Date: Tue, 08 Jun 1999 23:43:07 -0600
From: Jack Fellowes <jwhstloo@ix.netcom.com>
Subject: "Summer Job--Part One" (m/t) (mast) (oral) (1/3)

Summer Job at the Stop'n'Fill--Part One
by Jack Fellowes (jwhstloo@ix.netcom.com)
Copyright 1998 by the Author

(Usual disclaimer: you know who you are, what kind of story this is, and
whether you ought to be reading it. Act accordingly.)


Part One: June 1967

I had to get a summer job to earn some spending money. My family was
pretty poor, even if my Mom did keep saying we were rich in love. Maybe
she was--she didn't have to get along with five whiny sisters every day.
They kept teasing me all the time, and they wouldn't give me a bit of
privacy.

Privacy was pretty important to me right then. I had just turned 13, and
I had found out that there were things boys could do, alone or with
other boys, that girls thought were really yucky. I learned about those
things from my friend, Jerry, a 15-year-old who lived on the farm next
to ours, and we did them together every chance we got. Unlike me, Jerry
was an only child, and we could go up in the loft of his barn and not
worry about being interrupted by sneaky, snotty girls. I wished Jerry
could have been my brother.

Anyway, the reason I needed spending money was that Jerry was going away
for the whole summer to stay with his grandparents over in Iowa, and I
was going to have to find something else to do with myself, and
someplace else to be. What Jerry and I did together was free, and fun!

The only other friends I had lived in town, and they couldn't think of
anything we could do together that didn't cost money, like the movies,
or the drive-in burger stand, or the arcade. I could have showed them
some stuff, but they didn't seem to be interested in things like that.

If I was going to be able to survive the summer, and stay away from my
sisters, I had to find some way to earn some spending money. I still had
my chores around the farm, but I was mostly done with those before
lunch. I could work in the afternoons and maybe even some evenings if I
could find a job.

I went a whole bunch of places and got turned down flat at most of them.
It gets pretty discouraging when you're told you're too young to bag
groceries or sweep up the parking lot at the drive-in. I'd been working
on the farm since I was six or seven, and I knew I could handle the work
and the responsibilities. My mom and dad didn't even have to get me up
in the morning to go out and feed the stock before breakfast, and I was
always on time for the school bus and everything else I had to do.

I was starting to feel like I'd have to spend the whole summer at home
avoiding my bratty sisters, when I overheard my folks at lunch. They
were talking about the new filling station someone had built over at the
crossroads where the old roadhouse burned down last year. Dad said the
owner was a retired military guy who'd just moved to town, and that he
needed to hire some help. I was on my bike and on my way to the
crossroads before I even found out whether Mom had made pie for dessert.

The crossroads was the intersection of two secondary state highways, the
north-south one eventually leading to the interstate. Our town was far
enough from the interstate that it hadn't affected us much. There wasn't
any more traffic through town, and we were still an hour away from the
closest big city. I guess this guy figured that, being at the
crossroads, he at least had a chance to pick up some extra business from
the tourists who got off the interstate to explore.

When I pedaled into the new gas station, which looked shiny and clean
enough to be a dairy, I say a big, tall, dark-haired guy, with just a
little gray in his sideburns, walking around from the side of the
building and going in the front door. I didn't see anybody else there,
either workers or customers.

I leaned my bike against the tire display out front and went inside to
introduce myself.

"I'm Davey Banker, sir," I said, "and I heard you were looking for some
help. I'm 13, and I live down the road a couple of miles, and I'm
available all summer in the afternoons and maybe even some evenings."

He just looked at with a little funny grin before he introduced himself
as Gary Martin. "So you're 13," he said. "Kinda big for your age, aren't
you?"

I was. I went through a big growth spurt when I was 11 (that's when I
noticed the hair starting to grow around my weenie, and when Jerry
showed me how to make my weenie feel good and shoot sperm).

"Yes, sir, I guess I am," I answered. "I'm taller than my Dad now, and
almost as strong. I'm a good worker, and I'm reliable, I can work every
afternoon, and I really could use the money." I smiled up at him
hopefully. Even though I was about 5'10", he still towered over me. He
must have been 6'4" or taller. Up close, he looked like he could have
been the same age as my Dad, or maybe older, but he sure was a lot more
muscular.

"Well," he said, "I'll have to see what kind of worker you are for
myself." Wow, I thought, that sounds like he's going to give me a job!
He went on, "I tell you what--I'll give you a try for a week or two. I
don't need anybody full time until business picks up a bit, but I do
need someone to clean up inside and out, straighten up the parts
shelves, maybe pump a little gas when I'm busy in the mechanic's bay,
and help out with some other things. Do you think you could handle
that?"

I grabbed his big hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, Mr.
Martin!" I said. "I can handle that and more!" I just kept holding on to
his big, warm hand.

He had a big grin when he pulled his hand out of my grip. "We'll see
about that," he said. "I'll give you a dollar an hour to start, maybe
more if you work out. Be here tomorrow at noon."

He kind of stepped back and really gave me the once-over. The way he
looked at me made me tingle a little, right in the crotch. He was just
really built, and so rugged-looking. "And it's not Mr. Martin," he said.
"Call me Gary... or Sarge. I answer to either one. And I call you Davey,
right?"

I was already halfway out the door to get my bike and ride home to tell
Mom and Dad I had a job. I turned around and said, "Davey's fine, sir,
or you can call me by my nickname, Spike." I'd already started pedaling
down the road when I remembered that Jerry was the only one who called
me Spike, and why he did. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Mr.
Martin had stepped outside the door to watch me ride away. He waved when
I looked back. He looked like he could really be tough, but he smiled a
lot, and I liked being around him.

I felt really good about summer right then. A dollar an hour! My oldest
sister didn't earn that much working at the Frostop drive-in.

				    ***

I showed up early the next day. Mom and Dad were really happy for me. Of
course they immediately started talking about how I could afford to buy
my own school clothes and gym shoes next fall, but heck, with a dollar
an hour, I figured I could afford it. Mom sent me off with a sack lunch
and told me to eat it there, so I could start right in working at noon,
and to be sure to listen to Mr. Martin and do everything he said. No
problem there, I thought.

Gary grinned as I came pedaling up to the station. He was lining up the
new tires on the rack by the front door, and his short-sleeved khaki
shirt was open. His hairy chest, tanned dark, was very muscular. I
couldn't help staring a little.

He told me there was a chair in the store room where I could sit to eat
my lunch, and then he said to give him a yell when I was done so he
could show me what he wanted me to do.

He walked in just as I was folding my lunch sack. He had that same funny
little grin, like he knew something I didn't, and he said, "Why don't
you start here and straighten up the shelves? Just make sure all the
filters and hoses and electric parts are where they ought to be, and
lined up by part number."

I got up and started in straightening up the boxes of parts. He stood
and watched for a while, then went back out into the mechanic's bay. I
quickly found out the parts shelves didn't need a lot of straightening.
Nothing was very far out of place. What I did was more like my Mom
fussing with the pictures and doodads on top of the piano.

Every so often, I could hear him clanking around the big old 1958 Buick
that he was working on. I only heard the bell for the gas pumps ring
twice in the first hour. I came out of the store room and asked him what
he wanted me to do next.

"Get the hose and the push broom over there, and spray down the concrete
pad and sweep up around the pumps," he said. "Then come back in here,
and maybe I'll show you how to change spark plugs." I doubt that anyone
had ever sprayed a hose or pushed a broom faster. I already knew how to
change spark plugs--I was a farmer's son, but I was really excited about
the idea of working right alongside him.

Business was kind of slow that afternoon, so we had a lot of time to
talk. He did most of the talking, mostly about himself. I found out he'd
joined the Army right out of high school, and he'd been in Korea--where
he won a purple heart--and the Philippines and Germany and Turkey. He
had just retired last year after 20 years. Since he wasn't married, he'd
saved a lot of his pay over the whole 20 years. He used his savings to
buy the property the station sat on and to make the down-payment on
building the gas station.

He lived in a trailer behind the station, which I hadn't noticed before.
Of course, I hadn't really seen much except him the whole day. He told
me he had a bench and weights he used to keep in shape. I just blurted
out, "You must work out a lot. You've got great muscles!"

He chuckled, and said, "Thanks, Davey! I do work out a lot, and I like
it when somebody notices." He gave me another look and added, "You look
pretty good, too, Davey, but you could probably stand to build up your
arms and chest a little. If you want, I can show you some weight
training exercises after work." I felt something funny in my chest then,
like my heart was revving up a little. He must have noticed something,
because he gave me another funny little look before he walked out to gas
up another car.

Before we knew it, it was five o'clock. Business started to pick up some
as the local "rush hour" traffic started coming down the road from the
interstate. At the next lull, he looked at his watch. It was almost
six-thirty. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey, Davey, we can
close up in about a half-hour. Why don't you call your folks and see if
it's okay if you stick around for a bit? We can go back to the trailer,
work out with the weights for a while, and then I can fix a little
supper for the two of us."

If Mom had said no when I called, I probably would have lied to Gary and
said it was all right for me to stay anyway. I just told her we were
going to do a little extra work, so she said yes. I couldn't wait to see
Gary get pumped up, and I was hoping he'd change to a pair of gym shorts
or something so I could see more of his body. Then I remembered I didn't
have anything to change into.

I followed him around while he locked up and then as he led the way back
to his trailer. It wasn't new, but it was really clean and neat inside.
It was the first time I'd even been in a trailer home, and I was
surprised at how big it was inside. Gary went back to the bedroom,
saying over his shoulder, "I've got to get out of these greasy clothes.
I don't want to take a shower until after my workout, so I think I'll
just strip down to my boxers for now. We're all guys here, aren't we?"

I sat down at the dining table and said, "Sure we are," raising my voice
a little to make sure he heard me. "I don't have any gym clothes with
me, so I'll just work out in my underwear, too." I didn't quite hear his
answer, but that was because he was walking back toward the front of the
trailer in his olive drab boxer shorts, which looked a couple of sizes
too small for his muscular stomach, which had nice firm ridges covered
with more dark hair.

I got up and undressed down to my jockeys. I had to turn around to
rearrange myself a little before I could join him at the weight bench,
which was in the living room where the couch should have been. He showed
me a lot of different exercises to build up my arms and upper body,
doing them first with heavier weights, then spotting me while I did them
with a lot less weight.

I couldn't help noticing that the fly in his shorts gapped open a little
when he flexed his abdominals doing bench presses and overhead lifts,
and a little more when he leaned over to take the barbell out of my
hands after my bench presses. I couldn't see anything, but that didn't
stop me from looking.

We did several sets of each exercise, and both of us were starting to
sweat pretty good. I noticed that he kept looking at my undershorts,
which were pretty wet, while I worked out. I know I was still a little
hard, and I noticed that the bulge in his boxers had gotten bigger than
when we started.

After my last set, he took the barbell out of my hands and grinned at
me. "Hey, Davey, my man, that's enough for the first day. A pretty good
workout after a pretty good day's work, don't you agree?"

I sat on the bench, starting to feel how tired I was, rested my chin in
my hands, and said, "It sure was, Sarge. I've gotta dry off."

"Gee, Davey," he said, squatting down in front of me, so that his fly
gapped wide open, showing off a thick bush of pubic hair and just a
little bit of the wide base of what looked like a big really dick
hanging down into his shorts. "I forgot you wouldn't have any clothes to
change into. Why don't you take a shower before you get dressed while I
fix supper, so you don't mess up your work clothes?"

I nodded. "Okay, sure, that's a good idea." As he stood up, I got a
glimpse of a big hairy ball starting to hang down out of the leg of his
shorts, which were bunched up at his crotch. I had to adjust myself
again before I could get up and follow him back to the little bathroom.
When I stepped in front of the shower booth, he snapped the waistband of
my briefs from behind, and said, "Go on, get in. I'll get you a towel
and put it on the toilet seat." He stood there for a couple of seconds
longer, as I pulled my shorts off, facing away from him to hide my
half-boner, and stepped into the shower.

The shower booth had a frosted glass door, And I saw Gary step in and
put the towel on the toilet seat. Again, he paused a little and seemed
to be looking at me through the glass. I forgot that I was standing
sideways and he could probably see me as well as I could see him. I
turned around when I remembered my dick was now sticking straight out.
When he walked out again, I thought I heard him chuckle again.

I turned off the shower, and reached out for the towel. When I was dry I
tried to find my shorts, but they weren't there. I wrapped the towel
around me and went back into the front room of the trailer. Gary was at
the stove, still in his boxers and frying burgers, and my half-hard dick
started rising again. I saw my jockeys hanging on the oven door, which
was half open and putting out a lot of heat.

He saw where I was looking, and laughed again. "I thought I'd try to get
them dried out a little before you go home. Your mom would probably get
upset if you came home with wet shorts under your pants... or none!" He
motioned toward the table. "Dinner will be served in a minute. Get the
pickles, mustard, and ketchup out of the fridge and have a seat."

My towel came undone while I was putting the jars on the table, and I
just caught it before it hit the floor. I'm sure Gary got a good look at
my dick before I could get it covered up again.

He put cheese on the burgers and then put them in the buns he had on a
plate next to the stove. He brought the plate of burgers and a pan of
baked beans over to the table. When he leaned over to put them down, his
shorts gapped open again, and I got a much better look at the top part
of his dick, which looked like it was pushing out the crotch of his
shorts a lot more.

He saw me looking at him, and said, "Dig in, Davey. If that's not
enough, I can fix more." I thought two burgers apiece would be enough,
but I didn't realize how hungry I was. He watched me scarf down the two
sandwiches, smiling all the while. "Here," he said, "take this one, and
I'll cook myself another one."

He finished his first burger, then got up to put another patty in the
skillet while I finished my third. When I was done, he made a show of
sniffing his underarms. "Maybe I'd better catch a shower myself, before
I stink you out of here. Can you watch and make sure this doesn't burn
while I clean up a little?"

"Sure," I said, getting up to walk over to the stove, and having to
catch my towel again. He walked back toward the bedroom, taking his
boxers off as he went. He tossed them back toward his bedroom, then
turned around and headed into the bathroom. I got a good look at him,
back and front. He had a hairy butt and a big puffed-up uncut dick. I
thought Jerry's was pretty big, but Gary's was a hell of a lot bigger
than either Jerry's or mine, or even my Dad's or uncle's, which I'd only
seen hard a couple of times. I wondered what it would feel like to jack
him off or suck him the way Jerry and I did each other. My dick was
standing up again, bone-hard, as I turned Gary's burger over to keep it
from burning.

I was just putting the burger on the bun when Gary stepped out of the
bathroom, naked and dripping. He looked at me, grinning, and said, "I
forgot to get myself a towel," and walked back to his bedroom. His cock
looked even bigger and like it was starting to stand up a little.

He came back out with the towel wrapped low around his hips. His chest
and belly hair tapered down into a strip that disappeared under the
towel right below his belly button. "I'm not going to bother getting
dressed again. I'll probably go right to bed after you leave, anyway,"
he said. He sat down and started to eat his burger. "Just the way I like
it," he said between bites, "just this side of charcoal." I knew he was
joking, but I blushed anyway.

After he finished eating, and put the dirty dishes in the sink, we sat
and talked for a while longer. My dick never seemed to get completely
soft. Whenever it started to go down, he would lean back in his chair
and stretch, and I could see his chest muscles and the lump in his towel
flex.

It was past nine o'clock, and I knew I ought to get dressed and get
ready to leave. I was probably going to have to walk my bike home
because it was dark already and too dangerous for me to ride on our
road. I got up to check on my shorts, and my towel fell off again. This
time I didn't catch it in time.

Gary looked at my boner, grinned, and said, "Looks like you get horny
after a good workout, too." He leaned back again and outlined his hard
dick with the fingers of his right hand. I just stared, with my mouth
hanging open. He grinned again and said, "Looks like you're kind of big
for your age down here, too. Is that why your friends call you Spike?"
Then he leaned forward and grabbed my dick with his left hand.

That's all it took. My dick started spurting like a fountain. The first
shot went clear up his arm and landed on his muscular pec. As soon as I
could manage to talk, I said, "Oh, god, Sarge, I'm sorry! I'm so
embarrassed!"

He just laughed and kept milking the rest of my load out of my dick.
"Hey, no problem, Davey. I haven't seen a hair-trigger young buck like
you shoot a hot load like that since I was a kid myself." He pulled me
toward him, using my softening dick as a handle, and pulled me down on
his lap, still holding onto my cock. "It's okay, kiddo, the same thing
probably would have happened to me if you'd grabbed my meat." I could
feel his big, hard dick moving against my ass under the towel.

He took my chin in his hand, and turned my face toward his. "Would you
like to grab mine, Davey?" That thought made my dick start to get hard
again. He laughed again, stroked me slowly a couple of times, and said,
"This thing seems to like the idea."

I slid off his lap onto the floor, turned around to face him, and pulled
his towel away. He looked at me as I saw his hard cock for the first
time. "It's a big one, isn't it, Davey?"

I grabbed his big stiff cock with both hands and pumped the skin up over
the drooling head, then uncovered it again. Then I just reared up and
lunged into his lap, stuffing his big pulsing dick into my mouth. I took
almost half of it on the first plunge, all the way down to the narrow
opening of my throat. At the first bit of resistance, I felt him grip my
shoulders sharply with both hands and his dick swell up, almost choking
me. Then he started to shoot, and I didn't have any choice but to start
gulping down his hot, thick cum. He must have shot seven or eight big
loads, and I just kept sucking him until his dick started to lose its
rigidity.

Finally, I let his softening cock slip from my mouth and flop down onto
his hairy thigh. He finally released his grip on my shoulders and let
out a big sigh. He put his hand under my chin again and turned my face
up toward his. "See," he grinned, "I told you the same thing would
probably happen to me. I didn't know how true that was! That was really
great, Davey!" He grabbed me under my arms and again lifted me onto his
lap. He hugged me tight against his chest; the hair tickled me a little,
but I felt really comfortable sitting there. And I felt his big
half-hard cock twitching against my ass.

"Next time," he whispered in my ear, "I won't cum so fast, and I'll be
able to really enjoy your sucking me off, you sweet little cocksucker.
And I can show you how good it feels." Then he pulled my mouth around to
his and gave me a big, wet kiss.

All I could think was, "Next time! There's going to be a next time!!!"


(End of Part One)