Date: Sat, 15 Jul 2017 10:32:44 -0700 From: Jeremy Reimuller Subject: "Manager" Part One This story is a work of fiction. All characters are imaginary. Part One Whew! It sure is hot out here. As I stood in the back stockroom, I can already feel sweat pooling all over my body. This summer humidity is awful! Right then I make a mental note to call headquarters to ask them if they can send me a stock person. Thank goodness my office in this warehouse is air conditioned! My name's Scott and I'm 32. I've just been hired to manage this old paper-based storage and retrieval warehouse. And it is old! It has only three sections -- my office, a bathroom with a shower, and a warehouse with all these old paper-based files. For legal reasons, old paper files have to be maintained and occasionally reviewed. Most companies simply don't have the space or staff to do it. That's where we come in. We're kind of like those shredding companies, but we store files instead of destroying them. Anyway, back to my story. I walk into my office ... oh, cold air! That feels a lot better! ... and call headquarters. I ask them to send me a helper, someone to work out in the warehouse and do my leg work. After a few minutes of looking at the hiring pool for my area, they come up with someone. His name is Dylan and he's 16. He's just looking for a summer job. I ask if they can't send me someone older, stronger, and more permanent. They say that's all they have for now. They add that they should have some more new workers this fall. Well, the work's not that heavy anyway. How heavy can paper? We don't even use forklifts here. Just rolling stairs. The most my helper would have to lift would be one of those small file boxes. He could take regular breaks. They said he really wanted the job, was punctual, was tall, and looked fit, if not buff. Finally I say okay, and they say they'll give him a call. Unless I hear from headquarters again, he should be at my office tomorrow morning. When I arrive the next morning, I see a bicycle outside and hear noises out in the warehouse, so, before going into my office, I walk out there to see what's going on. Man, it's already hot out here, and it's only morning! It's only going to get hotter and more humid as the day goes on. I turn a corner and there's this tall boy holding a small box of papers over his head, apparently straightening up a high shelf, wearing only hip-hugger cut-offs (very short--they were rolled up his thighs) and a pair of flip flops. His smooth torso is already shimmering with sweat. Wavy auburn hair, nearly shoulder-length, sticks to his face and neck. He has a slender waist, broad shoulders, and a nice deep tan. "Hey," I say. The boy turns towards me, still holding the box over his head, and the sight of his slender glistening body and hairless armpits takes my breath away. "Oh, hi. I'm Dylan, your new stock boy," he says as he shoves the box he's holding onto the shelf just above him. "How did you get in?" "They gave me a key when they hired me yesterday." "Oh ... okay. You're early." "Yes, sir." "I'm Scott, your new boss," I say as I extend my hand. "Nice to meet you, sir," Dylan says as he takes my hand. As we shake hands, his hand in mine, I feel something. I'm not sure what it is, but I'm sure Dylan and I are going to get along just fine. Like they said yesterday, the boy is fit, if not muscular. I can't see an ounce of fat anywhere on his tall body. He's as tall as I am, and I'm six one. He certainly wasn't afraid of hard work. "Have you already taken a tour of the place?" I asked. "Yes, sir. Your office in nice and cool. I already turned the air-conditioner on." "Thanks, Dylan. " This guy's good! "You're welcome to come in there and just hang out whenever you need a break ... anytime." "Thanks. I will, sir," Dylan says with a friendly smile. I like his confident and engaging smile very much. "Hey, Dylan, are you sure you want to wear flip flops for this job?" "I'm very careful, sir. I just want to stay as cool as possible. When they called me yesterday, they told me how hot this storage room was, so I wore flip flops. I also wore a ..." Dylan slowly lowers the waistline of his cutoffs, just a little, revealing the waistband of a red speedo. "May I ...?" "No problem," I respond, and then suddenly feeling brave, I add, "With a body like yours, you can wear anything you want." Instantly I regret the comment. He's only 16 and I'm twice his age. But then a shy grin begins to form on his face. He looks down, and the he looks up at me again, and in that silence, I knew something was happening between us. Feeling bold again, I say, "Well?" I just stand there waiting with a growing mischievous smile. Dylan knew exactly what I meant and slowly unbuttoned and unzipped his cutoffs, let them drop to the floor, and stepped out of them. "Nice," I whispered loud enough for Dylan to hear me. "So you like my swimsuit?" Dylan asks. "Not only that," I respond. "I used to have a bod like yours, but I have a question. How old are you ... really?" "Sixteen. Why?" "I didn't see a single hair in your armpits." "I'm on the swim team at school. I shave my legs too." I look at Dylan's legs and, sure enough, they were as smooth as the rest of his body. "That actually makes a difference in speed?" I ask. "Yeah. My time's a little faster. Maybe it just helps me get my head in the game more, and that's what *really* makes me perform better. I don't know." "Well, since you're wearing a swimsuit, feel free to cool off in the bathroom shower anytime. It's got cold water as well as hot." "Thanks, sir. That's really nice of you." "You'll have to walk through my office to get to the bathroom, but I won't mind being disturbed, trust me. I'll a towel in there for you." I smile again making no secret that I'm looking all over his body from head to toe. Dylan smiles shyly again and looks down at the floor. I follow his gaze and add, "Promise me you'll be careful and protect your feet, or I'll make you wear shoes." "I promise, sir," Dylan says with confidence and looks up again. "And be sure to stay hydrated. I'll be sure to keep the fridge in my office stocked with plenty of water." "Yes, dad," Dylan says with a wry grin. "I like you, Dylan," I say with a smile. "We can talk about your specific duties after lunch. Until then, you're doing a fine job straightening up and cleaning up. I appreciate your being here very much, Dylan." And I did! "I like you too, sir, and I'm happy to be here." "Call me Scott." "Scott," Dylan says with a smile. This is the end of Part One. Part Two will be coming soon.