Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2007 11:04:53 -0700 (PDT)
From: don mumford <thinat20@yahoo.com>
Subject: OLIVER'S SUMMER JOB   Part I  FRANKIE       fiction by Donny

We've just gotten back home after our twelfth year in
a row of vacationing at Wildwood, New jersey and oh my
goodness, this year was unlike any other for me.  I
was lucky enough to get hooked-up with a very hot
twenty-one year old and we had some hot, sweet sex
together.  His name is Alexander North.  I met him
through his younger half-brothers, Nathan and Noah,
who I managed to meet my first twenty minutes on the
beach.   The younger boys are identical twins who,
by-the-way, definitely qualify as hotties, as well as
being  cuter and more fun than a basket-full of
puppies.  Many happy hours during my two weeks in
Wildwood with both the twins and with Alexander, but
not at the same time.......... separately.

 I also met a couple of boys from some sort of gang or
club thingie, but that experience was a mixed bag,
some good and some not so good.  Mike Sullivan is the
group's honcho and is he ever one hot, unique teenager
.... awesome good looks.  There's something magical
about him and even though he's about two years younger
than me, he was the more confident and assertive one
between the two of us.  Another member of Mike's group
that I ran into is best forgotten....oh my, what a
strange little double-dude Tucker was.

Anyway,  during much of the drive home from Wildwood I
thought about the three hot North boys and the fun
times I had with them.  As I mentioned, Alexander and
I were into hot sex with each other, but I just ogled,
hugged and played around with the fourteen year old
twins.  They're too young for sex....  Right?  Yeah, I
guess they are, but then there's that mystery kiss
from the quiet one, Noah.  What to make of that?  I
can't wait to see what they have to say 'on line'.  We
exchanged email addresses our last day together and I
expect a lot of chatter from that crew.

With all the summer traffic it was a long tough ride
back home and because of my last minute fun adventure
with Mike Sullivan  I was three hours later getting
home than expected.  The house was empty when I walked
in, but there was a note on the kitchen table telling
me that my folks were next door for a cook-out and for
me to come over.  That made me think about how I met
Alexander at the Norths' cook-out...... I wonder if
lightning could strike twice at cook-outs for me.

 As I contemplated that remote possibility I walked
over to my computer to check my emails and there were
a number of them from the twins already.  They'd
gotten home hours before me because the ride to their
home in Delaware was much shorter than my ride all the
way here to the western part of Pennsylvania.....and
they left a few hours before me too.   The twins went
on about what a great time they'd had and how awesome
I am, but no mention of Noah's wet lip kiss or him
saying, "we love you" .  Hmmmmm?  I could still taste
Noah's bubbly saliva and still remember the boys'
smell, how to described that young teen smell?  yum!
yum!....  I re-read the part about me being awesome.

Ah ha! A  great email from Christian too...well,  five
email's from him actually.    I could tell he must
have had too much to drink when he typed three or four
of them.  Real mushy about how much he loved his
little brother and missed me etc.  In the last one he
seemed sober and the email described how he'd made a
"friend" (wink wink) which is his code for a
girlfriend so hopefully she'll keep him occupied and
he'll stay away from the booze.  He wanted me to think
about coming out to see him and he described how he
loved his new job and how he had a fabulous, wicked
expensive, townhouse with a bedroom made-up especially
for me and on and on.....  Boy, I can't wait to see
him and his townhouse, but I have a summer job
starting tomorrow that will last seven weeks... I
gotta get through that first.

I showered and fussed with my hair, threw on some
cargo shorts and a Wildwood T shirt and wearing a pair
of flip-flops I headed through the  gate  to the
neighbors' yard.  I could hear them talking a bit
loudly so I knew they'd been pounding down a few
beers.  The smell of burned meat preceded even the
loud voices.   The first person I see is Edward who
was flipping fat steaks on the grill.  He's a year
older than me and I'd had a  crush on him many years
ago.  My infatuation with Edward happened  way back
when I'd first moved here, I was fifteen at the time.
 Edward has always been a chick magnet and quite the
heart throb all through high school.  He's tall, about
6'3" with a typical 'jock' build.  Very dark brown
hair with that real light complexion and the bluest
eyes I've ever seen.  Great mouth with a winning smile
too.

Aside from the blue eyes and the dark hair, light
complexion and great smile he was really just average
looking, ha ha... oh, that contrast of the bright blue
eyes and the dark hair was always something special to
see.  And, looking at him just now,  I noticed
immediately that it still is  something special to
see.   Edward has had his problems though......for
example, it's common knowledge he knocked-up Barbara
O'Reilly in eleventh grade.  I was just starting high
school in ninth grade at the time.   By my first month
in High School it was obvious to me that Edward was
the top dog on campus although he was known to display
obnoxious behavior at times.  Edward was quite
impressed with himself.  He was a damn lucky dude too,
 as he'd escaped big trouble about that pregnancy when
Barbara mis-carried.  At least that was the gossip at
the time.  All very hush, hush.

At fifteen I was pretty much the skinny, hairless
body-type kid...you know,  except for sparse pubes and
a little underarm hair.  Actually, I don't have much
more body hair than that now.  Edward, on the other
hand,  had lots of chest hair by the time he was 16
and very hairy arms and legs too.  It use to be a huge
turn-on for me to stare at Edward's body covered in
all that fur. I use to fantasize the two of us wearing
only our jockey underwear and Edward wrapping me up in
his arms.  I'd get wicked hard, young, boners
imagining how it would feel being engulfed in all that
thick curly soft chest and stomach hair with my,
skinny, hairless legs wrapped up by his muscular hairy
ones and me holding tightly onto his hairy arms,
panting and waiting for my boner to shoot out it's
load of cum.  I wanted to feel his beard against my
baby face.  Now that I think back, I wonder why I had
the fantasy with us wearing jockey underwear....why
not have us both naked?  Who knows, I was just a
lonely gay kid.....

But, oh my God, the enormous loads of cum I could
shoot off back then thinking about that furry fantasy,
it was something to behold.  I knew Edward was aware
of my crush on him, but I don't know why or how he
knew about it.   This young teen infatuation for
Edward lasted less than six months; then, for some
forgotten reason I  stopped thinking about him and
moved on to other crushes for other boys and for
different reasons, as young teens tend to do.   And
now,  the thought of that hairy body and those hairy
limbs makes me want to gag and throw-up in my mouth.
I want absolutely nothing to do with Edward or hairy
guys in general.  Nothing personal against hairy guys,
it's just not my thing right now.  Sorry.

This coming Fall Edward is going into his Junior year
at West Chester University so because of that, plus
his position in the neighborhood as "hottest stud", he
acts like he's a celebrity.   Hell, he's always been
very condescending to me anyway..... always treated me
like I was ten years old.  Not much different
treatment for me now-a-days either, I'm afraid.

 At the sound of a squeaky gate hinge he looked up and
saw me coming into his yard.  He hesitated a second
and then did a mocking second-look kind of thing and
said, "Jesus H Christ,  Nickerson, what do you call
that haircut you got there on your head.  It is so
faggy.  Come here and say hello, little dude, I
haven't seen you since Easter break."  I walked over
with half a smile on my lips and my hand out to shake
hands.  Best not to get into any kind of conversation
with this pompous asshole. Instead of shaking my hand,
however,  he got his hairy arm around my neck and
bending me at my waist he gave the top of my head a
nookie with his knuckles, like you'd do to a ten year
old.  My hair was totally messed up after that.  I
could smell BO from his armpit and a strong beer smell
on his breath...there was a back-ground smell of
onions and garlic too.   Delightful greeting.

After the nookie he roughly twisted me around and
pulled me backwards up tight against his chest.  The
back of my bare neck pressed into the thick chest hair
at the top of the Vee in his short-sleeve Hawaiian
shirt.  One hairy arm up under my chin with the long
hairs tickling both my cheeks.  The other arm around
my hips and crotch pulling my back up tight to his
crotch.  "What ya been up to Oliver?  You find a
girlfriend yet?  You remember our game, don't ya?
Wanna play it later...for old time sake?"  Ignoring
his slurred mumblings and using both hands I managed
to push his arm just far enough away from my neck to
slip down out of his hold.  I felt his hard boner rub
against my back as I stumbled awkwardly out of his
reach.  "Asshole" he muttered.

"What's going on boys" asked my Dad as he quickly
walked toward us.  Edward turned back to the grill.
Dad didn't comment on my red face or my messed-up
hair; instead he asked, "How long have you been back
Oliver?  I'm glad you FINALLY made it."  We walked
slowly over to where my Mom was sitting, me glancing
back at Edward with a sneer on my face.  I absently
tried to fix my hair using my fingers as a comb while
I told my parents a lie about why I was so late
getting home.

Shortly I turned my attention to the food.  There was
corn on the cob dripping in butter, burning-hot
baked-potatoes from the grill with lots of sour cream
and salt, big fat, juicy Jersey tomatoes and  steaks
cooked medium-rare over a char coal fire.  Food was
great.  I drank lemonade and thought about me and the
twins peeing in the ocean when we'd drank too much
lemonade on the beach last week.  Edward glared at me
from time to time, but didn't come near me till later
that night when he was even drunker.  He came up
behind me and whispered to me, "You didn't use to want
to squirm out of my arms ya little cunt." then he
stumbled and tripped over the leg of my lawn chair.
"Fucking chair" he slurred as he staggered away.
Huh?  What'd he say to me?    I swear to God I don't
remember ever being in his arms.  I'd fantasized about
it for a few months when I was fifteen, but that's all
there was to it.  Right?

There were some other kids at the cook-out, but none
my age except for the girl from across the street who
had a girlfriend with her.  Not having much choice,  I
spent most of the time doing the "where you going to
school?   What you up to for the summer?"  and other
boring conversation topics like that with the two
girls, Jenny,  and I don't remember her friend's name
now.  If I was straight I still wouldn't be interested
in either of these two girls.  Both of them heavier
than they should be and both of them trying to show
how much like one-of-the- guys they were.  Ugh!  Girls
trying to act like guys while at the same time
expecting you to get drinks for them, give-up your
seat for them and dump their trash for them and...oh
fuck, they gave me a headache.  I broke away around
nine o'clock with the excuse I had to work the next
day, which as a matter of fact,  I did.

The food had been good so at least I had a full
stomach.  I watched TV in my room till I finally fell
asleep around midnight.  My Dad had talked me into
combing my hair down flat across my head instead of
combing it up like Alexander had intended when he cut
it.  It looked stupid combed down,  but my Dad felt it
was too frivolous sticking up.  I should look
professional on the job.  He also insisted I wear a
tie even though I would be working in the stock room.
"Don't forget Oliver.  I got this summer job for you,
whatever you do is going to reflect back on me.  OK?"
That was my lecture during the drive in to work.  Dad
insisted he drive for the first couple of days until I
got familiar with the routine.  It reminded me of my
Mom insisting I take a bag lunch on my Senior class
trip while everyone else just planned on eating at
Burger King like instructed to do in our Trip
Directory. Oh, what the hell.

I felt like a dork walking in to work with my father,
but I didn't want to hurt his feelings by telling him
that.  He took me through the huge office building to
the Human Resources Department which I could have
easily found myself...there were directional signs for
every department all over the place.  Dad walked with
authority down the halls, me rushing to keep up.  It
was all very silly, Dad acting important when he
didn't even have a management position.  He's an
Underwriter.... and Underwriters in an insurance
company are not high up the prestige ladder.

We walked right into the Human Resources department
and Dad announced to the pod of desks there that
Oliver Nickerson was reporting for work.  I was
mortified.   A nasty-looking gray haired woman with a
hint of facial hair looked up from her front desk and
said, "Say what?  Who are you?" She was not impressed
when my father told her he was an Underwriter and that
he was here to bring his son in for my first day of
work.  No one paid us any mind after the nasty lady
said frostily, "Wait behind the divisional wall till
you're called, if you don't mind!" and nodded her ugly
head that we should go back out to the 'waiting' area.
 I felt sorry for Dad because it was apparent that no
one in Human Resources knew him nor did they care one
twit that he was bringing his son in for the first day
of his son's Summer job.  I saw a few ladies rolling
their eyes at each other......hopefully Dad didn't see
them.

We backed-up six feet and Dad whispered, "This kind of
thing never happened at Gold & Burns.  You'd better
sit here and wait, Oliver.  I've got to run because I
don't want to be late at my desk.  You going to be
alright?"  Jeez, Dad...just fucking GO!  That's what I
wanted to say, but what I actually said was, "I'm fine
Dad.  Thanks for bringing me up here."  He looked a
little better after hearing that and off he hustled.
I heard a youngish-looking girl at a side desk snicker
into her telephone and I could tell she'd over heard
our conversation.  My face got bright red and my eyes
stung as I sat there in the waiting-area on a long
hard bench.

Nothing else to do but sit and wait.  While I waited I
couldn't help thinking about why my Dad had an
underwriter's position here instead of his
Underwriting Manager position at Gold & Burns.  I was
the reason.  We had to move when Tyler died because of
none-stop negative feed back after that barely
believable swimming pool death.  It's a long
story.....  In any case it made me very sad to think
about it, all of "that time" makes me feel very sad to
this day and.....powerless.

"Oliver Nickelson?" I heard someone say.  They must
mean me so I stood-up and walked over to this tall,
good looking black woman with an Afro hairdo that was
retro, straight from the nineteen-seventies.  "I'm
Oliver Nickerson,    Ma 'am".  She told me to call her
Violet and she said she was sorry she got my last name
wrong.  I filled out a lot of papers and had a cup of
coffee and waited.  Lots of waiting, but I didn't care
because I was on the 'clock' at $8.10 an hour.  Pretty
God damn good hourly wage if I do say so myself.  None
of that 'minimum wage' for me.  Finally an old fellow
comes up for me and without so much as a
"how-do-you-do" he says, "Loose the tie, kid.  You're
not in management just yet.  Follow me and don't touch
anything."  I thought... Fuck, this is going to be a
blast of fun.

I slid my tie off, unbuttoned my blue dress shirt
collar and followed Mr Personality all the way to the
other side of the building and down two flights of
stairs. This guy was maybe fifty years old with gray,
longish hair combed straight back from his high
forehead.  He had a neatly trimmed mustache on his
pie-pan-flat, sunburned, face and a big flowery bow
tie to go with his dark suit.  There was a very
officious manner about everything he did and I got the
feeling that dealing with me was distasteful to him,
but it was something that had to be tolerated.  He
said, "You're working on the loading  dock.  Help
Rocky unload that truck and then take everything
inside.  Do whatever Rocky tells you to."

While giving these limited instructions he didn't even
look at me and then off he went.  Not a real
motivational type guy I guess.  And, shit... an
Insurance company has a truck with stuff to unload?
What's up with that?  I'm not working at a warehouse
am I? This isn't what I had in mind.  I expected to be
shuffling papers around on my own personal desk......I
assumed I'd be doing inventory or something
'clerical', certainly not 'heavy lifting', for God
sake.  Later I found out that the company is replacing
all it's office furniture, desks etc.  There was a
professional moving company handling 90% of the
change-over,  but that other 10% would be done for
specialty items by the part-time summer hires.  Great
job ya got me, Dad.  And, for a lousy $8.10 an hour
too!

The first box I pick up to move off the truck was
almost too heavy to lift and when I dropped it I
noticed a long, greasy streak on my dress shirt.
During the long morning that followed sweat soaked
through my shirt and I ripped it in two places
carrying in "specialty" shelving.  My tie got pulled
out of my pocket somehow and I finally noticed it
under one of the boxes.  I pulled it out and threw it
in the trash.  I hadn't yet seen Rocky.  After
forever, a shiny, aluminum-sided truck pulls up to the
loading dock selling all kinds of breakfast drinks and
food.  I was thinking it has to be lunch time by now
so why the breakfast stuff, but all the people who
came out of the building were interested only in the
breakfast sweet rolls, coffee and cold OJ drinks.

These people all worked on the basement level and were
the Company's blue collar types, men and woman.
Cleaning people, supply room, and mailroom people and
stock room people.....loading dock people.  I ask the
time from a nice looking girl wearing a over-size
watch and she said it was  9:30.  I'd been working for
only an hour an a half?  You gotta be shitting me!
If she had told me it was 12:30 I'd have thought the
day was dragging by.   Work sucks...  9:30?  I bought
two bottles of red Gatorade from the shiny truck
because I was sweating so much I felt dehydrated.  The
temperature on the dock was up in the eighties already
and it was still early morning.  This ain't worth
$8.10 an hour.  Have I mentioned that lately?  I sat
alone and felt sorry for myself.

Drinking the cold, refreshing Gatorade I looked around
at the thirty or forty people milling about on their
morning break, all talking with each other while
eating and drinking the stuff they'd bought.  They
looked like a normal, mixed group of people.  Ever
since I was ten years old I've been on the lookout for
hot, cute boys... so, what the hell,  to cheer myself
up I scanned this crew here hoping to spot a special
looking boy to brighten my outlook.  After a close
scrutiny it was obvious there was no one under forty
years old in the vicinity.  Ohhh, I thought, this will
be a long seven weeks.  Damn!

And then,  there he was, walking around the
corner....a teenaged-looking boy with very bright,
light-red hair in a longish brush cut.  I wanted to
run my fingers through that red hair because it looked
so cool.  He was my height which is 5'9" and he was as
thin as me too.  Pale blue eyes behind round
eyeglasses.  Clear complexion, but without the
freckles you see with so many red-headed boys. I
really was feeling better just knowing he worked here,
 somewhere.

This kid looked to be about my age, but he acted real
comfortable as if he'd been on the job for quite some
time so perhaps he's a little older than me.  He was
dressed in jeans and a T shirt, sneakers on his feet.
Some sort of blue-collar job for sure.  No one paid
him any attention.  I stared at him with my eyes
pushed painfully to the left, while keeping my head
positioned so it appeared I was looking the other way.
 This can cause headaches if done too long by
amateurs.  I'm a professional boy- watcher so I can do
it for up to fifteen seconds before the headache comes
on.  God, I hope this kid's name is "Rocky".

After that morning break, I didn't see the red-headed
boy, Rocky or anyone else for the next two and a half
hours.  Two and a half hours of unloading boxes of
heavy stuff,  seemed more like eight hours.  The old
grumpy, officious guy who had fetched me from Human
Resources, Mr Personality, reappeared and said,
"Where's Rocky?"  I wanted to say...How the fuck
should I know, you old, bow-tie wearing  asshole.  But
what I actually said was, "I don't know, Sir."  He
snorted like it was my fault  Rocky wasn't here and
after looking around he said, "Is this all you two
have unloaded all morning?  What the hell you been
doing, playing monopoly?  Tell Rocky to come up to my
office post haste!"  He didn't wait for a reply just
stalked off, but then remembering something he
hesitated and yelled back over his shoulder that it
was lunch break, "Forty-five minutes.  Don't be late
getting back here and tell Rocky you guys have got to
pick-up the pace out here, for Christ sake!"

I stared at his back as he quick-walked around the
corner and disappeared. What a jerk-off.  Jeez, I
expected someone to at least eat lunch with me the
first day.  On the way through the building this
morning I'd seen signs pointing toward the cafeteria
so I back-tracked and easily found my way to it.
Grabbing a tray I got in the fast moving lunch line.
Lots of choices, but I settled for a cheeseburger,
fries and a coke... something familiar.    I carried
my food to an empty table and thought about the cafe
on the University Of Penn campus where those three
students just sat down with me, uninvited.  That was
nice and I wished someone would join me here too, but
no one did.  I felt very self-conscious eating alone
so I gobbled down the fries and the cheeseburger and
drank most of the coke as I headed for a trash barrel
to dump my paper plates and the rest of my coke.
Total lunch break was less than ten minutes so far.

I had nothing better to do so I went back and sat down
under an over-hang that provided a shady spot on the
loading dock, my back up against the side of the
building.  The plan was to rest for the last half-hour
of my lunch break.  My arm muscles and my lower back
hurt.  Couldn't help but think, "This job sucks the
big one!"    Then I made myself think about the
red-head boy and I started trying to form a plan for
the next time I saw him.  It was warm, but not too bad
here protected from the hot sun and I closed my eyes
to think about my plan for Red.

There has to be a way to casually meet him without me
making an ass out of myself.  He really looked special
with those round, Harry Potter eyeglasses.  It was fun
to daydream about making out with him,  his glasses
getting all askew as I bumped and pushed them with my
nose trying to lick and kiss that pale, clear skin all
over his face.  He would look even cuter if he had a
few freckles like the twins have, just over the bridge
of his nose and a few on his cheeks.  It's fun to
think about.......  "Hey, you.  Are you one of my new
assistants?"  The question interrupted my daydreaming.
 I stood up quickly and  looked in the direction of
the voice, squinting my eyes because now that I was
standing the sun glared brightly from that direction.
 There stood a short, stocky, bald guy about
thirty-five years old.  "Rocky?"  I asked.

He walked toward me as he said, "No shit, Einstein. "
Mister"  Rocky to you.  Which one are you?   .... and,
 how come you're laying down on the fucking job?"   As
he got closer I could smell booze on his breath.  He
made it official as he, right in front of me,
finished off a tiny bottle of VO..... tossing the
empty in the trash barrel.  It clanged off the side of
the metal barrel and landed quietly on top of my tie,
me staring stupidly after it.  I must have looked
startled or something because he said, "It's for my
cough, the VO, but keep it between us, Howdy Doody,
OK?"  I nodded my head like an idiot and answered his
original questions, "I'm Oliver Nickerson, Mr Rocky.
And, I'm not goofing off...I'm on my lunch break till
1:15 according to that tall, older gentleman with the
bow tie.  He didn't say his name."

Rocky didn't appear to be paying any attention to me
at the moment as he coughed and then blurted out a
laugh with a lot of phlegm in his throat which he
preceded to hock-up and spit past me off the dock....
it landed on the back tire of the truck I was
unloading.  I stupidly stared at that too.  Rocky
fired-up a Pall Mall cigarette, coughed again and
said, "I was only kidding about the 'Mister Rocky'
shit.  Call me Rocky.  That bow-tied mother fucker's
name is Mr Brittle and he does insist on the "Mister"
part of that.  What a consummate asshole he is.  Is
that a word?  consummate?  Whatever...."

Rocky took a long drag on his Pall Mall and scratched
at his crotch before continuing with his message, "Mr
Peanut Brittle is my boss and  I'm the dock foreman,
in case you're a retard and haven't figured that out
by now.  Brittle is not only my boss, but also the
mailroom supervisor, Art Hower's, boss as well as the
dyke in supplies, Jessy Finn's, boss.  Jessy is a
dyke, but she's good people.... and she can probably
beat up half the fag men working here so nobody gives
her too much shit and you probably shouldn't either.
Plus, if you want anything from supply you got to keep
on her good side."

Rocky sort of ran out of breath and energy after that,
which I guess  represented as much of my informative
indoctrination speech as I was going to get.  He just
stopped talking, dragged on the cigarette again and
really got into scratching his crotch.  "God damn
crotch crud itches like to drive me mad.  You ever get
that?  Crutch crud?....What'd ya say your name was?"
I told him again and he became alert once more and
told me I'd better get back to unloading the truck.
He said his crotch crud prevented him from doing any
type of heavy lifting.

I shuffled over to drag another box off the truck
while Rocky told me that Mr Peanut Brittle was suppose
to have two boys helping with all this specialty
unloading job.  I was one and he wanted to know where
the other one was.  He looked at me as if I should
know.  I just shook my head slightly and he stared at
me a second more, then abruptly said, "I got to take a
shit.  If Brittle shows-up tell him I need to talk to
him."  He went off in the direction he'd come from
earlier.  I suddenly remembered I was suppose to tell
Rocky that My Brittle wanted to see him, but Rocky was
already around the corner.  I went back to unloading
the truck.

Rocky sauntered back in an hour and a half or so and
said, "Al, it's time for our afternoon break.  Come
on,  I'll buy you a soda or a coffee...or whatever."
We didn't go all the way back to the cafeteria though,
 just to a little room off the loading dock with a
small refrigerator, a microwave and a soda, snack and
coffee machine.  Rocky called it the 'cafe'.  He said
this cafe was the 'break' room for us and the lesbo's
group.  I nodded my head like I knew what he was
talking about...he bought me a coke and he poured a
coffee for himself.  Then he poured some of the coffee
out of the paper cup into the sink and replaced it
with VO from another one of those tiny bottles.  "Like
they give you on airplanes" he said holding the empty
little bottle up for me to gawk at.  "This god damn
cough."

Rocky had been a star High School baseball player back
in the day, but he'd fucked-up his knee in an
automobile accident and never got a chance to play
semi-pro ball.  He told me he'd started with this
"piece of shit company" right out of high school and
worked his way up to loading-dock foreman.  He went on
and on about how the company sucked, but he was really
funny about it and pretty quickly I was laughing my
ass off.  I could tell he wasn't a mean spirited
person at all, just maybe not the world's most
conscientious employee..  Of course,  I also couldn't
help but wonder if the company sucked so bad why he
was still here after eighteen years, but  I didn't say
anything about that.  He enjoyed complaining.

He told me that Mr Brittle was a real prick and I
should be careful around him.  We were to "get each
other's back' as Rocky put it.  I took that to mean I
was to cover for Rocky's absence when Brittle
showed-up unexpectedly.  There was a "regular" loading
dock crew of two men who worked half the time in the
supplies department and then on the loading dock the
other half the time.  Rocky was in charge of them too.
   He was their boss.  He was also the boss of the
night cleaning people.  And, now he had to supervise
two summer part timers in addition to everything else.
 He acted like it was a huge load to handle.  All his
complaining was over-the-top and tongue-in-cheek and
funny.  I liked Rocky right from the start.

Rocky is one of those people who isn't real curious
about the world around him, mostly interested in his
world,  so he didn't ask me anything about myself.
He did tell me to wear real casual clothes tomorrow,
even shorts or jeans and a T shirt....definitely
sneakers.  After a little over a half hour he said,
"Well, Artie, I guess we've used up most of our
fifteen minute break so we better get back to
unloading that fucking truck."  Rocky wouldn't
actually be going back to the truck with me.  He was
"going to hunt up that dip-shit Brittle" to find out
what "that loser" wanted and also to find out where
his other kid was.  Well, I thought, I could sure use
the help.  Hope it's the red-head kid.... wishful
thinking.  I went back to unloading heavy stuff and
daydreaming about young Red.

The day was finally over and being totally wiped-out I
fell asleep in the car during the ride home.  Dad was
surprised to hear that my job was of the  manual labor
variety, but I could tell he wasn't about to try to do
anything about changing it so I resigned myself to
lifting heavy things for seven long weeks.  I went to
bed early and next morning I was on the loading dock
bright and early....so was the red-head boy.  My heart
went bump, bump, bump....and so did my dick.

 As soon as I stepped out on the loading dock he came
right over to me and said, "Excuse me, are you Mr
Rocky.  I'm to be your new assistant.  Mr Brittle had
be cleaning out the overflow toilets in the ladies'
lavatory all day yesterday.  It was a total mess with
all those, you know...doo doos.  Disgusting too with
those soiled sanitary pads."  Up close I could see how
earnest he seemed with a little frown to go with a
little bit of a nervous twitch.  He had his blue eyes
opened wide behind those little round eyeglasses and
he continually bobbed his head up and down
slightly...as if he were constantly reinforcing his
willingness to follow instructions.  The tip of his
pink tongue showing between his bow shaped, puffy
lips.  Is he for real?

I put on an exaggerated serious look and said, "What's
your name son?"
"Frankie Swallows, Mr Rocky."  He squeaked back at me.
  I swear to God, by now,  I didn't know who was
putting who on so I said, "That your real last name,
Reds?"  And he said, "Don't call me Reds, Pal" and I
said, "Don't call me Pal, Reds".   I had my eyes wide
open now myself and a smile on my lips as he said, "We
should do some Three Stooges shit now, don't ya
think?.   You know, hit each other over the head with
a fucking frying pan or a hammer or some god damn
thing?"  Then laughing,  he put his hand out and said,
"I'm Frankie Nerney and I know you're Oliver Nickerson
because I saw your name on Peanut's work schedule.
Nice to meet ya, Oliver!". I said "Likewise I'm sure,
Mr Swallows"  and we shook hands smiling and nodding
our head at each other.

I use to do extemporaneous 'bits' like that with my
best bud ever, Tyler.  Frankie is the first boy I've
met in almost five years who can put me on so
naturally.  It's fun to do that goofing around stuff,
pretending to be serious.  Frankie is the same age as
me, nineteen,  but he worked here last year after
graduating High School and that's why he seemed so
comfortable when I watched him yesterday.    Frankie
knows the 'worker' guys all the way up from the peons
to the bosses and he confirmed my belief that Rocky
was a great guy.   But, Frankie said I had to know two
things:  one, Rocky don't lift anything heavier than a
tiny bottle of VO and, two...Rocky is so funny,
especially with that 'dry' delivery of his, that you
can pee your pants laughing if you aren't careful.

 I said, "Damn, Frankie, this job is already a lot
better now that you showed up."  He smiled and goosed
my ass while saying "Let's get some coffee" and off we
went to that little cafe room.   Earlier someone had
started a pot of coffee in the cafe and it smelled
good.  I adjusted my crotch walking behind Frankie
trying to move my boner sideways in my pants.  That
was a nice goose Frankie gave me, with his hand kind
of lingering that full extra second.  Jesus....don't
tell me I hit another jack-pot.

We're sitting at the little table in the cafe with our
coffees and out comes Frankie's cigarettes, Marlboro
Lights.  He offered me one and I shook my head while
he lit his with a Bic lighter.  Frankie told me he
only smokes here on the job during the summer.  The
reason being that so many of the 'workers' smoke that
he just joined in to be one of the guys.  It looked so
funny seeing that cute, baby-face smoking.  I thought
to myself  "I'm the adventurous Oliver now, right?
Have a cigarette with Frankie."    Hell,  Mike
Sullivan made me smoke one with him on the boardwalk a
couple days ago.

 I smiled at Frankie and said, "On second thought my
good man, I will join you in a smoke.  You don't have
a cigar on you by any chance?"  Then, imitating him
lighting up a Marlboro Light  I, unlike Frankie, began
coughing like crazy because I also imitated the way
Frankie inhaled.  Man, smoke feels like a burning log
in your lungs.  I started smoking like a girl again
with the little puffs, Frankie snickered and said
"cunt" every time I took that little drag.  He
partially covered up the "C" word by pretending he had
to cough each time he said it.    I had to laugh at
him every time he exaggerated the cough/cunt sound.
After finishing the cigarette I felt dizzy and
slightly sick to my stomach. No matter,  I'd bonded a
little with Frankie and I got another nice goose from
him on the way back out after our coffee, maybe
because of that cigarette.  It pays to be
adventurous..

The job took on an entirely new feel with Frankie
there.  It was fun and I loved looking at him,  so
close up too.    For laughs we imitated Rocky's
negative, complaint-filled outlook by harshly
criticizing  everything associated with the "dip-shit,
loser company" we worked for.  During the week Frankie
and I dropped a lot of boxes because we were laughing
so hard at one another's pretend complaints.  Stuff
like... "Leave it to this dip-shit company to order
boxes of inferior cardboard.  Fucking losers."  That
would be said, for example,  after Frankie dropped a
box off the six foot loading platform onto the
blacktop below...he'd dropped it because I goosed him
while he was trying to lift it.  The box spit open
from the fall and we blamed "inferior cardboard".
We're in hysterics again.  No matter what we did wrong
it was always, "This fucking loser company hires the
most incompetent employees....or,   Jeez, we must be
on break forty-five minutes by now.  What kind of a
fucked-up company would hire the likes of us? "  And
that kind of childish bull shit and irresponsible
behavior...all in the name of a good laugh.

Mr Brittle came down to check-up on us one of the few
times Rocky was actually there on the loading dock.
Frankie  and me biting our lips and red in the face
trying to keep from laughing as Rocky wipes his bald
head with a rag as if he were sweating from all the
unloading he'd been doing.  "Good morning, Mr Brittle.
 How they hanging?"  Rocky says with a real serious
look on his face.  "Don't be crude, Rocky.  Please
give me a progress report." is the officious reply
from Mr Peanut.   Rocky made it seem like we'd worked
around the clock catching up on the unloading and when
he was done with his amazingly adroit bull-shit line
Mr Brittle looked here and there trying to uncover a
screw-up of any kind, but he couldn't find one.  What
he didn't know was that an entire truck load had to be
sent back because it hadn't been inventoried at the
home office before getting to us.  Mr Brittle assumed
we'd already unloaded that too.  If that truck was
here we'd be way, way behind.

His inspection complete,  Mr Brittle while shaking his
head slowly in disbelief,  finally had to say, "Great
job, Rocky.  We're ahead of schedule it seems.  You're
crew is doing a surprisingly nice job here ."   He
looked at his out-dated computer print-out sheet again
and told us  another load of items was coming in next
week from the home office so it's good we were almost
done with this one.  That's the one he thinks we
already unloaded.  "Sure thing, Boss.  Well, we better
get back to work boys.  This fucking back of mine is
killing me though."  Rocky muttered out loud enough
for Mr Brittle to just hear it as Rocky pretended to
move one of the  boxes that Frankie had just unloaded.
   Mr Brittle looked around one last time with
amazement then waved at us in a dismissive way and
fast-walked off.  Frankie and me burst out laughing as
Rocky headed swiftly into the air conditioned cafe for
another break.

Frankie and me were doing the goosing and ass-grabbing
all the time and it was substantially more sexy then
the goosing in the ocean I'd been doing with the North
twins.  With Frankie I'd goose his crotch or his ass
and sometimes get a little of both with one grab.
Frankie was an expert at just getting my balls in his
fist and his big smirking smile accompanied each
successful grab.  I had a semi-boner most of the time.
 Frankie was also a fan of hugging.  Big greeting
every morning and huge two arm hugs for every success
we had as if each job we completed was a big deal.  I
was already an experienced 'hugger' after the two
weeks of hugging with the cute twins.   Needless to
say I loved all of Frankie's craziness and
reciprocated in full.  I looked forward to work
everyday and the first two weeks flew by.

Unfortunately I couldn't hook-up easily with Frankie
on the weekend because we lived in opposite directions
from the office so we weren't neighbors in any sense
of the word.  It would be over an hour drive each way
between our houses.  When I mentioned getting together
on the weekend Frankie never really seemed to be very
excited about me driving over to his place, which was
disappointing, but other than that life was great on
the job.

Each day, after work,  I rode my bike on those long
road trips I like so much and I spent time emailing
with the twins and Alexander.  Alexander got me so hot
with his messages and emails.  He said he missed me a
lot and he asked me to jerk-off at a specific time
each day so he and I would be doing it together.   He
could write the sexiest emails which gave me boners
for sure, but his telephone calls were even hotter.
Oh my, Alexander is a sexy boy.  We had a couple
mutual wack-offs on the rare occasions that we were
both alone, on the phone, in our houses at the same
time.

After all our sexy talk Alexander then wanted mostly
to talk about his hair salon/barbershop opening.  Lots
of work getting it ready for an August 15
grand-opening.  I really, really missed the sex with
Alexander and I spent many nights in bed wondering who
I missed the most, Alexander or Christobal.  Both of
them gave me so much pleasure and they both were so
much fun too, and not in just the sexy side of life.
I felt so lucky, but horny too.  Once I'd had that
sweet sex with Christobal, sex by myself has never
been real satisfying by comparison.

There were other concerns for me.  I also had to field
the telephone calls from Pattie Reynolds and one of
them led to me taking her on a double date with her
best friend and that girl's fat, constantly farting,
boyfriend.  A couple of other nights Pattie and I just
hung-out at her place as she poked and grabbed my body
continually.  Ugh!  Same make-out that she and I had
after that party before Wildwood.  Double ugh!  I ran
into my almost-buds too, the swimming team guys, Robby
and Marty.   We hooked-up for a Pirates game one night
and hung out at Burger King a couple other nights.
They wanted to know if I'd gotten in Patties' pants
yet.  Ha!     There were a couple of responsibilities
around the house I had to take care of too....like
cutting the lawn and taking the trash to the town dump
and other stuff that came up. All in all I had plenty
to do after work, but the most fun I was having in my
life now, by far,  was at work....with Frankie.

One day of the third week we were resting inside one
of the half empty trucks,  sitting on boxes having a
cigarette and I could feel Frankie staring at me.  I
looked at him as he looked back at me for ten seconds
and then I said, "What?"  Frankie said, "There's
something major-league wrong with your hair and it's
been driving me crazy since day one.  I just figured
out what it is."  I go, "Duh?  What is it?"  Frankie
tells me that my hair is cut in a "faux hawk" haircut
and it's suppose to be combed up.  I said, "No shit,
Sherlock, but my Dad says it's unprofessional
looking."  We both got a good laugh out of that
because how professional is our job of unloading
trucks.

Frankie says, "Fuck it, man.  I'm going to fix this."
and he takes out his pocket comb and tells me to
"sit-up straight on that god damn cardboard box",
which I do in an exaggerated way.  "Good, Oliver.  Now
don't panic,  I'm going to spit in your hair to wet
it...no loogies, mind you.  Just my clear, clean,
bubbly saliva."  He spits four times and I couldn't
help but grin at how silly and stupid this is.  At the
same time it's a little bit sexy too and my dick moves
around in my shorts.  Frankie can do that to me.  He
begins combing my hair so that it sticks up on top,
like it was cut to do in the first place, by the way.


More spitting and more combing.  "I need more spit"
Frankie says, "but I'm all out."  He combed it a bit
more and, exasperated, he said  "We need more spit.
Here Oliver, put some of your spit in my mouth."  He
leans his head down and I see his big grin so I know
he's not serious.   Frankie never turned the grin into
a laugh though, instead he puts his parted lips right
in front of mine.   My heart-beat got fast,
pitter-patter,  pitter-patter and I gulped.  Frankie
stayed where he was so I took a chance and part my
lips and waited.  He has such a nice, natural smelling
breath.... and those very pretty eyes with his
eyeglasses fogging up from both our hot, moist
exhales.  In my head I'm thinking.. Damn, he's cute!

I tried to look him in his eyes,  but we were too
close together and my eyes cross.  "Nice look,
Oliver." Frankie say with a chuckle,  " Move your
mouth closer to mine."  I move my head forward and his
lips cover mine... I blew some spit into his mouth.
He says, "More" but it's hard to understand because
our mouths are together.  Frankie's head is sideways
to mine as he was bending down that way.  Our noses
were pressed into each others' cheek and his face felt
fine, and even with the perspiration dampening his
face he smelled so clean and sexy.  I did a long
inhaled through my nose to capture as much of Frankie
as I could get.   My boner was poking straight up in
my jeans as I scraped wet, drooling saliva from my
tongue up and off against the bottom of his front
teeth.  Frankie's saliva dripped in my mouth some too,
oh my God.

My boner leaked some more.  Some of our combined spit
ran down Frankie's chin when he started to laugh.  He
moved away with a little chuckle and spit quite a lot
of our mixed saliva on my hair.  Right away I felt
it's wetness on my scalp, there is so much of it now.
Oh, do I ever want to pull on my pud.... Frankie's
laughing and combing and saying what a couple of
dip-shits we are.

I'm trying to catch my breath and breathe normally,
but I can feel myself getting close to
hyperventilating.  Frankie seems cool and calm with
his laughing and chuckling and his wise-ass comments.
"OK, Oliver...now your hair is nice and wet.  It is
going to be stiff as hell too when our spit dries on
it,  so it will stay in place. Smell good too!  Haha
Well, looks like I soved this problem, but, Jesus...
do I got to do everything around here."  He combs my
hair for three more minutes and I noticed a wet spot
on the front of my jeans.  "Isn't this retarded,
Oliver?"  Frankie says in his, always, playful manner.
 Everything is a joke to Frankie.  I manage to say,
"You need any more of my spit?"  Frankie says, "Damn,
Oliver, you taste good, but we got enough spit."

All I can think of is "I'm covered in Frankie's spit
and I'm going to blow a huge load in my pants any
second now".  Then Frankie say, "You know what,
Oliver?  Now that you mention it,  I do have a touch
of dry mouth"  and just like that he put his mouth on
mine and we licked tongues for a full minute.  He
pulled away and says, "Shit, Oliver, you're the most
fun, most outrageous kid I've ever known.  I'm so glad
you're working here this summer.  Man, you are a
blast."  He was real excited and playful as I was busy
trying not to moan.  It was so sexy having his spit in
my hair.... and in my mouth.  Oh fuck, I know I'm
going to blow a wad in my pants.  I was doing fast,
short breathing while he was laughing and combing his
own hair, in all it's redness, up straight on top of
his head.  Oh my God I needed to jerk off.

Frankie said, "If we had grown-up in the same
neighborhood we'd have been best buds for sure.  You
are just as wacky as I am and that's really saying
something.  I never expected to find anyone as nuts as
me, but you may be even nuttier.  Come on Oliver,
let's take our afternoon break early.  Damn, that was
funny."  I still wasn't talking, or able to.  I
followed him to the cafe hiding my wet crotch with my
hand as best I could.  I sat down at the round table
to hide my wet spot feeling lucky that it was
Frankie's turn to buy our drink and snack.  My hair
and scalp were still wet with spit. When Frankie's
back was to me I croaked out, "I'll be right back,
Dude.  Gotta take a pee pee."

I stiff-legged a walk to the lavatory and went right
in the first stall, locked the door and wacked off
five quick strokes and a hard thin stream of my cum
splattered off the wall above the toilet.  I let out
the breath I'd been holding along with that moan I
been trying to conceal and shot some smaller squirts
of cum.  I had to turn around and collapse on the
toilet seat because I felt so weak after that cum
explosion.  Then that indescribably delicious feeling
of 'cuming' rolled over me and I moaned again with
pleasure and relief.  Oh,  this job rocks the best!

Back in the cafe, with my sexual relief complete, I
was able to enjoy my coke, my peanut butter crackers
and the hot, hot Frankie....him I enjoyed the best.
Frankie was joking about how much better I looked with
my hair combed up and he talked some about his longish
red hair combed up in a long brush cut and how he was
going for a haircut after work.  He wanted it short on
the sides...he called it a "fade".  I don't know much
about haircut styles, but I told him about Alexander
and how he's opening his own salon.  Of course I
didn't say anything about Alexander and me screwing
and what-have-you, just about the haircutting.
Frankie said, "Cool!".

Frankie could talk about any subject and with a lot of
enthusiasm too.  He made things exciting and fun and
generally just put a lot of energy into whatever we
were up to.  That jerk-off had really hit the spot for
me and I was in the best mood ever. I enjoyed looking
at Frankie and listening to him too.  The thought came
to me about how attached I was to him already and how
I got attached to Chritobal and Alexander real fast
also. I had no idea if these quick attachment were
normal for a nineteen year old,  or weird.  No matter,
I liked how it felt to really care for a kid my own
age.  My wet spot dried during our break.  Everything
is so right for me lately.

As far as Frankie was concerned, I had a hard time
evaluating what the spit swapping meant.  It was
definitely a tongue kiss, at the very least,  there at
the end, but Frankie seemed immune to the sexual side
of it.  Everything was one big yuck to him.  He
considered us wild and crazy guys who were up for
anything as long as we got a laugh out of it.  To
further confuse me, the next afternoon Frankie says,
"Oliver, my mouth is so dry in this fucking heat.  How
about some of your saliva, if you got any to spare,
that is."  With Frankie I never know if it's serious
or if it's a joke so I looked at him half ready to
laugh and half ready to get a boner.  "Well, you got
any spit for me today, Oliver?"  I nodded my head and
he stepped in front of me and put his tongue in my
mouth.

Boner time again.  At first we just pushed spit back
and forth with our tongues, but it soon turned into a
full fledged make-out.  After about two minutes,
Frankie said, "OK, that's enough spit for now.  Thank
you so much.  My mouth is much more better."  And the
laugh that follows because of the baby talk..."much
more better"...as he jostled me around a bit while I
tried to hide my latest boner.  I just had a smile on
my face looking happily into Frankie's beautiful blue
eyes and thinking to myself, "If he does this again
those little round glasses of his are going to be
askew just like I fantasized about when I first saw
this red headed boy on my first day here.  I think I
may be in love again.  Damn.  What's wrong with me?"

Making out, which Frankie called swapping spit,
became something we did for two or three minutes in
the morning and two or three minutes in the afternoon.
 Frankie would say "Yum yum!"  or "Ain't this a
pisser?" or "We are so fucking kewl!" or "Why must you
stalk me so?  Oh, OK, take me" or anything goofy you
could  think of.  It was always fun and games with
Frankie,  while I was always on the verge of blowing a
load in my drawers.  I'd wait for Frankie to start it
and then we'd go at it...his glasses were more than
askew by the time we were done.  He never combined the
making-out with sexy bodily touching though.  Just
held my head with both his hands or put a hand on each
of my shoulders.  I'd have my hands lightly on his
waist.  It was surreal, but none-the-less I couldn't
wait for Frankie to initiate the make-outs two or,
once in a while,  three times a day.

When we were done the kissing, licking and sucking we
made no other reference to the make-outs,  we acted as
if they never happened.   We always did the make-outs
far back inside the truck bed behind boxes or behind
whatever was available.  Once I tried to pull
Frankie's body against mine during the kissing, but he
make an obvious negative move to counter that so I
didn't try it again.  He just liked the make-out part
I guess.

After that first make out afternoon Frankie had
appeared next morning with the hot 'fade' haircut he'd
talked about.  Very close cut on the sides and back
and faded into longer hair near the top of the sides.
I could see his pale scalp all around the sides and
back of his head.  It was the sexiest thing to me.....
but I couldn't tell you why.  His red hair still stood
straight up on top,  but it was only about half as
long as it was before the haircut.  Jesus, he looked
so very cool.  The round glasses and that innocent
baby face hiding a mischievous, exciting attitude.
Man, I was happy to know Frankie Nerney.  We were in
the cafe and he says, "I'll show you my hair-on-fire
trick.  It helps the illusion to have red hair like I
have.  Take a drag on your cigarette and blow the
smoke into my brush haircut at my hairline.  Go ahead,
Oliver...do it."

I shake my head in amazement because with
Frankie...... it's always something unexpected, ya
know?  So I start to blow smoke in his hair, but he
says for me to put my lips right against his forehead
at the hairline and then blow the smoke into his hair
slowly near the roots.  I press my lips against his
forehead and close my eyes,  my hands holding his head
steady.  His hair smells so nice, not like shampoo,
just clean hair.  I took my hands off the sides of his
head and ran my fingers through that silky red hair
marveling how it stood straight up from his scalp.
His forehead is so smooth and velvety under my lips,
but shortly I can't hold the smoke in my lungs any
longer so I have to exhale it into his hair.  I'd like
to lick and kiss his forehead, but I don't.  Frankie
says, "Look at my hair."  I pull my head back and sure
enough,  smoke drifted up from his hair all over the
top of his head.  It looked like it was on fire or at
least smoldering.

Frankie said we have to do this just before Brittle
made an appearance and we'd cry out, "His hair is on
fire!"  All I wanted to do was put my lips against
Frankie's forehead again, but I managed to smile at
the thought of Brittle thinking Frankie was on fire.
Smoke was still drifting out of Frankie's hair when
Rocky sauntered into the cafe and said,  "One of you
ladies get me a coffee, please.  What a fucked-up day.
  Frankie, FYI,  your hair's on fire."  I hustled over
to pour Rocky a cup of coffee while Rocky scrutinized
a paper on his ubiquitous clip-board.  Frankie said,
"Hey, boss.  What's on that fucking clip-board that's
so important, man?  It's freaking-up your forth
afternoon break here."  Rocky said, "Fuck you, Nerney"
but he said it in a funny way.  Rocky can say "fuck
you" and you have to laugh.  I don't know how he does
it.

When he's done writing something on the paper that's
clipped to his clip-board he sat back and tasted his
coffee.  "Perfect, Nicky!  You make the best fucking
cup of kerosene I've ever tasted."  He goes on to tell
us about Mr Brittle's  supervisors meeting that Rocky
had just come from.  The meeting concerned an
up-coming employee "Attitude Survey" and how the
company wanted to see positive results.  In other
words ..."make sure your fucking employees are happy
and I don't give a shit how you do it"...   Rocky has
a unique way of summarizing things.

So, he continues, "the meeting was finally over except
for brown-nosers who keep asking Mr Peanuts questions.
 This is fucking up one of my afternoon breaks as you
pointed out Frankie boy."  Rocky goes on to tell us
he'd raised his hand hoping to put an end to the
questions by throwing everyone off the subject.   So,
apropos of nothing,  he'd  asked if Mr Brittle was of
French descent.  Rocky was enjoying telling his story,
 "Brittle looks confused, but said that, yeah, he is.
So I tells him that I heard a thing from an Army pal
and since Brittle is French he might be interested"..

The Army guy had said that a fireworks display at
Disneyland, outside Paris, caused the French Army
garrison stationed nearby to drop their weapons and
surrender to a busload of Swedish tourists.  Rocky
wondered was this something Brittle had heard, him
being a 'frog' and all.   Accoding to Rocky who was
laughing at his own story, Brittle had snorted, "That
is a very old and very offensive joke".  The other
supervisors had done their best not to laugh at this
put down of the French people's propensity for
surrendering, but it had put an end to the meeting.
When Frankie and I were done laughing I thought,
'hell, with Frankie and Rocky here I should be paying
the company $8.10 an hour to let me come here every
day'.

 By the end of the third week I tried again to get
Frankie over my place for the weekend, or I'd be happy
to go to his house for the weekend.... we just had to
get together.  It didn't work out though and instead I
had to go to a party with Pattie who was introducing
me as her 'boyfriend' now.  Jesus!  She wasn't
anywhere near as cute as Frankie and I don't care if
you're gay or not, you couldn't dispute that fact.

When I picked Pattie up for the paty though, I did see
someone who was very cute.  For the first time since
I'd been going to Pattie's house her seventeen year
old brother Myers was home.   He's shorter than me and
slightly stocky like his sister, but something about
his eyes and mouth was so sexy I found myself staring
at him.   I was waited for Pattie to come downstairs
and this seventeen year old kid with short, spiked
blond hair introduced himself as the brother. He had
the beginning of a blond mustash and when he smiled,
very shiny white teeth and wicked cute dimples.  There
were two zits on his forehead that amazingly were
somehow sexy.   I couldn't help staring at him and he
stared right back at me in a bit of an arrogant way.
After fifteen seconds or so he put a smirk on his face
and lifted his eyebrows, barely nodded his head as if
to say to himself, "I knew it".

I felt a puzzled look settle on my face as Myers
pushed the tip of his tongue out through his lips.
Mesmerized, I made an audible "gulping" sound and
Myers wet his lips in a slow deliberate manner.  He
never moved his eyes away from my eyes.  I shuddered
involuntarily and my dick stirred in my pants.....
then the mood was broken as Pattie stomped down the
stairs talking in that too loud voice she always uses.
 "Sorry to be late, Oliver.  Oh, don't you look cute
tonight.  Did ya meet my little brother Myers yet?"
Myers and I just nodded our heads with Myers
continuing to stare at me as I walked past him with
Pattie to go out the front door.  I took a few deep
breaths outside wondering, "What the fuck was that all
about?"

That kid had turned me on and he did it on purpose.
There is an outside chance I may be over-sexed.....
and this is not the first time that thought has
entered my brain.  Thinking about Myers, as Pattie
babbled on about her day,  was getting in the way of
me thinking about Frankie.  And when I was done
thinking about Myers and Frankie I could concentrate
on thinking about Noah, Nathan, Alexander and
Christobal.  Damn, I better look up the definition of
"slut" and hope I don't see a picture of me there.

 I couldn't help myself.  After all those years of
wanting a gay bud, the last three months have
generated a bunch of them.  Did you ever see a dog
eat?  They'd eat continuously, way past the need to
satisfy their hunger.  They'd keep on eating as long
as there was something to eat right up until they fell
over.  I'm beginning to think that's the way I am with
cute gay boys.  Gorging myself on them till I
collapse.

This thought worried me initially.  But, really...I
did get to know the two boys I've had sex with,
before we had the sex...sort of.  I can't include
Frankie as a boy I've had sex with....not really.
Sure I drool over strange boys on the street too, but
I don't have sex with them.  I have to become friends
and maybe the friendship slips into sex.  I'm just on
a lucky streak with gay boys, that's all.  After
saying that, I'm not at all sure Frankie, Noah or
Nathan are really gay.  Myers, how would I know?  More
like they're all just teasing me a little or just
experimenting or something like that.

Plus,  perhaps it seems like lately everyone I meet
might be gay, but that's not true at all.  I meet ten
or twenty people for every one I think might be gay.
I don't talk about the other, uninteresting guys I
meet, just concentrate on the gay ones, more or less.
At least I can be sure about Cristobal and me because
we say we're gay.  I'm positive Alexander is gay too,
but I'm worried he might be too gay.  Gee, life is
never all that easy, is it?

Actually, it was easy on the loading dock because when
you're having fun, very few things bother you.  I
almost felt guilty collecting my paycheck.....almost.
Unexpected, near disaster happened late in the forth
week of work.  Frankie and I were horsing around and
he slipped backward over the edge of the loading dock.
 It's six feet down to the blacktop parking lot, but
he caught himself with his elbows clutching onto the
six by six inch old wood bumper board that's attached
to the face of the dock.  I started to mock his
clumsiness,  but stopped when I saw how pale his face
had gotten.  Big drops of perspiration ran down from
his forehead as he let out a low moaning "Ohhhhh
fuck..".  I went right over, "What'd ya hurt,
Frankie?"  He shook his head slightly and I waited
till he could speak.

In a few seconds he said, "It feels like a splinter is
on the inside of my left thigh.  It's pinning me
against the loading dock so I can't just drop down to
the parking lot. . Hurts like hell."  I was scared and
ran over to get the ladder we use to get down off the
loading platform.  I put it down next to Frankie and
then I jumped down to the parking lot so I could come
up the ladder a few rungs and pull his leg over to
help support himself on the ladder instead of just
elbows holding him up.  Frankie said, "Oh, that's
better.  Thanks, Oliver."

He was still stuck against that board though so I
reached in between Frankie and the old wood bumper to
feel where the sliver of wood was connecting Frankie
to the dock. " I'll have to break that thing off right
where it goes through your shorts."  "Just do it, man"
he said in a very strained voice.  I had a razor
box-cutter in my back pocket and I used that to cut
through the splinter against the face of the wood
bumper and Frankie moved his hips away from the dock
and sighed.  There was a drop of blood the size of a
dime on the front of his shorts.

Free from the dock I helped  Frankie inch his arm over
to the ladder just above where I was standing..... his
right foot was already on the rung so first his right
hand, then his left foot and finally his left hand. He
grunted with each movement and awkwardly went up the
ladder using his right foot and his arms only,
dragging his left leg behind him.  He grunted and
groaned with each rung.  His face didn't look too
good, very pale and his eyes looked dull.

I helped him inside the truck bed and onto one of the
cardboard boxes up against the side of the truck bed
so Frankie would have a back rest.  He held his left
leg out in front of him.  "I'll go for help, Frankie."
  He grabbed my arm and held me back and grunted out,
"No Oliver, it feels like the splinter is near my
balls and I don't want that old bitch in the infirmary
getting a hold of my nuts...I might never get them
back.  You go get the first aid kit from the cafe and
then turn on the truck bed's overhead light so you can
see to pull the splinter out "  Then he let his head
roll back against the side of the truck and closed his
eyes while gritting his teeth.

 I ran and did what he wanted.  When I got back
Frankie was trying to pull his cargo shorts down, but
he was in pain every time he tried to exert any
pressure on his leg.  The sweat was pouring down his
very pale face.... he wasn't making any wise-cracks at
all, very rare for Frankie.    I helped get his shorts
down.  He pulled his jockey underwear down, lifting
his butt off the box while he did it, which caused a
grimace and a long groan that ended with "God damn
it...Fuck!!"   He sat on the cardboard box bare-assed.
 I swallowed hard as my dick twitched.

Frankie felt along the inside of his left thigh near
his balls to feel where the splinter had entered.   I
stared with my mouth hanging open at his bright red
pubes that began just below his smooth, creamy colored
belly.   A naturally neat, compact pube patch of soft,
curly vibrantly red pubic hair.  Right below the
beautiful pubes was a long, cream-colored uncut penis
noticeably larger than mine.  It was as perfect as a
drawing.  No bumps or veins or imperfections, just
creamy smooth perfect skin covering a gorgeous penis.
Balls to match, same thing...a drawing of the perfect
set of balls, one hanging slightly lower than the
other.  Not a single red pubic hair on the creamy
scrotum skin.  I tried to memorize it all in case I
never get to see it again.  Oh my God,  I wanted to
suck on that cock and lick those balls in the worse
way.

"I can feel it right here Oliver, it's wicked tender."
 "Huh?  What, Frankie?"  "Can you see the splinter,
Oliver?"  I looked where his finger was rubbing, but
it was right at the juncture of the thigh and the
belly or groin area.  I'm no doctor, I don't know what
you call that area.  It was covered in red  pubes so I
couldn't see the splinter.  I told him that and he
said, "Well get the scissors and cut the pubes.  Help
me out here, Oliver.  Jeez, it's digging into me with
every move I make."  I got the scissors in my right
hand and held that perfect penis of his away from the
scissors with my left hand as I knelt in front looking
up at Frankie.... he was looking poorly gripping my
shoulders tightly.

Apparently the pain hadn't gotten to his dick yet
because surprisingly it firmed-up noticeably as soon
as I closed my hand on it.  I involuntarily stroked it
as I lay the open blades of the scissors gently on his
lower belly.  Then, checking to be sure only pubic
hair was between the blades I closed them,  cutting
the pubic hairs off close to his skin and  causing a
cascade of soft red pubes to slide lazily down his
thigh and blow around in the warm breeze that flowed
inside the open end of the truck bed.  I stared at the
red hairs as they floated around and I thought,
pretty.....

It was fascinating and, in almost a trance,  I closed
the scissors over and over on his pubes cutting much
more of his pubic hair than I had to,  but I just kept
cutting and cutting them till 90% of his pubes were
gone. All around us floated fluffy, red pubic hairs
blown by the warm breezes.  A lot landed on my
sneakers and my legs as well as on Frankie's shorts
that were laying there at his feet.  I stared dumbly
at them as spit rolled out the side of my
mouth......the pubes cutting had all my
attention...I'd forgotten to swallow.

"Can you see the splinter yet, Oliver?" .... "Huh?
What that Frankie?  Oh yeah, I see it now.  It looks
like it's about three inches long.  It's sore looking
and puffy.  The skin is all red and shiny around it
too.  Maybe I should take you to the emergency room.
The splinter looks kind of thick"  No, he wanted me to
get the tweezers and pull it out.  I got the tweezers,
brushing over his shorn pubic patch with the back of
my fingers pushing away random pubic hair clippings
and then I got his penis in my left hand again to keep
it away from the tweezers and stroked it again.
"Don't do that, Oliver."  "What?  Oh, yeah, sorry" I
mumbled.  I kept thinking about how his  pubic stubble
was still very soft  under my fingers.  I rubbed all
around his shorn pubic area in kind of a massage.....
my boner was throbbing and dripping.  In my hand,
Frankie's cock was firm.... but not a boner.

As I was rubbing his pubic stubble and holding his
firm cock in my hand I thought," I should be paying
the company more than $8.10 an hour to let me hang-out
here every day.  Much more".  Frankie, in a bit of a
sarcastic voice said,  "That feels real nice and all
that , Oliver, but when you get a second please pull
that fucking splinter out.  It's killing me and it
feels like it's digging in deeper."  I shook my head
and got my senses back.  Frankie was talking low and
it was obvious he was in pain.  I concentrated on
gripping the splinter with the tweezers, but my first
attempts failed because the splinter was embedded
beneath the skin.  I'd guess it was about a consistent
three skin layers down.  It was just under the three
layers of skin horizontally, not stabbing directly
into his thigh.

 I cut a little of the skin at the splinter's entrance
point with the box-cutter as Frankie let out a long
hissing sound between his teeth.  Now I  was able to
get a good hold on the sliver of wood and in one
motioned I pulled it out.  Frankie screamed,
"FuuuucK!" and a trickle of blood followed the three
inch long splinter out of the opening.   It left
behind some dirt or dust, something gray.  I squeezed
Bactine Spray, from the first aid kit,  into the
tunnel the splinter had made hoping it would disinfect
the cut.  Frankie squealed out, "Ouch, God damn,
Oliver,  that stings."

 Frankie breathed fast and hard for a minute and then
calmed down.  My hand was shaking, but I went back to
rubbing his pretty red pubic stubble until Frankie put
his hand on mine and gently said, "It's OK now,
Oliver.  I'm feeling a little better, you're the best,
OK?  You don't have to do that now.  Thanks, man.
You're my bud for life, dude.  You really rock.  OK?"
He squeezed my shoulder and rubbed through my hair a
number of times.  "Here, Oliver,  help me get my pants
up."  I looked at his cock and wanted to put it in my
mouth.  Alexander's long, thin,  brown boner tasted so
good and I knew Frankie's creamy white one would taste
good too.

If he asked me to,  I would suck him off till he
forgot about the pain from the splinter.  He didn't
ask though so I reluctantly let go of his cock and
helped him cover his perfect package with first his
jockey underwear and then I pulled his cargo shorts up
for him.  I brushed the front of his crotch and,
afterwards, his ass getting the loose pubic hair
clippings off his shorts.  Then he leaned on me as we
went into the cafe for cokes and a cigarette.  I
squeezed his body against mine.  I know I already said
it, but I really do think I'm in love again.   Smoking
his cigarette, Frankie's hands were real shaky.  I
wanted to hold his hand in both of mine, but I knew
better.  It's amazing what a three inch splinter can
do...the trauma that thing can cause.

I convinced Frankie to lay down in the truck for a
while and he finally did, falling asleep about two
minutes later.  He didn't want to go home early.
Rocky came down eventually and I told him about the
splinter.   He said that later on, when Frankie was
feeling fine, this would be a funny story, but right
now it was a little scary.  He called somebody in
maintenance and before the day was over there was a
heavy plastic cover over the splintery bumper board to
prevent further splinter accidents.  Rocky made
Frankie go home early so I missed our afternoon
make-out.

We were back on schedule the next day though,  Frankie
was definitely his old self.  He ragged on me
something terrible about the job I'd done cutting his
pubes.  I got a boner thinking about it.  We'd just
finished a great three minute make-out and with the
weekend coming up I was determined to finally find a
way to get together with Frankie on Saturday..... at
least for a while.  I discussed the possibilities with
him and we were being playful about it until he
finally got serious and said, "Shit, Oliver.  The
truth is I'd love to have you come visit this weekend,
but  Darleen takes-up my ever waking moment on
weekends.  I can't hardly breathe without her there to
count each breath.  Love can be a pain in the ass at
times."     Darleen?

"Ah, who's Darleen?" I asked.  It's probably one of
Frankie's put-ons....I hope.  But, it
wasn't....Frankie goes on to tell me that Darleen and
him have been girlfriend/boyfriend since eighth grade.
 Darleen's mother insisted they couldn't get engaged
until the end of their college Sophomore year, at the
earliest, and that they couldn't get married until
they both graduated college.  And, that is their plan.
 I said, "Married?"  Frankie laughed saying,  "Here,
Oliver, take a look at this." and he handed me his
wallet.  In his wallet was a plastic picture section
that fanned out.  Ten pictures in all.  The first one
was a fairly recent one of Frankie, looking just the
same as he looks now,  standing next to a taller guy
who was wearing an Army uniform.  The Army guy was
holding his hat so I could see he had the same red
hair as Frankie.  "That's my brother Ray.  He's in
Iraq now."

I looked at the picture, frowned,  and looked over at
Frankie.  It was bizarre seeing how cute Frankie was
and then looking back at the picture and seeing what a
geek-looking-thing his brother was.  They both had red
hair and wore eyeglasses and were thin, but Ray looked
like a total dork.... Ichabod Crane, maybe....with
that big Adams apple.  Nothing in his  facial features
worked well together at all and, to make matters
worse,  Ray had freckles and  freckles on top of his
freckles.  Frankie looked puzzled that I would frown.
I guess he was use to looking at Ray.

I flipped to the next picture and there was Frankie
looking like he was seven years old.   He had his arm
around a girl who was at least six inches taller than
him.  She did not look like she was seven years old.
Seventeen, maybe.   Frankie and the girl had on
matching Middle School sweaters, his small...hers,
large.  I guess this was their eight grade picture.
Someone had drawn a heart on the picture and wrote "F
LOVES D" inside the heart.  Darleen wasn't even as
good looking as Ray.  I wondered again, "Is this one
of Frankie's jokes"?

In each succeeding picture Frankie and the girl looked
older.  Frankie said proudly, "We took a picture the
first day of school each new year.  Cool, huh?"  I
nodded my head and continued looking at the pictures.
In the last one Frankie looked just like Frankie looks
now except he didn't have the 'fade' haircut, just the
long brush cut that he'd had in all the pictures since
the Middle School one. His girlfriend was still taller
than Frankie, but Frankie had caught up some.  Darleen
appeared to be maybe two inches taller in the last
picture, but unfortunately she'd filled-out some more,
 that Middle School sweater would need to be XXL if
she wanted to fit in it now.  She was a big girl with
a square shaped body.  Frankie's arm couldn't reach
all the way around her back at the waist. They both
had big smiles on their face.  Darleen had a short
page boy hair style and, there is no other way to put
this, a large, fleshy nose.  I wanted to cry.   Poor
Frankie.

Frankie saw the concerned look on my face and he
squeezed the back of my neck as he said
enthusiastically, "Don't be sad, Oliver.  You can
still be my boyfriend!"

What the...?

To be continued...
The conclusion of "Oliver's Summer Job" soon and then
"Oliver Goes To College".

Donny Mumford    thinat20@yahoo.com