a furious “no!” just as I noticed the flashing neon along the side of the road:
eat at joe’s. eat at joe’s. eat at joe’s.
“Fine,” I relented, wondering if Joe would trade a hamburger for a pack of gum, or what the jail sentence would be if I got caught doing a little dine-and-dash, some scarf-and-scram. Then I gulped when I realized that my previously stated stellar ass would not do well in prison or look all that, um, stellar in an orange jumpsuit. In any case, I pulled into the parking lot and retrieved my rather thin wallet before once again staring sadly down at my grumpy belly. “Just don’t complain when all we get is a bowl of soup.”
In I went, the place a beehive of activity, a flurry of hustle and bustle, a din of standard diner racket, the smell of grease instantly wafting up my nostrils.
“Have a seat,” grunted the sole employee in sight, a harried looking man drenched in sweat who was barely a blur as he raced by.
I looked around. There was a lone empty stool that bellied up to the counter. Every other seat in the place was taken. I turned and stared out the window, at last noticing the line of trucks off to the side of the building. Joe, it seemed, had the only game in town. And then I took my seat and perused the menu, happy to see that I could, at the very least, afford that aforementioned soup and, woohoo, a rather nice side salad.
If, that is, I was ever able to order it.
“Be with you in a minute, kid,” barked the blur. “Waiter called in dead today.”
I squinted my eyes and tilted my head. “Dead?”
The blur shrugged, I believe, as he hurriedly cleaned off a nearby table. “Dead, sick—all the same to me, kid. Fifth time this month, so he might as well be dead.” He looked up my way and grimaced. “Least that way I won’t have to fire him.”
I froze in place, my mind all of a sudden buzzing, gears cranking to life. Fired, he’d said. Meaning … “Can I help, sir?” I coughed out, adding, with a well-placed lie, “Waited tables at my mom’s coffee shop, bussed tables and seated folks, too.” Mom was a bus driver, by the way, but that wasn’t exactly going to land me the job. In fact, most people don’t care for bus drivers all that much, hence the need for a little fibbing right about then.
He dropped the table’s dirty dishes into a gray and dingy tub and sighed, again locking eyes with me. “Fine, kid. Just don’t kill anyone.”
I hopped off the stool. “Kill someone? Waiting tables?”
He shook his head and handed me the heavy tub. “You won’t be waiting tables, kid. I’ll wait; you bus. Killing comes with dropping this on the customers.” He patted the shoulder of a burly man to his right. “Not you, Lou. Not that a tub of plates could crack that thick neck of yours anyway.” Then he yanked off his apron and chucked it my way. “Hurry, kid—these guys need their coffee.”
“Quickly,” groused Lou.
I nodded, donned the apron, and, quite suddenly, joined the workforce. Then, just as suddenly, had to figure out how to bus, seat, and pour without getting just as suddenly fired by, I assumed, the owner, Joe, who never so much as stopped to introduce himself. Not that he had any time to do so.
“Quickly, kid,” reminded Lou, empty cup held high, followed by a sea of others, all held up by equally burly, frowning, surly presumed-truckers.
I nodded and sped to the kitchen, dumping the tub off as I nodded to the cook and his helper, who also appeared to be the dishwasher. They eyed me suspiciously, but nodded just the same, pointing to the coffeemaker and the several filled coffee pots. “Wish me luck,” I exhaled, saying it more for myself than for them, seeing as they were already back to work and ignoring me completely.
And, yes, luck was just what I needed.
Luck to not drop tub after tub of dirty dishes. Luck not to spill endless cups of coffee on endless surly and/or burly truckers. Luck not to piss off the supposed-Joe. And luck not to get caught eating whatever food I could rustle up for myself and my ever-protesting belly, which had somehow managed to simmer down by the time dinner had ended and the place was finally empty, all the trucks having driven off to points unknown.
I was cleaning up the last of the booths when up he walked. “Good job, kid,” he said, hand held out. I stared from it to him. It was the first good look I’d gotten of him, seeing as he was still nothing but a blur pretty much the entire time I’d been there. Guy was either an old looking late forties or a young looking early fifties, eyes so blue you could just about peel your clothes off and take a dip in them, and—if the matting on his arms or the one poking out of his T-shirt meant anything—hairy as a bear and just as easily riled if you poked at him for too long. He was ruggedly handsome, tough as nails, and gut-wrenching terrifying. In other words, my hand was wet as the Mississippi Delta as I gripped his outstretched paw.
“Thanks, Joe,” I managed.
He chuckled. “Name’s Neville.” He pointed outside. “Doesn’t look too good in neon, though. Plus, the sign wouldn’t fit then.” He shrugged, still pumping away at my clammy, limp grip. “Joe will do, though.”
I nodded. “Name’s Chuck,” I informed. “And, um, thanks for the job.” It came out half statement, half question, all nervousness. “That is …”
He released his hand, eyes locking in on mine, my chest suddenly constricting as if a boa had taken hold. “Yeah, yeah. All yours, kid. Just be here on time and don’t steal the tips.” He reached into his pocket and handed over a fetching stack of bills. “We split them sixty/forty.” Before I could ask, he added, “Forty’s for you.”
He walked into the kitchen and I followed. The cook and the dishwasher had already left out the back door, the kitchen remarkably spick-and-span. Then again, considering who the boss was, not so remarkably. “You hungry, kid?”
Hungry didn’t begin to cover it. Starving was getting closer. Ravenous would’ve been just shy of the truth. “I could eat,” I replied, grabbing a folding chair as I sat and watched him work.
His back was to me as he opened and closed cabinets and drawers, then sliced and diced and fried and simmered—his body more limber than I would’ve thought possible given his burly bulk—until the smallish kitchen was awash in a heavenly aroma that made my eyelids flutter.
“You gay, kid?” he suddenly asked out of nowhere, still without turning around. Talk about your small talk.
I coughed, a river of sweat suddenly meandering its way down my face. “Um, huh?”
And then he turned, if only in profile, the grin nonetheless evident. “Gay, kid. Meaning, you fuck dudes or dudettes?”
Naturally, I was eloquent in my reply. “Um, huh?”
He chuckled, which sent a shiver down my spine. “Yeah, you already said that.” He turned, plates and forks in hand, and set mine down on a small prep table near where I was sitting. He ate his meal standing up. “Look, kid, you don’t have to answer the question. I was just curious, is all.”
And then I upped the ante, which, considering my lousy hand, wasn’t such a smart idea, all things considered. “Takes one to know one, Joe?”
His grin widened as he forked a huge serving of something meaty deep within his maw. He chewed as he replied. “Funny, kid.”
I shrugged and started in on my meal, trying—and most probably failing—to look cool, calm, and relatively collected. All the while I felt him staring at me, those hot pools of blue melting me as sure as an ice cube in the Serengeti. “Well?” I finally asked when I couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Are you?” I swear I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, could feel my knees quaking.
Again he grinned as he chomped. “I wasn’t asking because I wanted to fuck you or anything, kid.”
I shrugged. “Do you?” And still my heart—and now hard-on—kept pounding.
“Do I what?”
It was my turn to lock eyes. “Want to fuck me?”
His shrug echoed my own. “Well now, that is one stellar ass you got there, kid.”
See!
I stood up, suddenly not so hungry anymore. Because solid food, apart from ramen, wasn’t the only thing I hadn’t had in quite a long time. And so, right there and then, before my brand new boss, I unbuckled my belt and dropped my pants to the floor, then my briefs, until I was standing in the kitchen, bare-assed. “What, this old thing?”
He laughed. “You bucking for a raise already, kid?” He moved in, setting his plate down on a countertop. I listened, waiting for his next move. Then I felt his fingers on my crack, tickling the fine hairs on my otherwise smooth rump. He crouched down and parted my cheeks, my hole exposed, winking out at him. “Fuck, kid. I gotta say, I ain’t never seen anything so pink and pretty before in all my life.”
“Huh,” I commented, “and what is it you’re bucking for?”
He spanked my ass. I moaned, involuntarily, my legs buckling. “Don’t be fresh, kid. I’m still your boss. Not to mention old enough to be your, uh, uncle.”
I snickered. “How about showing me your dick then, Uncle Joe?” Again his mitt of a hand came crashing down on my tiny ass, another moan escaping from between my lips. “Please,” I piped in with.
He hopped back up. “Well, since you asked so nicely and all. But not here. Too many sharp objects and two exposed willies doesn’t equate to anything all that pleasant, if you ask me. So finish your dinner and we’ll get out of here.” I nodded and started to hike up my slacks. “Nah, leave it like that, kid.”
“What about the sharp objects and exposed willies?”
He snorted and shoveled more food into his mouth. “Yeah, well, I meant my willy.”
And so, never one to pass up a free meal, I ate as I stood there, butt out, prick semi-stiff, watching him as he watched me, which was both equal parts hot and nerve-wracking. A few minutes later, and with a rumbling belch, I announced, “Done.”
His meal was already long gone. “’Bout time.” Then he cleaned the plates. “Now get undressed so we can hightail it out of here.”
“You mean get dressed, right?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Naked, kid.”
I hesitated. “But we’re, uh, going someplace, right? Outside?” And suddenly my semi sort of shriveled. I mean, it was indeed hot being naked in front of him in the kitchen, but naked in front of him and any assorted potential onlookers struck me as anything but.
He grunted as he closed the gap between us. “Hands up,” he told me. I lifted them up as he grabbed my shirt, which he promptly pulled up and over my head. “Shoes off.” I kicked them off. Then he surprised me—yes, even more—by literally picking me up off the ground. My slacks, already at my feet, promptly slid off, with a little shaking on his part, and I all of a sudden knew what a rag doll felt like. With another shake, my briefs followed suit. Thankfully, he knew better than to try such a trick on my sweat socks. “Guess those can stay on. Very seventies porn-like.”
I forced a grin as I remained suspended there. “I’ll take your word on it.”
He then set me down and ran his mitt of a hand across my hairless if not well-etched chest, fingers working their way across my tight belly before coming to rest atop my manscaped bush. “Not very seventies porn-like.”
I nodded. “Again, taking your word on it.”
His grin echoed mine as he pushed me toward the back door and into the chilled night air. Goose pimples rose up my arms as a breeze stiffened my nipples, cock rising to the occasion when it realized where it was. He stared down at it. I stared down at it. It stared up at us. “Yep,” he rasped.
“Porn-like again?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
Rather than grab my hand, he grabbed my prick and led us to his truck, a Ford, big and bulky and made in the U.S. of A., just like him. He opened the door for me and I hopped in, the seat cold on my bare ass. Then he got in and started her up, engine revving, him revving, me merely confused and hard and naked, save for those socks of mine. “Where to?” I asked.
“On your knees, kid.”
“I, uh, meant location-wise.”
He shrugged. “My house. Now, on your knees, kid. Legs as wide as they’ll go.”
Which meant that I was on just one knee, the other hovering as I placed my left foot on the glove compartment. It suddenly struck me as odd that they still called it that, seeing as I couldn’t recall ever throwing gloves in one. Then again, it also struck me as odd to be staring out the window into the black of night, balls dangling, cock pointing to the door handle. In other words, who was I to quibble?
With one hand he drove. The other hand traced my peaks and valleys, my hills and dales, exploring the great divide—namely my ass. “They give awards out for prized rumps, kid,” he said, with a long, low whistle. “You’d take the cake, the blue ribbon, and the trophy.”
I stroked my cock as he stroked my hole. “I’d rather have the cash.”
He chuckled, just before he spit into his hand and just after he slid a spit-slick finger into my chute. “I bet you would,” he replied, digging in well past the knuckle, my body quaking as my hole clenched around his digit, balls swaying as the truck took a sharp corner.
“Barring that, a second finger might do the trick,” I added, voice thick as molasses, eyes watering, cock leaking something fierce.
One finger came out, two went in. “Just remember to vote for me for boss of the year.”
I nodded and sank my ass into his hand. “You got it, Joe.”
“I sure as hell do, kid,” he groaned, his double digits worming their way inside, feeling every inch of cavity they could find until a warmth spread through me that caused a bead of sweat to trickle down my face, which was now flush with the cold, hard glass.
When he stopped at a light, the road illuminated in red, I felt his fingers pop out, replaced by a warm, wet tongue as his hands roamed my back and butt. The sound of lapping and licking filled the truck’s cabin, joined, of course, with my now incessant moaning. When the light turned green, he slapped my ass and took off.
“What if we get pulled over by a cop?” I nervously asked.
He snickered. “We ask if he wants to join, I suppose. Then hope the guy’s nice to look at. Or hung. Preferably the latter.”
I rubbed my tight, little hole. “Um, the former would be fine with me.”
The laughter repeated. “Don’t you worry none, kid—my pecker’s gonna stretch you out all you need.”
I gulped because, yes, I was indeed now worried. And excited. And so hard I could just about crack the window in front of me. In any case, my worry didn’t last too long, owing to the fact that we were soon pulling up to his house.
Suddenly I was once again naked, hard, and standing outside.
“That thing ever go down?” he asked as he led me to the front door, again with his hand wrapped tight around my cock.
“Not usually, no,” I replied.
“Lucky you,” he said as he walked me inside.
I stared down at my arcing seven inches. “You hear that, boy? Lucky you.” It bobbed as if replying that it was already well aware of that.
Then the door clicked behind us and my heart stopped beating for just a moment. I turned to my boss-turned-host, his work pants already tenting, the smile on his face spreading like wildfire. He pointed down at his crotch. “I think I have a playmate for yours.”
I gulped. “Let’s hope they play well together then.”
Joe laughed. “Not too worried about that.”
He led me to the bedroom. I hopped onto his king-sized bed, head resting on a fluffy pillow, and eagerly watched the show unfold, the only spectator blocking my view being my ever-attentive dick.
He kicked off his boots first, then unbuckled his belt, eyes on me all the while, those orbs of blue like glittering sapphires. He yanked his shirt out of his slacks, then unbuttoned it, top to bottom, chest hair revealed, a thick matting of it, then pecs and rigid nipples, a surprisingly flat belly, considering his line of work, and, lastly, torso and arms.
All of it was covered in a wiry, brown down, as if man and beast had merged. He looked, in fact, so not like me that it was a wonder we were even the same species. Then I glanced down at my nearly hairless body, wondering if some day I’d wake up and look like him, if I’d transform, emerge from this boyhood cocoon of mine. Thankfully, I quickly realized, my cock was already all man.
His hands then moved to his work slacks, the button unbuttoned, zipper slid down, material pushed off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. They were tenting so much that I half expected a circus act to dart out. He grinned as he swayed the beast within, while I glanced down at legs so thick they looked like tree trunks—hairy tree trunks, but still. He reached for the waistband of his underwear next.
“Wait,” I rasped, hopping up as I swung my legs off the side of the bed. “Let me.”
He moved his fingers away. “By all means.”
I set my hands on his wide hips, grabbing on to the thin material. Down I yanked, thick bush revealed, thick shaft next, thick cock springing out, the wide, helmeted head already slick with sticky pre-cum. My dick was longer, but his was wider by far, my asshole silently gripping in anticipation at what was to come next.
I craned my neck down, inhaling the scent of him, musk and sweat and frying grease all combining in one heady mixture as my tongue licked the head. Acridly sweet droplets of jizz hit the back of my throat like a bullet as my lips moved in and around and down his pulsing flesh. He grabbed the back of my head and coaxed me further, a happy gagging tear meandering down my cheek as my mouth and throat completely filled with his rod.
He stared down as I stared up, my hands now cupping his mammoth, hairy balls. I gave a tug and he groaned in appreciation. I pulled harder and his knees buckled, head thrown back, mouth in a pant, all while he slowly face-fucked me.
“Harder, kid,” he grunted. And so I stretched his sac to its limits, balls now so low that they were practically in their own zip code. “Yeah, kid. Fucking yeah.” Then he stared my way again. “And speaking of fucking—”
I popped his spit-soaked prick out of my mouth. “Um, about that …”
He grinned and ruffled my hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”
Gazing up at his wide expanse of muscle and flesh and dense carpeting, I seriously had my doubts. Still, though his peg seemed much larger than my hole, it was indeed designed to fit, so up the bed I slid again, with him following close behind.
When I stopped, he kept going, until his face was a mere few centimeters from mine and then not even that. His beard itched, but his lips were soft as a cloud as his tongue snaked and coiled with my own. He exhaled down my throat as he tweaked and twisted my eraser-tipped nipples, while I in turn squirmed beneath him, cocks grinding together. Then he just as suddenly pulled away and asked, “Ready for the main event?”
I nodded, though I was just fine with the preshow. Then I watched him retrieve some lube and a rubber from the side table before he lifted my feet onto his broad expanse of hirsute shoulders, his cock suddenly knocking at my gates.
“Fuck me too hard,” I informed him, “and I won’t be able to bus tables tomorrow.” It was an idle threat, but it was all I had to work with.
He craned his neck down as mine went up to greet it. “Gentle as a kitten, kid,” he whispered. “Promise.”
I sighed as my head again hit the pillow, louder as he lubed up my prick and hole, a million volts of adrenaline suddenly coursing through me as he worked both of them with his adept sausage-thick fingers. My sigh went loudest of all when his now-rubbered-up prick breached my walls.
Slowly he entered, caressing my prick all the while, until the head was in and I could at last exhale. My eyes stayed locked on his as he kept on going, my asshole clenching around his steely prick, heels digging into his shoulders, teeth sinking into my lower lip.
“Damned tight, kid,” he groaned.
“Damned thick, Joe,” I groaned back.
He continued groaning as he pushed and prodded, until, at last, he was in like Flynn, hairy balls brushing up against hairless ass, like we were a yin-yang, opposing sides. But as they say, opposites attract, and by then I sure as hell was attracted. And raging hard in his grip. And bumping and grinding my ass into his crotch, aching for everything he had.
Suffice it to say, you should be careful what you wish for. Because, yes, he very quickly gave me everything he had. With both guns. Or at least one very big rocket.
Out his cock went, hovering in midair before slamming back in, every nerve ending in my body shooting off Fourth of July fireworks. Out, in. Out, in. Slam, slam, slam! Until my body was vibrating and my cock was ready to explode.
“Close,” I soon panted.
“Closer,” he panted in return.
“Fuuuck!” I howled, cock erupting in his slicked up, jacking grip, a stream of white-hot cum flying up, arcing wide, and hitting my shoulder and the side of the pillow, another stream quick to follow, dousing his belly and my belly, his chest and my chest, so much cum that I’d have to eat a refrigerator full of beef to replenish my protein stores.
Then his head threw back as he pounded his cock one final time into my ass, filling it and that rubber with his own apparently heavy load, sweat flinging off him as he came and came and came some more.
Fighting to catch his breath, he again stared down at me. “Fuck, kid, you keep this up and you’ll be waiting tables instead of bussing in no time.”
I chuckled as I pointed to my still rigid prick. “It’s always up, boss.”
He pulled out and collapsed by my side, hairy and sweaty arm resting atop my rapidly expanding and contracting chest. “Guess we’ll have to order some more neon then.”
A snort joined my chuckle. “Eat at Chuck’s?”
He nodded. “I just did, kid,” he replied, a kiss landing on my cheek. “Best meal I’ve had in ages, too.” He sighed as he rolled onto his back. “Best meal in fucking ages.”