“Oooh, Sammy has a new boyfriend!”
The running joke amongst the other guys in the stock room was that whoever got stuck with the trainee had a new boyfriend for the week. It’s the silly sort of thing a bunch of bro types say to tease each other. Harmless, if annoying.
Unless you were deep in the closet and crushing on one or two of your buddies. Then it closes in on unintentional psychological cruelty.
There were five of us working the late shift and the Christmas stock had become relentless enough that the manager had finally hired someone else, and he was supposed to show up halfway through the shift for training. As the most senior stock boy (not the oldest, I was 19, but had worked the previous season as well), the boss had assigned me to show the new boy the ropes.
“What’s the matter boys, jealous?”
“Hell yeah, bro. We are all gonna have to work extra hard while you’re playing supervisor.” That was from Mike, by far the beefiest member of our team. He was right, of course, but with any luck the new guy wouldn’t be too slow.
Mike, who was blond and twenty two (and built very well) had been the target of my surreptitious glances for months, blissfully unaware that I was lusting after his taut ass and sculpted arms every time we pulled boxes. Ernie was the next hottest, a short and wiry Latino, but he was packing an oversized dick in his cargo pants — as I discovered when he forgot to lock the changing room. Martine was a dreadlocked dude who was pretty but a little too fond of his ganja for my tastes; he should have been hotter but he talked endlessly about nothing except pot. Both of them were somewhere in their early twenties. Billy, the lanky 17-year-old, was still fighting acne and occasional hygiene issues, but he had also gotten into great shape in the last six months. It was hard to keep his barely legal ass off my mind.
That left me, Sam, mister average. Though to be fair, I was in better shape now than I’d ever been and I supposed my looks were pleasant enough. Brown messy hair, blue eyes, thick eyebrows, even teeth. Tall but not too tall. Decent, not great. Cute, but not quite sexy. That’s what the cougar shift manager told me at last year’s holiday parity. Mary was pretty drunk.
“Know anything about him?” Billy asked.
“Mary says his name is Ken Furukawa.”
“Scrawny Chinese boy ain’t gonna be much help,” Martine said.
“Japanese. Furukawa is a Japanese name.”
“Long as he doesn’t show up half baked like some people,” Mike groused.
“Speculation is a waste of time since he should be finished doing paperwork in about ten minutes.”
”Hello?” We all turned around to check the new blood.
Standing shyly in the doorway, and taking up most of it, was the hottest guy I had ever seen in person. He was probably built as solidly as mike, but had almost k-pop idol looks and long straight hair pulled back in a ponytail. His freshly issued crew polo pulled tight over large pectorals and bunched invitingly around his arms and shoulders. But it was the khakis that did me in, because they were delightfully snug in the rear and crotch.
“Sam,” I said, extending my hand. He shook it with cautious enthusiasm. (I like that term, and suspect it will come in handy later...)
“Call me Kenji,” he replied, with the faintest hint of an accent. I guessed (correctly) that he was born in the states but hadn’t always lived here.
“Thought your name was Ken,” Billy said.
“I put that on my application,” Kenji said. “In case I sounded too Asian.”
“I hear ya, son,” Martine said. “Gets you past that first hurdle.”
“You don’t look like I expected,” Billy said, tactlessly. “I expected some skinny twink or something, a nerd.”
“You got some arms, bro,” Mike added. “I thought all you guys were super lean?”
Kenji smiled shyly and fiddled with the hair at the back of his neck. “I work out a little.”
Yeah, obviously he was above average. Not too many 6’1 Japanese fitness models around. But he seemed nice enough, if shy, and I wasn’t going to give my rotten coworkers a chance to scare him.
He picked it up rather quickly, and was soon hefting and stacking competently. He asked smart questions and despite the shyness, he moved with confidence and economy. His upper body flexed and bunched under his shirt and his legs pulled st the khaki fabric. His long straight hair was pulled neatly into the ponytail as he worked, and he seemed to be just about to break a sweat all night. In the end, he had been a quick study and hard worker, and we were all pretty happy with him.
I sent him on break once the truck was unloaded, but about five minutes after he walked away, I noticed his phone was sitting on the floor. I grabbed it, told Ernie I would be right back, and headed to the break room.
He must have worn himself out, because I found him there sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world and snoring softly.
Well, I say that, but at least one part of him was awake. An oversized outline snaked its way along his leg, slowly throbbing it’s way with every heartbeat. Whatever he was dreaming about, it must have been good. Shit, that was a big one. Half chubbed it probably hit seven inches. I wondered how big it would get.
I stood there stupidly admiring the beefy kid and his big dick for a minute or two, when suddenly his phone chimed loudly and woke both of us from our little reveries.
“Left your phone,” I said, and tossed it to him.
“Oh, sorry, I guess I dozed off.”
“No big, you still have ten minutes. Break time is your time to spend.”
And I suspected I knew how my break time would be spent.
The running joke amongst the other guys in the stock room was that whoever got stuck with the trainee had a new boyfriend for the week. It’s the silly sort of thing a bunch of bro types say to tease each other. Harmless, if annoying.
Unless you were deep in the closet and crushing on one or two of your buddies. Then it closes in on unintentional psychological cruelty.
There were five of us working the late shift and the Christmas stock had become relentless enough that the manager had finally hired someone else, and he was supposed to show up halfway through the shift for training. As the most senior stock boy (not the oldest, I was 19, but had worked the previous season as well), the boss had assigned me to show the new boy the ropes.
“What’s the matter boys, jealous?”
“Hell yeah, bro. We are all gonna have to work extra hard while you’re playing supervisor.” That was from Mike, by far the beefiest member of our team. He was right, of course, but with any luck the new guy wouldn’t be too slow.
Mike, who was blond and twenty two (and built very well) had been the target of my surreptitious glances for months, blissfully unaware that I was lusting after his taut ass and sculpted arms every time we pulled boxes. Ernie was the next hottest, a short and wiry Latino, but he was packing an oversized dick in his cargo pants — as I discovered when he forgot to lock the changing room. Martine was a dreadlocked dude who was pretty but a little too fond of his ganja for my tastes; he should have been hotter but he talked endlessly about nothing except pot. Both of them were somewhere in their early twenties. Billy, the lanky 17-year-old, was still fighting acne and occasional hygiene issues, but he had also gotten into great shape in the last six months. It was hard to keep his barely legal ass off my mind.
That left me, Sam, mister average. Though to be fair, I was in better shape now than I’d ever been and I supposed my looks were pleasant enough. Brown messy hair, blue eyes, thick eyebrows, even teeth. Tall but not too tall. Decent, not great. Cute, but not quite sexy. That’s what the cougar shift manager told me at last year’s holiday parity. Mary was pretty drunk.
“Know anything about him?” Billy asked.
“Mary says his name is Ken Furukawa.”
“Scrawny Chinese boy ain’t gonna be much help,” Martine said.
“Japanese. Furukawa is a Japanese name.”
“Long as he doesn’t show up half baked like some people,” Mike groused.
“Speculation is a waste of time since he should be finished doing paperwork in about ten minutes.”
”Hello?” We all turned around to check the new blood.
Standing shyly in the doorway, and taking up most of it, was the hottest guy I had ever seen in person. He was probably built as solidly as mike, but had almost k-pop idol looks and long straight hair pulled back in a ponytail. His freshly issued crew polo pulled tight over large pectorals and bunched invitingly around his arms and shoulders. But it was the khakis that did me in, because they were delightfully snug in the rear and crotch.
“Sam,” I said, extending my hand. He shook it with cautious enthusiasm. (I like that term, and suspect it will come in handy later...)
“Call me Kenji,” he replied, with the faintest hint of an accent. I guessed (correctly) that he was born in the states but hadn’t always lived here.
“Thought your name was Ken,” Billy said.
“I put that on my application,” Kenji said. “In case I sounded too Asian.”
“I hear ya, son,” Martine said. “Gets you past that first hurdle.”
“You don’t look like I expected,” Billy said, tactlessly. “I expected some skinny twink or something, a nerd.”
“You got some arms, bro,” Mike added. “I thought all you guys were super lean?”
Kenji smiled shyly and fiddled with the hair at the back of his neck. “I work out a little.”
Yeah, obviously he was above average. Not too many 6’1 Japanese fitness models around. But he seemed nice enough, if shy, and I wasn’t going to give my rotten coworkers a chance to scare him.
He picked it up rather quickly, and was soon hefting and stacking competently. He asked smart questions and despite the shyness, he moved with confidence and economy. His upper body flexed and bunched under his shirt and his legs pulled st the khaki fabric. His long straight hair was pulled neatly into the ponytail as he worked, and he seemed to be just about to break a sweat all night. In the end, he had been a quick study and hard worker, and we were all pretty happy with him.
I sent him on break once the truck was unloaded, but about five minutes after he walked away, I noticed his phone was sitting on the floor. I grabbed it, told Ernie I would be right back, and headed to the break room.
He must have worn himself out, because I found him there sprawled across the sofa, dead to the world and snoring softly.
Well, I say that, but at least one part of him was awake. An oversized outline snaked its way along his leg, slowly throbbing it’s way with every heartbeat. Whatever he was dreaming about, it must have been good. Shit, that was a big one. Half chubbed it probably hit seven inches. I wondered how big it would get.
I stood there stupidly admiring the beefy kid and his big dick for a minute or two, when suddenly his phone chimed loudly and woke both of us from our little reveries.
“Left your phone,” I said, and tossed it to him.
“Oh, sorry, I guess I dozed off.”
“No big, you still have ten minutes. Break time is your time to spend.”
And I suspected I knew how my break time would be spent.
