As a teenager I'd had the usual after-school and summer-vacation jobs - camp counselor, paperboy, yard worker, car washer, etc. - but I was 19 and had just completed my first year of university when I got my first real summer job as a warehouseman for a beer distributor down at the shore. I wasn't exactly suited for it physically. Remember Charles Atlas's "98-pound weakling?" That was me! The work was brutal. The outdoor temperature was usually in the 90s; in the airless, windowless warehouse it probably topped 100 degrees. It would take three of us to unload a trailer truck of beer, all by hand. Cases of cans or bottles would be thrown by one guy down skids to a second man who caught them and tossed them to a third person whose job it was to stack them on pallets up to the 20-foot ceiling. This was in the days before forklifts. Or maybe it wasn't. Anyway, we didn't have one at good, old XXX Beverage Company! It really didn't matter which job you had, they were all hard. Half-barrels (aluminum and 160 pounds each) and full barrels (300 pounds each and either wood or metal) were "bounced" off the truck and rolled into ice-cold refrigerators. (God help you if they "bounced" the wrong way!) Unloading a truck took a couple of hours and by the time we finished usually another one had arrived and was waiting for our attention or a driver and his helper had returned from a run and were waiting for us to load them up again. Only rarely did we have a break. In my first week on the job, I would crawl back to my rented room at the end of the day, take a shower and fall into bed without supper. The next morning I'd struggle to get up, hardly able to move because my muscles ached so much, and go back to the torture chamber for another eight hours of hell. Not only was the work almost unbearable, I was also the butt of all the jokes. My colleagues were all much bigger, much stronger, much older and much more experienced than me. Even the other two warehousemen were giants by comparison and had been working there long before I showed up. I was the puniest little pipsqueak they'd ever laid eyes on and they weren't about to let me forget it.

One guy in particular, Big Jim they called him, really had a field day with me. He taunted me at every opportunity and his jokes at my expense kept everyone in stitches. I couldn't exactly ignore him. For one thing, he was the shop steward. If I ever hoped to get into the union - which meant job-security for years to come - I had to get on with him. And secondly, I couldn't ignore him because Big Jim really was BIG, a great bear of a man, a blond bearded giant well over 6 feet tall, 250 pounds of solid muscle, with yard-wide shoulders, arms like hams, fingers like sausages. His thighs, packed into skin-tight, well-worn and torn Levi's, were literally bigger round than my waist and I'd never seen calves like his before, nor have I since. When Big Jim "bounced" barrels he didn't need a jute or rubber pillow like the rest of us, he "bounced" them off his enormous, hairy belly. Occasionally I'd catch a glimpse of his fat cock or hairy balls when a button on his jeans gave way under pressure - or did he forget to button it on purpose??? Since he didn't wear briefs, I couldn't help but notice that his cock always seemed to get bigger whenever he started razzing me. But the more he teased, the more determined I became: I was going to make it and no one, especially not Big Jim, was going to stop me! And, in fact, with every passing day I was not only getting stronger and more proficient, I was also gaining the guys' respect. Everyone's respect, I thought, but Big Jim's.

I'd been working at XXX Beverage Company for a month or so when I came in one morning and learned that Big Jim's helper had called in sick. There was some discussion as to which of the two senior warehousemen would take his place when Big Jim settled the matter by saying he wanted me. I wasn't sure whether this was a good thing or not. Suddenly I found myself telling my fellow warehousemen how to load the truck, making sure it was done right, in effect, bossing them around. It was obvious they didn't like it and I was sure this wouldn't make my life any easier when I went back to my old job. But I had no choice: right now I was working for Big Jim and that's all that mattered. What's more, I found I really wanted to please him and do things right.

When we were loaded, I got into the truck. It was an especially hot day and Big Jim was wearing cut-offs. As he crossed the lot and climbed up into the cab behind the steering wheel, I realized I was very nervous, not only because of my new job but because seeing those hairy oak-tree-like legs bare for the first time was turning me on. When he sat down I couldn't help but look over at him and discovered both his balls hanging out to the right and left of the center seam of his shorts. Big Jim caught me in the act, but said and did nothing. When we got to the first stop, a liquor store, he went in to get the key to the walk-in refrigerator. He came back, gave me the order slip and told me to start off-loading the beer. When I'd finished, he said to start bringing the cans into the box, he'd show me where to put them. After the cans came the bottles: steinies, exports, half-quarts and quarts. I did all the work. When I was finished, Big Jim went back into the store, got the owner's signature and returned to the truck with two cans of cold beer. "Drink up, kid." "But I don't drink beer," I replied. "Now you do." Not about to argue, I followed orders.

So we drove all morning from store to bar to restaurant to bar and made our deliveries. I did the work, Jim supervised. And after each stop I was given another can or bottle of beer. Our biggest delivery was just before lunch. Big Jim had planned it that way because this particular bar, he explained, made the best ham sandwiches he'd ever eaten. Free drinks and food, I was starting to learn, were some of the perks of being a driver or a driver's helper. Because I'd worked hard and was really feeling the beer, the sandwich piled high with at least twenty-five thin slices of boiled ham really hit the spot. We took over an hour to eat - I don't know how many sandwiches Big Jim put away, I managed just one - before heading back to the warehouse to unload the "empties" and get another load.

In the afternoon Big Jim saw to it that we got a choice run: local customers, less driving, bigger deliveries, more time for a beer or two. Since I wasn't used to all the drinking this was having a noticeable effect on me; none, needless to say, on Big Jim. Many of the restaurants got barrels. "Halves" were no problem, but getting full barrels off the truck in one piece was tricky for anyone, anyone, that is, but Big Jim, so here he'd take over. What a sight! He'd simply lower one gently to the ground on his giant belly and I'd roll it into the ice box. Towards the end of the afternoon, feeling pretty cocky because of all the alcohol and a whole lot less inhibited around Big Jim than I had been when we'd started out, I insisted on "bouncing" a full barrel by myself. Bemused, he stared at me as I put the rubber pillow on the ground behind the truck, tipped and rolled a wooden keg to the door, jumped down, lined it up with the pillow and then let it drop without even trying to control it. It bounced off the pillow, sprang up narrowly missing me, hit the truck's bumper and split open. It was like Old Faithful, beer shot straight up into the air and came raining down drenching me, Big Jim and a few passersby. Laughing hysterically, we rolled the barrel over to the gutter and let the rest of the beer run out. When it was empty, Big Jim tossed the barrel back on to truck and said, "Come on, kid, let's go get something to drink!"

It was nearly seven by the time we got back to the warehouse. As Big Jim said, a little overtime at time-and-a-half never hurt anyone! Everyone but the manager was gone. He took one look at us and told us to just lock up and leave the empties on the truck till morning. Big Jim asked if he could give me a lift home. Since I was fairly soused at this point, I accepted. When I got into the car he said, "Hey, I gotta better idea. Why don't you come over to my place? I can rustle up something to eat while you get a shower. I got some old jeans and a T-shirt you can wear." When we got to the house, he showed me where the bathroom was, gave me a towel and said to take my time. As I stumbled into the shower I had the biggest, hardest damn cock I'd ever had in my life! God almighty, where was all this leading to?

I'd lathered up and was allowing the steaming hot water to massage my weary body when I sensed a movement behind me. I turned around just as Big Jim stepped fully naked and erect into the tub. Without a word, he engulfed me in his Herculean arms, pressed me to his hairy chest and thrust his tongue down my throat. His colossal cock pressed into my abdomen. I'd never experienced anything like it in my life, but as soon as I'd recovered from my initial surprise I started giving as good as I was getting. Here was the guy who'd made my life a living hell for the past month making love to me! Here was the guy who for years had been the subject of my wet dreams and fantasies (without his or my knowing it, of course), the Tom of Finland drawing I'd jerked off over time and again, here he was in the flesh! And he was not only the fulfillment of all my desires, even more incredible, I was the fulfillment of his! The water beat down on us remorselessly as we passionately explored and ravished each other's bodies. Only much later, fully spent and fully sober, did we realize that it had turned ice cold in the meantime, our second shower of the day!

Our second meal together was also quite an experience. True to his word, Jim whipped up "a little something" for supper. He scrambled a dozen eggs with peppers, onions, tomatoes and Italian sausages. This he served with a whole loaf of Wonder bread - half for me, half for him, - a quart of beer for me and a quart of milk for him. I didn't have room for dessert. Just as well, because as soon as dinner was over we jumped into the sack. It was a night to remember, but you'll have to wait to hear about it because that's another story.

Waschbär