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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
Loading Up at the Loading Dock
By anonymous.a
I got out of the car and gazed at the business across the street, and I saw him.
Red hair. Baseball cap. Tall, slender frame. A pear-shaped ass that filled those corduroys to near-bursting – he always wore corduroys for some reason, never jeans. In the summer it was well-worn cargoes. His ass cheeks had a way of jumping up and down as he walked, as if the muscles were exaggerating the effort of taking a step.
I was in love ... make that lust.
He had worked at the loading dock of the tile and flooring center across the street since high school, but now he was out of school and presumably saving money for college. How did I know this? Beats me. I'm guessing. All I know is he was there a couple of summers, then gone for the winter, and now he is there all year.
I first noticed him driving a forklift, loading pallets of tile into the beds of pickup trucks and trailers of 18-wheelers. He was a fresh face among the hard noses of the other store workers, the older men with sagging bellies and dirty Levis who propped their asses against the back wall and smoked while the kid did all the work. The first time I saw him get out of that forklift and walk into the warehouse through the loading dock, I was smitten. That beautiful, muscular ass begged a guy like me to plunge his face into the crack tongue-first and start slurping. I don't know why it is that some guys bring out the rimmer in me – my coworker's son, Andrew, is one of 'em. I've had my tongue on every square inch of his body below the belt, but mostly on his asshole. I even jammed the tip of my nose up his hole one hot afternoon in the men's room. But hey, that's another story.
The kid across the street – and I say "kid" not in the sense of a child, for he was every bit a man, just younger than I by a generation – was something to look forward to every day as I went to work at the graphic arts company where I am an editor. I kept on eye on him, trying to figure out which car was his, what time he arrived and left work for the day, who he talked to ... I guess I'm a little OCD about those things. But they're how I figure out if a guy is approachable or irretrievably straight. Even in this day and age, when gender orientations are accepted and for the most part agnostic, some straight guys become belligerent if you come on to them.
During the work day I put the kid out of my thoughts, but as I walk to the men's room, something I do about a thousand times a day because I drink that many cups of coffee, I peek out the window to see if he's out there. Sometimes I'm rewarded with his perky little ass jumping up and down as he strolls back to the loading dock. God, my imagination runs wild with that. The things I could show him!
It was without any hidden agenda that I headed across the street late one afternoon – closing time for the tile store – to hit the ATM up front. It just happened to belong to my bank, which meant I could make withdrawals without being hit with a fee. I saw no point in driving over because it was literally across the street, assuming I could cross said street without being mowed down by a driver more intent on thumbing text messages than watching the road.
After I got my cash I was walking back to my building when I saw him just outside the loading dock door, one of those metal monstrosities mounted on tracks that come down out of the ceiling. He had hold of a strap and was about to pull it down.
"Hey, hold up!" I shouted and jogged over to the loading dock. This was the first time I had seen him close up and I carefully catalogued his features. Definitely young, probably in the 20 to 22 years old range. His ginger hair was almost curly but not quite, and just long enough to touch his ears. He was wearing a ballcap from some trucking company, a Green Lantern T-shirt with long sleeves, and cargoes. The one turn-off? White athletic socks that came halfway to his knees. I didn't know they even sold those kinds of socks anymore.
"I'm thinking of having my kitchen re-done and wondered if you'd let me take a look at some of the samples you guys sell." I know; lame. But it was the only reasonable explanation for chatting with him I could come up with off the top of my head.
He seemed to ponder this. "We're closed for the day," he said, his voice no longer boyish but not quite matured into an adult purr, "but I guess they wouldn't mind if I let you take a quick look. You'll have to come in through here. The front doors are locked and everybody's gone home."
I wasted no time entering the storage area. The forklift was parked off to the side; otherwise the room was filled with pallet after pallet of tile and other kinds of flooring.
"I'll have to close this," he said, and pulled down the loading dock door with a loud metallic clatter. "You wouldn't believe how fast some people steal stuff."
Then he went on ahead of me, pointing out the various kinds of tile, their virtues and liabilities. I wasn't really listening. I was watching that grab-able ass of his. It was every bit as gorgeous up close as I had imagined it.
We stopped and he said in a friendly voice, "Well? See anything you like?"
"Yes," I told him. "You!"
He looked at me in complete bafflement. Then, awareness slowly crept into his expression, and he smiled uncertainly. "Ah," he finally said. "Well, that's flattering but I'm not really into guys."
"Are you into blowjobs?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Sure. Who isn't. But I'm not sure I want to get one from a guy."
"That's what most straight guys say, until they actually get one from a gay guy. Then they can't get enough. You know why? Because a guy knows what feels good to another guy. And he can do the things he knows feel good to another guy – blowjobs and other things."
"Yeah? Like what?"
I gave him a sly smile. "You ever have your ass eaten out?"
"No!" he snorted, almost embarrassed. But he seemed to linger on the idea, as if it were something he'd always wanted to have done to him but either didn't know anybody who would do it or was too afraid to ask."
"Drop your shorts and bend over this stack of tile," I whispered. "Nobody's here. Nobody will ever know, except you and me. And trust me – you will never forget it."
He stood there looking at me, desire warring with caution. I let him do that a moment, then gently took his shoulder in hand, led him to the pallet of tile, and as non-threateningly as I could, unsnapped his cargoes and slid them down his hips. Underneath he was wearing plaid boxers. I pulled them down to. Then I pushed him down, over the tile, until his ass was exposed.
"Can you step out of those shorts?" I asked. He was wearing athletic shoes, which didn't want to go through the leg openings. I helped him and got the shorts off one leg. I left the other in place. I told him, "Move your feet apart a little bit." He did and his crack, and that wonderful nexus of pleasure, his asshole, came into view.
God. It was more beautiful than I had ever pictured it mentally. A perfectly symmetrical pucker of wrinkled pink flesh, very clean, surrounded by a dusting of bright orangish-red hair. I leaned in close and breathed deeply through my nose. His funk was powerful, an alluring mélange of sweat, butt smell and hormones. I could feel my dick hardening as I took in the sight and aroma of his ass, and I could not believe that finally, after all these months of looking and wishing, I was finally getting to do the thing I had dreamed of doing.
I exhaled on my hands to warm them up, then placed them on his thighs, enjoying the bristly sensation of his leg hairs. I ran them up to that massive ass in front of my face and spread his cheeks apart, so that my target bloomed into view.
Dear God, I couldn't stand the suspense any longer. I buried my face in his crack.
His flesh was sticky and clung to my cheeks as I ran my tongue up and down, then around and around his anus. The taste was salty with a sharp, tangy afterbite, not quite the same as his smell. I ran my nose up and down the valley of his crack as my tongue did its job, cleaning each side of his crack, lapping up all the stickiness and replacing it with a thin layer of saliva. I formed my tongue into a point and stabbed repeatedly at his butthole. On one attempt he relaxed ever so slightly and my tongue found purchase, extending slightly into his rectum.
I heard him moan, a low, sensuous expression of sexual gratification that compelled me to further assault his anus. He began pushing back, then up and down, against my tongue. My roaming hands found his cock, and at one point I dove below his ass to lick his balls. By this time my own cock was rampaging in my pants, leaking pre-cum like a faucet not properly shut off.
I had to do something about that.
I removed a hand from his priceless ass and fetched a tube of lube from my pants pocket. Then I undid the clasp on my slacks and slowly pushed them down until my cock sprang free. The cooler air outside my pants was a relief. It seemed to further harden my cock. I was going to do this. It was no longer an issue of desire, but need. I needed to be inside him, and now.
I lubed up a finger and began working at his sphincter. Meanwhile, my tongue continued its assault on his testicles, and my other hand worked his dick, which was also dribbling prodigious amounts of pre-cum. My finger slid in and the red-haired kid moaned anew, as if marveling the discovery of this new source of pleasure. His insides were hot, like a furnace. I moved my finger around, loosening his butthole, then withdrew and lubed my index and middle finger. I slid the two of them together into his rectum. The fit was tighter but they managed to slide in without painful resistance. The kid spread his legs and pushed his cock against the stack of tile, forcing it down. That elicited a volley of licks from me that spread to his balls, now compressed to either side of his dick.
It was time.
I stood. I spread a generous dollop of lube on my cock and made sure it was covered in its entirety. Then I positioned it against his recently invaded hole.
The resistance was considerable, so I waited until I could feel the muscles relaxing. When that happened I pushed gently and was rewarded with penetration. He seemed to tighten again, but the cycle of relaxation arrived and I pushed again. This time the head of my cock slid in and settled inside the ring of muscle surrounding his asshole.
"Oh God," he whispered hoarsely as I continued pushing. I wasn't letting this opportunity escape me. My cock was on fire now, hard as a steel rod, and watching it disappear into this kid's ass was almost more than I could stand.
Finally I could push no more. I had bottomed out. I looked down and could not see my cock. It was in him all the way.
I began a gentle fucking motion, not that I really needed to. I could have cum right then and there. But I wanted this to be good for him too, so I slid my cock in and out, not very far at first. But when it became obvious he was enjoying the sensation I increased the length of my stroke, pulling my cock almost to the point of exiting his ass, then plunging it back in. He stuck his ass out, which produced clearance between his cock and the stack of tile. I used that to my advantage, reaching around his thighs with both hands. I grabbed his dick with my right hand and cupped his balls with my left, and as I fucked him I jerked his cock and fondled those hairy goose eggs.
I fucked him for a good 5 minutes. That wasn't very long, I know, but he felt so good sliding on and off my cock I couldn't hold out any longer. I felt that familiar knot of pleasure gathering at the base of my spine, and as it escalated and threatened to go out of control I buried my cock as deeply into his ass as I could push it. Pulse after pulse of hot semen shot into his guts, and as soon as that first injection shot out his own cock began to spasm hot jets of cum. I could feel it through his dick as he gasped to the rhythm of his orgasm.
We remained in that position for about a minute as my cock emptied my balls inside him and his cock ceased its spasming to a dribble. Then I eased out and backed away, my skin ungluing from his. His hole was now red and runnels of pearly white cum dribbled out to land on the cement floor of the storage area. More trails of slimy cum dribbled down the side of the plastic sheeting that covered the tile pallet.
I grabbed a rag from a nearby pallet and wiped off my dick. Then I used it to wipe his ass for him. He seemed content to stand there, his sweaty ass exposed, his steamy hole pulsing like a thing that needed to catch its breath.
"You've been very helpful," I said brightly, pulling up my slacks, tucking in my shirt and doing the zipper. He looked back at me over his shoulder. His eyes were heavy lidded, as if he were coming down from a buzz, and a goofy smile creased his expression.
"I'll be sure to let your bosses know you're a good employee."
And then I winked as he slowly pulled up his cargoes.
"And I'll insist that you come to my house to install the tile."
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