Date: Sat, 27 Apr 2013 06:44:29 -0700 (PDT)
From: Macout Mann <macoutmann@yahoo.com>
Subject: SUMMER JOB 6

This is the story of a city boy who worked for a summer in rural Alabama
shortly after World War II.

The story is fiction and it involves explicit homosexual activity.  If
suchis offensive to you or if you are underaged, please read no further.
Otherwise, please enjoy.

I would love to hear your reactions to the story.  Anything like a summer
adventure you've had?  All comments or criticisms are welcome, and will be
answered.  macoutman@yahoo.com.

Also, please remember that although you may read these stories for free,
your contributions keep nifty.org open and without charge.  Please give
what you can.


				SUMMER JOB

			      by Macout Mann


				    VI

About nine o'clock Monday morning all hell broke loose.  The mill's whistle
started to blast, signaling a major emergency.

A huge oak log, almost five feet in diameter, was being pulled up to the
head saw when it jumped the track and opened the skull of one of the men
who were guiding it into position.  The whole town stopped in its tracks.

It turned out that Miranda, our office jack of all trades, was also the
company nurse.  She ran to give first aid, while Walter Clement rushed to
bring a converted station wagon to the site.  Meanwhile, Kate, the
telephone operator, called the sheriff's office to ask for a police escort.
A sheriff's deputy was dispatched to intercept Clement, as he sped away to
the tiny hospital in Camden with the injured man.

At the office the accident was the sole subject of conversation for the
rest of the morning.  Even Matthew Sykes joined in speculating how it could
have happened.  The log was one of the biggest the mill had ever handled,
but it had finally been maneuvered into position and sawed.

My questions, of course, showed a complete ignorance of what was going on.

"You've never been over to the mill?" Mr. Sykes asked me.

"I've walked by," I answered, "but never when it was in operation."

Malone was ordered to arrange for me to have a guided tour the following
day.

Walter Clement, one of my fellow poker players, was assigned to show me
around.  I'd never known what he did, except that he worked at the mill.
It turned out that he was Sam Berger's assistant.  Berger was in overall
charge of operations and Clement was his enforcer.  In addition, Clement
supervised the hour to hour operation of the mill, hiring and firing
laborers, deciding which lumber was to be air dried and which kiln dried.
Of course, when we started our tour, I didn't even know what a kiln was.

Although sawmilling is still a dangerous business, today most mill
operations are automated.  Back then the lumber had to be manipulated
mostly by hand.  So while motorized rollers now maneuver logs up to the
saws and turn them in the proper direction, back then laborers had to guide
them.  That's how the accident the day before my tour happened.

We started where the accident had happened.  At ground level a chain was
attached to a log and it was pulled up the jack slip, a couple of slanted
rails, to the head saw, which was operated by the master sawyer,
Baumgartner.  I was amazed at the skill required.  He had to decide how to
begin to cut the log, so that the maximum amount of lumber could be
obtained, set the guides to the proper distance, and control the saw so
that the each cut was smooth and even.  At Sykes the head saw was a band
saw and it made a ferocious sound.  Baumgartner sat at the controls about
six feet away protected only by a heavy sheet of glass.  I could now
understand why he was partially deaf.

The planks coming out of the head saw were of various sizes, so they were
taken to a resaw, where they were further broken down by width and depth.
These were circular saws, and this is where Jerry and his father worked.

Edging occurred at still another circular saw.  It removed irregularities,
so that the boards now were a standard shape.

And finally the trimming process cut the lumber to standard lengths.

And there was sorting going on at each stage.

So in addition to Baumgartner, there were three other sawyers, performing
different operations, and laborers at each station helping to handle the
wood, plus many more doing other jobs.  I'd say all together there were
thirty or forty people on the floor.

When Clement came to get me at the office, he seemed quite put out to have
to give me the tour, but as we observed the various operations and he saw
that my questions were halfway intelligent, he warmed to the task.

After about ninety minutes, we emerged from the mill itself and he
explained that depending on the quality of the wood and its end use it was
either air dried or kiln dried.  There were stacks of lumber, mostly pine,
covering an acre or so being dried in the open.  Semitrailers came every
day and hauled away the dried wood, one and two by fours, as well as larger
sizes to be used in all sorts of construction.

Nearby there were buildings that looked like giant bread boxes.  These were
the kilns, where steam circulated within the lumber stacks to dry the wood
more thoroughly and more uniformly.  Inside was the higher quality pine and
hardwood, destined for use in cabinetry, furniture, or applications like
architectural moldings.

I guessed that counting the crews harvesting trees and scaling the logs
being brought in from the forest, as well as the guys replanting the
overcut areas, the company employed more than two hundred people, almost
all of them men.

When I returned to the office, I learned that the injured man was still in
critical condition, but had stabilized and would recover.

After dinner that night, I joined the poker game.  Clement acted much
friendlier to me than he ever had before.  And in the game I broke even.

Going up to my room, I noticed Paul Earl's light was on, but I passed on to
my door and was about to put my key in the lock, when he stuck his head out
and said, "Come on over for a minute."

He was already naked when I walked in.

"You've already fucked Chuck, so I aint goanna have ta show you what that's
like any more," he declared.  "But you can still fuck me, if you wanna.
But first I want your cherry ass."

I began to undress.  "Am I goanna be your first virgin?" I asked.

"Nah.  I took Jack's and Jerry's cherries too.  After all I got all three
of you started.  They both wanted you," he chuckled, "but shit!  Let them
find their own cherry boys."

I couldn't help but giggle.  "Seems like you're getting to like fucking
around with guys more than gals," I sort of taunted.

"Maybe so.  I get off on all of it."

He drew me to him and bit my shoulder.  It was goanna leave a hickey.
"Something to remember tonight by," he told me.  Then he began to kiss my
body.  Everywhere but the lips.  He pulled me onto his bed and blew in my
ear, tongued it, and nibbled my tits 'til they were rigid as little dicks.

Man he was getting me so aroused I would have let him do anything he
wanted.  I also wondered about him.  I knew goddamned well he didn't learn
what he was doing to me back on shipboard.

"It's goanna hurt at first," he whispered.  "You're not stretched like
Chuck is.  So I'm goanna open you up with my fingers and put some Vaseline
up your ass to make it easier."

He began to massage my hole with the grease.  God, it felt good.  Before he
was finished I think he must have been finger fucking me with all five
fingers.  Then he put me on my back and globed Vaseline on his dick.  I
raised my legs up just like Chuck had.  "Just relax," Paul Earl encouraged
me.

Then he rammed just his dickhead into my ass.  Damn, it hurt!  "It's goanna
be o.k.," he said.

Slowly he slipped his tool further up my ass.  And slowly the pain began to
subside.  When he was all the way in, he waited.  "Better now?" he asked.

"Yeah," I panted.

He began to slowly slide his prong in and out of my tight asshole, his face
expressing pure pleasure as he gazed into my eyes.  It felt good, but not
as great as it did when I was the one doing the fucking.  But I still
thought for sure I wouldn't mind getting it again...and again.

He picked up the pace and got down to the short strokes.  His heavy moaning
signaled he was nearing orgasm.  I felt his dick flex and my ass fill with
his juice.  He became still and let his dick soften while it was still up
my ass.  "That was great, man," he said.  "You've now been righteously
fucked."

He pulled out and we lay side by side for several minutes.  One part of me
wanted to go take a shower, but my still hard dick wanted the same sort of
relief I'd given Paul Earl.

"My turn," I said.

"Put some Vaseline on your dick.  Feels different."

"I will, but first I want to get you as hot as you got me."  I started to
use my hands and my lips to stimulate his libido.  Despite his having an
orgasm just minutes ago, his dick became a rod looking to be sucked.  I
went down on him, then returned to nibbling his nuts, his pecs, his ears,
any place that turned him on, then tasted his dick again.  Finally, I
tongued his rosebud as I coated my dick with Vaseline.  He was whimpering
like a bitch in heat, when I entered his asshole.  It was heavenly.

The lube on my dick gave me extra staying power.  I probably fucked him for
ten minutes before I came.  He was crying, "Fuck yes," over and over, as I
plunged in and out, ultimately dropping an unbelievable load in his hot
colon.

We were both exhausted.  The next thing I remember was his alarm clock
dinging.

It was the first time I'd slept with anybody, and we awoke completely
entwined, our dicks, once again hard, pressed against each other.  We gave
each other a quick blow job, before greeting the new day.

I put my "uniform" back on and Paul Earl pulled on his bib overalls.  I
made a detour to my room to rumple my bed clothes for the benefit of the
maid, and put on a fresh shirt.  He went directly to the dining room.

After breakfast I remembered to shave.



Copyright 2013 by Macout Mann.  All rights reserved.