by Jeremy J. Watson
I’m the manager in a small factory that employs 24 people. We repair and manufacture carburetors for antique engines. Most engines don’t even have carburetors any more, but if you’re a collector of antiques, and don’t have the knowledge or equipment to fix it yourself, you’ll pay whatever it takes to get your engine running again.
Most of our guys are older machinists. They’re great, they’re smart, but they’re also set in their ways.
We needed one more man. Notice I said ‘man.’ We’re open to hiring women, it’s just that a female has never applied for the job. Normally, the guys have to be at least 40-something years old to have enough experience.
One day, a 19-year-old, a kid named Evan applied, and I almost dismissed him out of hand. If he had sent a resume first, he wouldn’t have had a chance. But he just walked in the front door, and so there was really no polite way I could avoid him.
I started asking Evan the routine questions, and he actually knew what he was talking about. Wanting to know why, I asked about his background. It turns out his father is a fairly well-known race car driver who owns his own racing team, complete with a shop in which they build their own one-off race cars and fiddle around with their collection of antique tractors, cars, and trucks. Evan had been working in his father’s shop since he was tall enough to see over the top of the workbenches. The boy had no official training, no certification, but I had a good feeling about him. Besides, it would be refreshing to have someone malleable, not an older guy who can’t be told how things should be done.
I asked why he simply didn’t go on working for his father. It seems the two of them decided together it might be a good idea for the boy to get some sense of how the rest of the world, outside of the family, works.
I hired him. I’m ashamed to admit that part of the reason is that he was so sexy. Evan is around 6’2″ tall, dark-skinned, skinny, and keeps his hair and beard neatly trimmed. There was something about his broad, flat nose, and sparkly eyes that I particularly liked. He also wore a wisp of aftershave, which I find attractive.
So I put him to work, and right from the start, he turned out to be brilliant. He was also trouble-free. With most of my guys, it’s a bit like baby sitting. They suddenly need to take time off. They get in arguments. They’re pissed off if I tell them something needs improvement. They don’t want to build this carburetor, they want to build that one. And so on. With Evan, none of that foolishness. He was refreshing.
I’m recently divorced, only having allowed myself to admit in the past couple of years it’s men who I really like. I had sexual fantasies about Evan. Oh, I’d never act on it, or so I thought!
There’s a guy my age I met on Craigslist that I play with from time to time. We don’t have a relationship, we just get together over a couple of beers, talk about stuff, then I fuck him. He’s a total bottom, and doesn’t want to fuck me. I’m mostly OK with that. I don’t know if he jerks off thinking about me or what. He gets hard, but doesn’t cum when I fuck him. I’ve offered blowjobs and handjobs, but he seems satisfied just getting it in the butt, and that’s that.
I told him about my fantasies regarding Evan. He said I ought to see whether anything could develop between me and Evan. I was like “No Way!” at the time.
As a manager, I’ve come to understand that some men like working in groups and others work alone. Fortunately, we have plenty of square feet in our shop, so over the years it has been divided into one large workroom where the gregarious guys work together, and several smaller rooms where just one or two guys work in relative silence. Evan started in the big room, but gradually came to like one of the smaller rooms better. Later I came to discover that three or four of my men were hitting on him and that’s why he moved to the smaller shop. So, some of my guys are gay or bisexual! Who knew? I really wanted names, because I was kind of delighted to find out, but was too polite to ask Evan for actual names or details.
With all the guys who work for me, I drop in a couple times a day to see how they are getting along, fulfilling what the sales department wants done, and see if they need anything from management. I try to be a friendly manager, and it seems to pay off. Of course, I dropped in on Evan, too. With him, at first, it was several times a day, so I could be sure he was getting the swing of the place. For instance, you don’t just blow off a part with compressed air anywhere. Eventually, it would get gunk on the walls, the floors, and so on. We have a special ‘dirty’ room for that.
Anyway, our conversations became more and more friendly. I liked his sense of humor, and like a teenager, I kind of played into that. He didn’t seem to mind that I was more than three times as old as him. Sometimes, conversations turned rather raunchy. That was always on my part. I’d say something of a sexual nature, maybe even leaning toward the gay side, such as talking about testicle massage, and he’d be like, “OK.” I mean, he didn’t really contribute, but seemed to enjoy whatever I had to say. Perhaps he was getting an understanding that I was gay. Either he was OK with that, or so polite that he just went with it. I was starting to wonder about his orientation, kind of hoping… Well, you know.
One time, I brought up the subject of nude beaches, mentioning I had been to some, and he said something I didn’t expect. He said he ‘likes’ nude beaches. Now I didn’t press it. I didn’t know whether he’d actually been to a nude beach at his age or not, nor whether he was just kind of agreeing with me, or whether he was really a nudist at heart. But my heart skipped a beat, I can tell you that!
Oh, and this conversation was after a previous one in which he defended gay rights in an off-hand way. I noticed he’s never mentioned a girlfriend. Hmmm, might Evan be gay?
One day, about 4pm, my good sense was trumped by my foolishness, and I just came right out and said to Evan, “I’m going to the nude beach after work. Wanna join me?”
I figured he’d laugh it off, or decline politely. I was hoping he wouldn’t be offended or worse. I mean, he’d already left the big room for being hit upon. Might this drive him to quit or worse, claim sexual harassment? But no, he quite enthusiastically said, “Sure!”
Where we live on the coast, we have warm summers, and many long beaches. One beach is actually two beaches. The north side is a ‘regular’ nude beach. Around some rocks that sometimes jut out into the high tide and so have to be climbed over, is the southern ‘gay’ beach. I’ve been to both sides. On the regular beach, only about half the people are naked and they tend to congregate around the northern end of the northern beach. Farther down are six volleyball nets, and nudists congregate there. Nothing of a sexual nature ever happens on that beach, that I know of.
Now the gay beach is an entirely different story. There are a few little alcoves in the rocks. They’re almost caves, and sometimes high tides brings in nice, clean sand, so they are good, shady, cool places to hang out. You often see guys there standing at an alcove entrance for all to see proudly displaying big erections, sometimes stroking them a bit. Once your eyes adjust to the shade, you can see into the alcoves as you walk by, and you can rarely, but sometimes see guys in more doing sexual acts involving two, three, or more people, mostly men. Interestingly, there are some women who come to this beach as well, and I’ve seen them get quite sexual at times, although most just sort of idly rub their vaginas as they sun themselves on towels, while watching the guys. One time a slightly plump, but very attractive Asian woman was fingering her ass with about a dozen guys standing over her and jerking off. But that’s another story.
So, we jumped in the car and after a mile, I explain the two sides situation to Evan, that there’s a straight beach and a gay beach. Trying not to sound shaky, or high-pitched due to a sort of nervousness, I asked Evan, “Which beach would you prefer?”
I was willing to go with whatever he wanted. Just to see this guy nude would be a treat in itself. Instead of answering, he asked me more about the two sides. Mainly, he wanted to know, “Where would a bisexual person be most happy?”
“The gay side.” I said as my heart did a flip-flop.
“Let’s go there.”
So we pull into the parking lot, and take the long walk through the bushes and rocks down to the sand, carrying our towels, and a couple of beers I picked up along the way. We hadn’t even hit the beach yet – we were still thirty feet away, and Evan stopped, and took off all his clothes! Holy mackerel! I followed his lead, and we finished our walk down to the beach, and threw down the towels I had brought, and bunched up clothing. There were probably around 25 guys spread out across the beach. No women this time, which I was happy about.
I had some sun screen and offered to put it on Evan. He accepted.
I started by putting it on his back, his arms, his legs, and then, I was bold enough to put it on his neck, cheeks and forehead. Seeing that this ddin’t bother Evan, I then put some on his butt, and making a quick joke about how everything needs protecting these days, I went so far as to start coating his scrotum and his uncircumcised dick with suntan lotion.
And he became hard. And I became hard.
He then grabbed the little bottle and said that he had to protect me from the sun also. His application of the lotion was slower and much more sensual than mine. When he got to my dick, I squirted almost right away, like an adolescent kid. That was kind of embarrassing. By this time, there were around six guys watching us from a discreet distance. Two of them were just openly wanking as they were standing about 20 feet away.
I knew what I had to do, and I was all too glad to do it: I started a proper and grand massage on Evan as he laid face down on his towel. First his upper legs and butt. Then some good work on his back, neck and shoulders. I had him flip over, and there he was with that wonderful penis of his sticking straight up. The thing had to be 8 inches, if it was anything at all, where as my circumcised thing is only about six inches. I couldn’t help myself. I was supposed to continue the massage with his arms, belly, chest and all that, but instead, I just wrapped my fist around that thing and went to work. He held on for quite a while, with a lot of squirming, butt raising, ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, but then he ejaculated several nice big squirts several inches into the air, landing on my fist and on his belly.
Knowing a thing or two about this sort of activity, I didn’t stop stroking him. Instead, I became very slow and gentle, watching his physiology to see if he was still enjoying it. He was! I took my time, but then, after a while, I had built up to some good, earnest stroking again. I was hoping for a second ejaculation, but that didn’t happen. Evan finally had his fill after perhaps ten minutes of post-orgasm stroking, when he started to go soft.
I looked up and we still had quite a crowd. By this time, about six guys had gathered quite close. One was smiling intently, and he looked familiar. I didn’t know who he was until Evan said “Hi, Thomas.”
Oh my God. It was Thomas, one of my machinists. I hadn’t recognized him without a jumpsuit and hat on. I had no idea that I’d ever see him at a place like this! I felt a whole range of emotions all at once. First, I was chagrined, embarrassed, like a boy being caught doing something naughty by the school principle. But I also realized if Thomas was here, he wasn’t exactly ‘innocent’ himself. I also notice he was holding his erection with one hand. I guess watching Evan and I (me!) got him excited. That was some interesting news! So, at the same time, I felt a sudden new kinship with Thomas, and made a mental note to talk with him at length about, well, everything! Maybe he and I can become playmates of some sort.
For Evan and I, that was our first, and so far, only time together. He and I have both agreed that we don’t want to make a ‘thing’ of this. On the other hand we’ve decided, it is not going to be a one-off. We’ll do it again, we’ll do more, much more, but we’re in no hurry.
Here’s the one thing I keep thinking about all the time. He told me: I’m the most attractive guy he’s ever seen. Even though it can’t be true, with me being just an ordinary-looking guy, I’m so happy he thinks so!
Wow, I just had a thought: What if Thomas, Evan and I, maybe a couple of the other guys from the shop, got together to play? I could easily imagine something like a Thursday evening machinist’s orgy.