Summer Job at the Stop'n'Fill--Part One by Jack Fellowes (jwhstloo@ix.netcom.com) Copyright 1998 by the Author
(Usual disclaimer: you know who you are, what kind of story this is, and whether you ought to be reading it. Act accordingly.)
Part One: June 1967
I had to get a summer job to earn some spending money. My family was pretty poor, even if my Mom did keep saying we were rich in love. Maybe she was--she didn't have to get along with five whiny sisters every day. They kept teasing me all the time, and they wouldn't give me a bit of privacy.
Privacy was pretty important to me right then. I had just turned 13, and I had found out that there were things boys could do, alone or with other boys, that girls thought were really yucky. I learned about those things from my friend, Jerry, a 15-year-old who lived on the farm next to ours, and we did them together every chance we got. Unlike me, Jerry was an only child, and we could go up in the loft of his barn and not worry about being interrupted by sneaky, snotty girls. I wished Jerry could have been my brother.
Anyway, the reason I needed spending money was that Jerry was going away for the whole summer to stay with his grandparents over in Iowa, and I was going to have to find something else to do with myself, and someplace else to be. What Jerry and I did together was free, and fun!
The only other friends I had lived in town, and they couldn't think of anything we could do together that didn't cost money, like the movies, or the drive-in burger stand, or the arcade. I could have showed them some stuff, but they didn't seem to be interested in things like that.
If I was going to be able to survive the summer, and stay away from my sisters, I had to find some way to earn some spending money. I still had my chores around the farm, but I was mostly done with those before lunch. I could work in the afternoons and maybe even some evenings if I could find a job.
I went a whole bunch of places and got turned down flat at most of them. It gets pretty discouraging when you're told you're too young to bag groceries or sweep up the parking lot at the drive-in. I'd been working on the farm since I was six or seven, and I knew I could handle the work and the responsibilities. My mom and dad didn't even have to get me up in the morning to go out and feed the stock before breakfast, and I was always on time for the school bus and everything else I had to do.
I was starting to feel like I'd have to spend the whole summer at home avoiding my bratty sisters, when I overheard my folks at lunch. They were talking about the new filling station someone had built over at the crossroads where the old roadhouse burned down last year. Dad said the owner was a retired military guy who'd just moved to town, and that he needed to hire some help. I was on my bike and on my way to the crossroads before I even found out whether Mom had made pie for dessert.
The crossroads was the intersection of two secondary state highways, the north-south one eventually leading to the interstate. Our town was far enough from the interstate that it hadn't affected us much. There wasn't any more traffic through town, and we were still an hour away from the closest big city. I guess this guy figured that, being at the crossroads, he at least had a chance to pick up some extra business from the tourists who got off the interstate to explore.
When I pedaled into the new gas station, which looked shiny and clean enough to be a dairy, I say a big, tall, dark-haired guy, with just a little gray in his sideburns, walking around from the side of the building and going in the front door. I didn't see anybody else there, either workers or customers.
I leaned my bike against the tire display out front and went inside to introduce myself.
"I'm Davey Banker, sir," I said, "and I heard you were looking for some help. I'm 13, and I live down the road a couple of miles, and I'm available all summer in the afternoons and maybe even some evenings."
He just looked at with a little funny grin before he introduced himself as Gary Martin. "So you're 13," he said. "Kinda big for your age, aren't you?"
I was. I went through a big growth spurt when I was 11 (that's when I noticed the hair starting to grow around my weenie, and when Jerry showed me how to make my weenie feel good and shoot sperm).
"Yes, sir, I guess I am," I answered. "I'm taller than my Dad now, and almost as strong. I'm a good worker, and I'm reliable, I can work every afternoon, and I really could use the money." I smiled up at him hopefully. Even though I was about 5'10", he still towered over me. He must have been 6'4" or taller. Up close, he looked like he could have been the same age as my Dad, or maybe older, but he sure was a lot more muscular.
"Well," he said, "I'll have to see what kind of worker you are for myself." Wow, I thought, that sounds like he's going to give me a job! He went on, "I tell you what--I'll give you a try for a week or two. I don't need anybody full time until business picks up a bit, but I do need someone to clean up inside and out, straighten up the parts shelves, maybe pump a little gas when I'm busy in the mechanic's bay, and help out with some other things. Do you think you could handle that?"
I grabbed his big hand and shook it enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, Mr. Martin!" I said. "I can handle that and more!" I just kept holding on to his big, warm hand.
He had a big grin when he pulled his hand out of my grip. "We'll see about that," he said. "I'll give you a dollar an hour to start, maybe more if you work out. Be here tomorrow at noon."
He kind of stepped back and really gave me the once-over. The way he looked at me made me tingle a little, right in the crotch. He was just really built, and so rugged-looking. "And it's not Mr. Martin," he said. "Call me Gary... or Sarge. I answer to either one. And I call you Davey, right?"
I was already halfway out the door to get my bike and ride home to tell Mom and Dad I had a job. I turned around and said, "Davey's fine, sir, or you can call me by my nickname, Spike." I'd already started pedaling down the road when I remembered that Jerry was the only one who called me Spike, and why he did. I looked over my shoulder and saw that Mr. Martin had stepped outside the door to watch me ride away. He waved when I looked back. He looked like he could really be tough, but he smiled a lot, and I liked being around him.
I felt really good about summer right then. A dollar an hour! My oldest sister didn't earn that much working at the Frostop drive-in.
I showed up early the next day. Mom and Dad were really happy for me. Of course they immediately started talking about how I could afford to buy my own school clothes and gym shoes next fall, but heck, with a dollar an hour, I figured I could afford it. Mom sent me off with a sack lunch and told me to eat it there, so I could start right in working at noon, and to be sure to listen to Mr. Martin and do everything he said. No problem there, I thought.
Gary grinned as I came pedaling up to the station. He was lining up the new tires on the rack by the front door, and his short-sleeved khaki shirt was open. His hairy chest, tanned dark, was very muscular. I couldn't help staring a little.
He told me there was a chair in the store room where I could sit to eat my lunch, and then he said to give him a yell when I was done so he could show me what he wanted me to do.
He walked in just as I was folding my lunch sack. He had that same funny little grin, like he knew something I didn't, and he said, "Why don't you start here and straighten up the shelves? Just make sure all the filters and hoses and electric parts are where they ought to be, and lined up by part number."
I got up and started in straightening up the boxes of parts. He stood and watched for a while, then went back out into the mechanic's bay. I quickly found out the parts shelves didn't need a lot of straightening. Nothing was very far out of place. What I did was more like my Mom fussing with the pictures and doodads on top of the piano.
Every so often, I could hear him clanking around the big old 1958 Buick that he was working on. I only heard the bell for the gas pumps ring twice in the first hour. I came out of the store room and asked him what he wanted me to do next.
"Get the hose and the push broom over there, and spray down the concrete pad and sweep up around the pumps," he said. "Then come back in here, and maybe I'll show you how to change spark plugs." I doubt that anyone had ever sprayed a hose or pushed a broom faster. I already knew how to change spark plugs--I was a farmer's son, but I was really excited about the idea of working right alongside him.
Business was kind of slow that afternoon, so we had a lot of time to talk. He did most of the talking, mostly about himself. I found out he'd joined the Army right out of high school, and he'd been in Korea--where he won a purple heart--and the Philippines and Germany and Turkey. He had just retired last year after 20 years. Since he wasn't married, he'd saved a lot of his pay over the whole 20 years. He used his savings to buy the property the station sat on and to make the down-payment on building the gas station.
He lived in a trailer behind the station, which I hadn't noticed before. Of course, I hadn't really seen much except him the whole day. He told me he had a bench and weights he used to keep in shape. I just blurted out, "You must work out a lot. You've got great muscles!"
He chuckled, and said, "Thanks, Davey! I do work out a lot, and I like it when somebody notices." He gave me another look and added, "You look pretty good, too, Davey, but you could probably stand to build up your arms and chest a little. If you want, I can show you some weight training exercises after work." I felt something funny in my chest then, like my heart was revving up a little. He must have noticed something, because he gave me another funny little look before he walked out to gas up another car.
Before we knew it, it was five o'clock. Business started to pick up some as the local "rush hour" traffic started coming down the road from the interstate. At the next lull, he looked at his watch. It was almost six-thirty. He put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey, Davey, we can close up in about a half-hour. Why don't you call your folks and see if it's okay if you stick around for a bit? We can go back to the trailer, work out with the weights for a while, and then I can fix a little supper for the two of us."
If Mom had said no when I called, I probably would have lied to Gary and said it was all right for me to stay anyway. I just told her we were going to do a little extra work, so she said yes. I couldn't wait to see Gary get pumped up, and I was hoping he'd change to a pair of gym shorts or something so I could see more of his body. Then I remembered I didn't have anything to change into.
I followed him around while he locked up and then as he led the way back to his trailer. It wasn't new, but it was really clean and neat inside. It was the first time I'd even been in a trailer home, and I was surprised at how big it was inside. Gary went back to the bedroom, saying over his shoulder, "I've got to get out of these greasy clothes. I don't want to take a shower until after my workout, so I think I'll just strip down to my boxers for now. We're all guys here, aren't we?"
I sat down at the dining table and said, "Sure we are," raising my voice a little to make sure he heard me. "I don't have any gym clothes with me, so I'll just work out in my underwear, too." I didn't quite hear his answer, but that was because he was walking back toward the front of the trailer in his olive drab boxer shorts, which looked a couple of sizes too small for his muscular stomach, which had nice firm ridges covered with more dark hair.
I got up and undressed down to my jockeys. I had to turn around to rearrange myself a little before I could join him at the weight bench, which was in the living room where the couch should have been. He showed me a lot of different exercises to build up my arms and upper body, doing them first with heavier weights, then spotting me while I did them with a lot less weight.
I couldn't help noticing that the fly in his shorts gapped open a little when he flexed his abdominals doing bench presses and overhead lifts, and a little more when he leaned over to take the barbell out of my hands after my bench presses. I couldn't see anything, but that didn't stop me from looking.
We did several sets of each exercise, and both of us were starting to sweat pretty good. I noticed that he kept looking at my undershorts, which were pretty wet, while I worked out. I know I was still a little hard, and I noticed that the bulge in his boxers had gotten bigger than when we started.
After my last set, he took the barbell out of my hands and grinned at me. "Hey, Davey, my man, that's enough for the first day. A pretty good workout after a pretty good day's work, don't you agree?"
I sat on the bench, starting to feel how tired I was, rested my chin in my hands, and said, "It sure was, Sarge. I've gotta dry off."
"Gee, Davey," he said, squatting down in front of me, so that his fly gapped wide open, showing off a thick bush of pubic hair and just a little bit of the wide base of what looked like a big really dick hanging down into his shorts. "I forgot you wouldn't have any clothes to change into. Why don't you take a shower before you get dressed while I fix supper, so you don't mess up your work clothes?"
I nodded. "Okay, sure, that's a good idea." As he stood up, I got a glimpse of a big hairy ball starting to hang down out of the leg of his shorts, which were bunched up at his crotch. I had to adjust myself again before I could get up and follow him back to the little bathroom. When I stepped in front of the shower booth, he snapped the waistband of my briefs from behind, and said, "Go on, get in. I'll get you a towel and put it on the toilet seat." He stood there for a couple of seconds longer, as I pulled my shorts off, facing away from him to hide my half-boner, and stepped into the shower.
The shower booth had a frosted glass door, And I saw Gary step in and put the towel on the toilet seat. Again, he paused a little and seemed to be looking at me through the glass. I forgot that I was standing sideways and he could probably see me as well as I could see him. I turned around when I remembered my dick was now sticking straight out. When he walked out again, I thought I heard him chuckle again.
I turned off the shower, and reached out for the towel. When I was dry I tried to find my shorts, but they weren't there. I wrapped the towel around me and went back into the front room of the trailer. Gary was at the stove, still in his boxers and frying burgers, and my half-hard dick started rising again. I saw my jockeys hanging on the oven door, which was half open and putting out a lot of heat.
He saw where I was looking, and laughed again. "I thought I'd try to get them dried out a little before you go home. Your mom would probably get upset if you came home with wet shorts under your pants... or none!" He motioned toward the table. "Dinner will be served in a minute. Get the pickles, mustard, and ketchup out of the fridge and have a seat."
My towel came undone while I was putting the jars on the table, and I just caught it before it hit the floor. I'm sure Gary got a good look at my dick before I could get it covered up again.
He put cheese on the burgers and then put them in the buns he had on a plate next to the stove. He brought the plate of burgers and a pan of baked beans over to the table. When he leaned over to put them down, his shorts gapped open again, and I got a much better look at the top part of his dick, which looked like it was pushing out the crotch of his shorts a lot more.
He saw me looking at him, and said, "Dig in, Davey. If that's not enough, I can fix more." I thought two burgers apiece would be enough, but I didn't realize how hungry I was. He watched me scarf down the two sandwiches, smiling all the while. "Here," he said, "take this one, and I'll cook myself another one."
He finished his first burger, then got up to put another patty in the skillet while I finished my third. When I was done, he made a show of sniffing his underarms. "Maybe I'd better catch a shower myself, before I stink you out of here. Can you watch and make sure this doesn't burn while I clean up a little?"
"Sure," I said, getting up to walk over to the stove, and having to catch my towel again. He walked back toward the bedroom, taking his boxers off as he went. He tossed them back toward his bedroom, then turned around and headed into the bathroom. I got a good look at him, back and front. He had a hairy butt and a big puffed-up uncut dick. I thought Jerry's was pretty big, but Gary's was a hell of a lot bigger than either Jerry's or mine, or even my Dad's or uncle's, which I'd only seen hard a couple of times. I wondered what it would feel like to jack him off or suck him the way Jerry and I did each other. My dick was standing up again, bone-hard, as I turned Gary's burger over to keep it from burning.
I was just putting the burger on the bun when Gary stepped out of the bathroom, naked and dripping. He looked at me, grinning, and said, "I forgot to get myself a towel," and walked back to his bedroom. His cock looked even bigger and like it was starting to stand up a little.
He came back out with the towel wrapped low around his hips. His chest and belly hair tapered down into a strip that disappeared under the towel right below his belly button. "I'm not going to bother getting dressed again. I'll probably go right to bed after you leave, anyway," he said. He sat down and started to eat his burger. "Just the way I like it," he said between bites, "just this side of charcoal." I knew he was joking, but I blushed anyway.
After he finished eating, and put the dirty dishes in the sink, we sat and talked for a while longer. My dick never seemed to get completely soft. Whenever it started to go down, he would lean back in his chair and stretch, and I could see his chest muscles and the lump in his towel flex.
It was past nine o'clock, and I knew I ought to get dressed and get ready to leave. I was probably going to have to walk my bike home because it was dark already and too dangerous for me to ride on our road. I got up to check on my shorts, and my towel fell off again. This time I didn't catch it in time.
Gary looked at my boner, grinned, and said, "Looks like you get horny after a good workout, too." He leaned back again and outlined his hard dick with the fingers of his right hand. I just stared, with my mouth hanging open. He grinned again and said, "Looks like you're kind of big for your age down here, too. Is that why your friends call you Spike?" Then he leaned forward and grabbed my dick with his left hand.
That's all it took. My dick started spurting like a fountain. The first shot went clear up his arm and landed on his muscular pec. As soon as I could manage to talk, I said, "Oh, god, Sarge, I'm sorry! I'm so embarrassed!"
He just laughed and kept milking the rest of my load out of my dick. "Hey, no problem, Davey. I haven't seen a hair-trigger young buck like you shoot a hot load like that since I was a kid myself." He pulled me toward him, using my softening dick as a handle, and pulled me down on his lap, still holding onto my cock. "It's okay, kiddo, the same thing probably would have happened to me if you'd grabbed my meat." I could feel his big, hard dick moving against my ass under the towel.
He took my chin in his hand, and turned my face toward his. "Would you like to grab mine, Davey?" That thought made my dick start to get hard again. He laughed again, stroked me slowly a couple of times, and said, "This thing seems to like the idea."
I slid off his lap onto the floor, turned around to face him, and pulled his towel away. He looked at me as I saw his hard cock for the first time. "It's a big one, isn't it, Davey?"
I grabbed his big stiff cock with both hands and pumped the skin up over the drooling head, then uncovered it again. Then I just reared up and lunged into his lap, stuffing his big pulsing dick into my mouth. I took almost half of it on the first plunge, all the way down to the narrow opening of my throat. At the first bit of resistance, I felt him grip my shoulders sharply with both hands and his dick swell up, almost choking me. Then he started to shoot, and I didn't have any choice but to start gulping down his hot, thick cum. He must have shot seven or eight big loads, and I just kept sucking him until his dick started to lose its rigidity.
Finally, I let his softening cock slip from my mouth and flop down onto his hairy thigh. He finally released his grip on my shoulders and let out a big sigh. He put his hand under my chin again and turned my face up toward his. "See," he grinned, "I told you the same thing would probably happen to me. I didn't know how true that was! That was really great, Davey!" He grabbed me under my arms and again lifted me onto his lap. He hugged me tight against his chest; the hair tickled me a little, but I felt really comfortable sitting there. And I felt his big half-hard cock twitching against my ass.
"Next time," he whispered in my ear, "I won't cum so fast, and I'll be able to really enjoy your sucking me off, you sweet little cocksucker. And I can show you how good it feels." Then he pulled my mouth around to his and gave me a big, wet kiss.
All I could think was, "Next time! There's going to be a next time!!!"
(End of Part One)