Date: Mon, 18 Mar 2024 19:35:47 -0400
From: patrick@mudcub.com
Subject: Stinker's Jobs Part 1: Parks and Reeks

Stinker's Jobs Part 1: Parks and Reeks

by Mudcub

patrick@mudcub.com

***************************************************************

Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't
interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be
interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually try any
of the unsafe practices here.

***************************************************************

My plan was that when I turned eighteen I would leave town. But it
didn't turn out that way. My grandma died, and I ended up spending
months trying to clean up her house in order to sell it. It took weeks of
work, and I ended moving in there. The place was so run-down, my parents
didn't care if I just stayed there rent-free as long as I could pay
utilities. So, that encouraged me to stick around.

But then I got busted for underage drinking. And being drunk in public.
Littering. Which was bullshit, since I was just hanging out in the park
minding my own business at four in the morning. But I still got busted.

The judge sentenced me to ten days public service cleaning up the park.
Which I didn't really mind... I love that park. And I don't mind picking
up trash, in fact I kinda like it. I love the smell of a fermenting
garbage. I don't know why -- I just do. I would just walk around with a
big plastic bag and find trash people had left on the ground, and then
jab it with my "sticker" or use my "reacher grabber". Or, I'd drive
an old pickup truck around the park and load up the back of the truckbed
with all the black plastic garbage bags from the metal trash cans all
over the park. One of my favorite jobs at the park was climbing into the
big dumpsters and hosing them out. Nobody liked doing the job, so they
left it up to me.

Best of all, I was supposed to wear this huge rubber suit to do the power
washing. The rubber stank, and was insanely hot to wear outside in the
summer. The attached gloves were huge and clumsy and made it hard to hold
onto stuff. I loved the reek of old sweat from the workers who had worn
the suit years and years before me. It was great when sweat dripped down
my body and pooled in the attached rubber boots. Sometimes I pissed
myself and added to the liquid at my feet.

Nobody bothered me while I used the high-pressure hose. And the dumpsters
stank so bad, nobody came near. So, I would stretch the job out for
hours. I would lie in the dumpster where nobody could see me and jack off
through the heavy rubber of the suit. Man, I am kinky... I would root
through the trash and eat any good looking food I could find. But mostly,
I would just sleep, making a nest out of the softest trash and piling
extra bags on top of me so nobody could see me.

Because I would do the jobs "nobody wants to do", when my ten days were
up, they offered me a fulltime job. Best of all, it was government work,
and paid really well, with benefits and everything. So, at eighteen,
there I was with a house and a good job, all by accident. My employer was
officially the "Parks and Recreation Department", but everyone who
worked there called it the "Parks and Reeks". The guys who worked there
were the lowest of the low. The joke was that if you were too stupid to
get a job with Reeks, you were too stupid to live. I ended up fitting in
really well.

I have to admit that I live like a slob. As, I said, I love garbage, and
my house is no exception. If I have a food wrapper, I just wad it up and
throw it on the floor. There's a good eight inches of mud and food on
the mats of my truck, and in the summertime, the whole cab just stinks of
rotten crap. That's the way I like it, and it someone objects, they can
just get the fuck out of my truck.

I don't wipe my ass. It started because I ran out of toilet paper and
was too lazy to buy some more. But after a few weeks, I figured out that
I really liked it. I mean, if my asshole itches, I'll run my hairy hand
up and down my crack. Then, I love to sniff it. Man, it's an art to get
the right musky sweaty smell of an ass that's just-over-the-edge of
ripeness. I only own three pairs of underwear, and they are permanently
brown and yellow from never washing them. I find sticking my finger up my
hole through the fabric is just as good as toilet paper.

And I don't shower much. I love to wear the same t-shirt for days at a
time. At work, we have to wear heavy blue coveralls anyway, so I can wear
whatever I want underneath. Sometimes when it's hot, I don't wear
anything at all, and I love to reach my hands into the overall pockets
and play with my dick and balls. But in the winter, I have to wear
thermal longjohns or a dirty union suit, and after not washing it for a
long time, the armpits can build up a pretty high smell.

So, that's why they call me "Stinker". It started out as an insult,
but after a while the guys realized I didn't mind. I thought it was
pretty funny. And it kept my coworkers away from me. At least the ones
that were prissy and annoying. It was like a test -- if a coworker
didn't mind a ride in my filthy truck and sticky floorboards, then I
knew he was a pretty good guy. Or at least a guy who didn't mind a free
ride home after work.

Plus, those guys stunk bad enough themselves. As I said, most of the
Reeks workers weren't too smart and weren't too rich. But almost all of
them were horny. At lunch, they'd talk about how their wives wouldn't
put out, or about how they hadn't had sex in months. And that's when
I'd offer them a ride home in my truck. And then I'd offer them a
blowjob. Or more.

I had ethics. Or at least personal ethics that I considered ethical. For
example, I would never spring gay sex on a guy. Or trick them in any way.
So, if I drove a guy home, I would drop them off at their
house/apartment/whatever and clearly say, "Do you want a blowjob?" And
if they got out of my truck and ran, that was ok. But I would never
corner them somewhere and then try something tricky.

This strategy actually failed me the first time I tried it. There was
this guy on the landscaping guy named Joaquin, but he was really chubby,
like 300 pounds or so, so everyone called him "Gordo". Joaquin didn't
seem to mind. And I thought he was amazingly cute. Like a huge teddy
bear, and he sweat all the time, which I thought was erotic. And he
didn't mind a ride in my filthy truck, and as I said, that was one of my
first tests for a guy.

So, I drove Gordo/Joaquin home, and parked in front of his house. I said,
"do you want a blowjob?" and the guy's eyes grew huge. He stammered
and said, "I've never given anyone a blowjob before... but, but I guess
I could TRY!" I told him that *I* was the one offering to blow him, and
he relaxed a lot. I ended up sucking the cum out of his dick while we sat
in my car and the end of the dark street he lived on.

But the funny thing was... I remembered the look on his face as he
considered being the one to blow ME. And after I "took him home" a few
times over the next few months, I brought up the idea of him returning
the favor. And he went for it! Gordo ended up being a good friend to me,
and even though he never fucked me, he often hung out at house and
watched TV and drank beer... and blew each other. In my opinion, the
recipe for a great evening.

I gave blowjobs everywhere in the parks that first year. There were over
a hundred guys working for the city: the landscapers I already talked
about, and the maintenance guys that repaired all the plumbing in the
bathroom. There was a whole administration department that pretty much
stayed inside all the time and stayed away from us. And then there was
the usual parade of other hot guy that would visit. Construction workers
working on new buildings: masons, fencers, electricians, and all the
truckers and deliverymen who made things appear on site.

There were a few other guys that would go farther than a blowjob.
Sometimes I would put out the "out of order" sign on the men's room,
and bring a guy into there for a blowjob. Some guys would take a LONG
time to cum, and I'd be on my knees there in the puddles of piss in the
bathroom, and the guy just would never shoot. And while I don't mind how
long it takes, I can tell when it's starting to get boring for the guy.
So I'd take the dick out of my mouth and say, "Do yaw anna fuck me in
the ass?" And I never had a guy say no.

Nothing like getting my ass reamed out. I found that every guy who was
taking a long time to shoot would cum instantly after bending me over the
sink. My theory is that the guys liked looking into the metal mirror of
the sink and watching themselves fuck a guy. It wasn't as much about my
tight ass as the idea that they could watch themselves. My theory is that
every guy, gay or straight, is actually into themselves more than
anything else.

So that's when I started to get a reputation. Guys talk. And especially
the guys in the Reeks department. A bunch of gossipy bitches! One day I
was feeling REALLY horny. I don't know why. But I told a bunch of guys
to stop by the men's room in Lincoln Park any time during the day. Man,
I texted my coworkers, called a bunch of them, and even posted on the
internet. I told my boss that I'd be busy the entire day, and then I put
up the "out of order" sign on the door without locking it. I actually
brought a sling from home and drilled the chains into the ceiling.
Finally, I stripped naked, got in the cling, and just waited to see what
would happen!

Man, there was an entire line! Seriously, there was like ten or twenty
guys waiting outside the bathroom all day and night. I had three or four
guys playing with me in the sling at any given time: one fucking my ass,
one humping my mouth, and two I would give handjobs two while I laid
there. And this went on for HOURS, seriously. And I would look to the
side, and some of the guys would be playing with each OTHER. And this was
in one of the worst-smelling bathrooms in other parks, with tons of dirty
toilets nad shit everywhere. I was in piggy HEAVEN!

There was one park in our system that was known as "Pickle Park". That
was the park where all the gay guys hung out, and I loved finishing my
work there. I made sure that all my tasks finished up with a trip to
Pickle Park after dark. There was a big oval of road that ran inside the
park, and guys would park their cars on the side of the road and sit
there. Some guys would jack off while waiting in their cars, while other
guys would walk around the park from car to car. Guys would roll down the
windows of their car, show a hard dick, or just talk about things they
could do together and places they could go. So guys would drive a "new
friend" home for an hour, and then drop them off back at the park. The
circle was busy all night long after the sun went down, and I blew
literally hundreds of guys in that park.

There was another park outside of town that was really rural. It was
heavily wooded, and got a reputation for being kind of dangerous. Well,
not really dangerous, but parents told their kids to stay away from that
park. There were trees everywhere, and guys would walk into the woods and
disappear into the inky blackness of the dense vegetation. Man, guys
would do anything back there: sucking, fucking... I knew a few guys lived
permanently in the wilderness, and you'd find tents and rudimentary
campgrounds hidden around for the homeless guys. My boss told us to leave
those guys alone and not call the cops.

But I loved fucking in the woods. There's nothing like leaning over a
big branch and getting plowed. Lay on my back and look up at the hot guy
fucking me and watching the trees above and the sky and shit. A real
back-to-nature feeling. And the homeless guys didn't mind how bad I
stank -- if anything, they smelled worse than I did. I loved eating a
cheesy dick or rimming the asshole of a guy who hadn't showered in
weeks. We'd just fuck like animals. Some of the guys I'd invite back
for a shower, or give them some money for a hotel room, but overall they
liked to keep living just as they were, as long as the weather was ok.

Overall, the job wasn't too hard. Often, I worked with the landscaping
department hauling shit around. I love laying sod, now THERE'S a job
that gets you real filthy real quick. I mean, one guy will load you up
with fifty pounds of grass rolls, and the dirt gets all caked up your
arms and all over your chest. Man, there was mud everywhere, even in my
underwear, and I'm not sure how it got there. And the end of the day, we
all looked like pigs in the mud, and even I had to rinse myself off with
a garden hose before I could get in my truck.

Another job I loved was cleaning out the bathrooms at all the parks.
There were ten parks total in my home town, and each one had a
concrete-brick building. Now, I did a good job with the ladies' side...
those facilities were always sparkling clean. But I would often leave one
or two toilets incredibly filthy. I liked to see who would use them. It
was amazing... there would be shit piled up in the john like a pyramid,
and the next day I'd go in and see that someone had loaded some more
shit on top. I wish we had cameras in the bathrooms -- I have no idea how
someone could shit on top of a one-foot pile without making a mess. And I
wanted to see who would WANT to shit like that.

Plus, I loved the stink that much shit added to the place. The windows
were open without glass, but still that much shit had to make it's
presence known. I loved to hang up a "closed" sign on the men's room
door and lock it. Only the Reeks workers had a key, so I know nobody
would bother me. And then I'd take my own sweet time cleaning the place.
But first I'd make the men's bathroom a little dirtier first.

I'd strip down out of my coveralls and throw them in a puddle of piss to
soak. I loved how they'd feel all wet when I pulled them on later. I'd
keep my boots on. And then dare myself to do stuff. For example, I'd
kneel in front of the urinals and lick the porcelain. I loved the salty
taste. And best of all when the piss had dried and there were crunchy
salt crystals along the bottom where guys had sprayed. I'd lay flat on
the floor and lick the sniff the tiles. Then lick them. And I'd drink
the piss water guys left behind.

A couple times, I found a turd in the urinal. Guys like doing that to be
funny. And I'd scoop it out with my hand and then eat it like a candy
bar. There were always dried turds when guys shit on the floor and let it
dry. I liked to find dirty toilet paper and smell it. Chewing and
swallowing it was difficult, since it was so dry, but it was fun to chew
up into a paste like a spitball before swallowing.

I've seen it all. Used condoms where I'd suck the jizz out. I loved
when the condom was covered in shit like someone had fucked someone in
the ass and then thrown the thing on the floor. That gave it extra
flavor. Or I'd look in the trash and sometimes with a full pair of
underwear, like someone had shit themselves and then thrown the evidence
away. I'd sit on the dirty floor of the bathroom and wear the dirty
briefs on my head like a hood. I'd jack off while smashing the shit into
my face and rubbing it all over my head. Finally I'd eat the contents
like a horse eating out of a feedbag.

A couple of the parks were near an old-folk's home and those guys would
leave whole diapers. I'd put the diapers and feel some old guy's shit
mashed into the crack of my ass and his cold piss against my cock and
balls. I'd wear them like that all day under my coveralls. If anyone at
work smelled me, they didn't say anything. After all, I had been
cleaning bathrooms all day.

Every summer there would be a few festivals: music concerts or carnivals
or sports events. And I loved those because it brought in the
Port-o-potty guys. I'd volunteer to be on their crew, and help set up
the rows and rows of shitters waiting for marathon runners or beer
drinkers whatever. My favorite thing was that the men's and women's
bathrooms were kept separate, so if I ever found a turd on the floor of a
port-o-john, I knew if it came from a guy. The women's stuff I just
cleaned up, but the guy's bathrooms I would really get into.

But after a few hours in the hot sun, those things REEKED. And that's
even for the ones where people were being careful. For the johns at a
music festival, people didn't seem to mind if they shit on the floor or
smeared their mess all over the inside of the door. Man, I had seen some
real damage, where it looked like someone exploded in there.

Again, my favorite part of the job was the gear. For the port-o-potty
cleaner job, I wore rubber overalls that went up my waist. I was supposed
to wear a button-down shirt from the company that supplied the toilets,
but usually I just went bare chested. But we had to wear full respirator
because the crap smelled so bad.

So, there I'd be naked but wearing a heavy black rubber apron from my
neck down, and a gasmask so nobody could see me. I loved to go into the
filthiest shitter I could find and close the door. In the summer heat, it
would be a hundred degrees in there and the sweat would pour off my
armpits. I'd snake the hose of my gasmask down into the hole to get a
huge whiff of the bubbling contents below me. It was a fantasy of mine to
crawl down into the tank and jack off, but our port-o-potties only had a
fifty gallon tank in the base... not quite big enough to actually get
inside. But I'd still jack off thinking about it.

I'd pull the hose inside the port-o-potty from the "honey truck"
parked outside. The pumper has a long corrugated hose that stretches from
their tank all the way to the bathrooms. Usually, the hose is smeared
with shit from the workers who haven't been very careful. Man, that
sucker had a lot of pressure. I'd put the wide hose down the hole of the
portable toilet, and within second, it would suck up everything in that
50 gallon tank at the bottom of the unit. I'd look down into the black
hole to see how good the sucker worked (and take a big sniff!) and hose
down the walls with a water hose that I also drug in. Then, I do the
sucker again. Some of the messier tanks took three or four iterations.

Finally, I'd dump two or three gallons of "the blue stuff" in the
empty tank. Sometimes, I needed to hose down the inside walls of the
bathroom too. Or at least replace the toilet paper. Anything else needed
help from the guys who supplied the bathrooms to the parks. For example,
if the unit was damaged in any way or needed repairs to its structure, us
Reeks guys were supposed to fill out some paperwork and report it to the
managing company. And that's how I met Fred. Fred owned the cleaning
company that owned the bathrooms, but Fred wasn't too proud to get out
of working. As a small business owner, it was great to see that he
wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty... in fact literally!

One of the first times I saw Fred, he was wearing his company shirt and
workpants and a gasmask. A guy was yelling at him, one of the patrons of
the food and wine festival we were working at. The guy was drunk, and
kept pointing and saying the port-o-potty "ate" his cell phone. I saw
Fred turn away, and roll up the sleeve of his denim shirt. He flung open
the door of the port-o-potty, knelt in front of the seat, and thrust his
arm down the hole of the shitter. And I mean ALL the say down, all the
way to the armpit. Fred turned his head to the side, and through the
gasmask I could see him concentrating, feeling his way through all the
shit and piss and toilet paper. Finally, he pulled up a hot slippery mess
dripping off his arm, and in his fist was a soaked iPhone. Fred stood up,
walked out of the bathroom, and threw the phone and the drunk guy without
saying anything. The asshole who lost his phone tried to catch it
instinctively, then realized the cell phone was still covered in crap and
the guy screamed and swatted the phone away. It bounced on the ground,
and I hope the screen cracked.

So, that's when I knew Fred and I were going to be good friends.
Meanwhile, Fred was impressed when I stayed behind after work and put in
some "free" labor after hours to help load all the used port-o-potties
back onto several flatbed trucks to take back to his facility. We were
all tired and sweaty from a hard day working at the fair, but personally,
I didn't want to take off the rubber overalls that I was wearing and
have to give them back to Fred's company who was just letting me borrow
them.

Plus, there was the fact that I wasn't wearing anything under the
overalls. And I was feeling extra kinky that day, and had taken a shit in
them before I was going to give them back. The evidence of the act was
smooshed between my toes and under the sole of my left foot from where
the turd had fallen down the back of the pants and into the attached
rubber boot. Worse, I had taken another turd and shoved it inside the
hose of my gasmask so I had to smell it all day as I worked. I had
planned to hose the overalls and gasmask out before I gave them back to
Fred, but the guy came up to me as the last port-o-potty was being hauled
on the truck.

Fred was a chunky guy, about 5' 10" and 230 pounds. His black bushy
mustache and dirty overalls made him look like an Italian plumber. In
fact, sometimes the guys working for him called him " Super Mario" as a
nickname. But usually they called him "Boss", because he was Fred
Schmidt, the owner of Schmidt Cleaners. And because of him, the whole
crew had good-paying jobs.

Fred looked me up and down. "Thanks fer loadin' the shitters," He
said.

I did know what to say. "Thanks?" I shrugged.

"You can give me back those overalls," he said, pointing to the rubber
that I was wearing. "You don't get to keep those."

"Um," I stalled, "uh, they're really sweaty. I can clean them up and
give them back to you tomorrow." I was more worried about the shit that
coated the INSIDE of the overalls more than the outside. How was I gonna
explain that? "Plus my clothes are in my truck over at the park."

"No," said Fred, "how `bout I give ya a ride." He at me kind of
funny, smiling. "You can change over there."

"I'm ok," I said, "it's not far to walk."

"Nonsense," said Fred. "Lemme drive ya." He turned and got into the
flatbed that was carrying all the used port-o-potties.

I had no choice to obey. But how was I going to explain the condition of
my work clothes?