Tag Archives: manual labor

Story

The WORC Program – Part 20

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By Joshua Ryan

Spring went on. Out in the fields, it was beans, then onions, then back to beans, then three weeks digging a ditch to drain water off the level, featureless land. If you looked around, you’d believe the earth was flat after all. When I woke up in the night, I saw the long barred window at the top of the barn, and the cold stars shining behind it. Ace and Mack were rutting in the bunk ten feet away from me, but I didn’t notice it anymore. I didn’t even hear it.

Things did happen from time to time. Dax broke his arm on some machine in the canning factory and had to be taken to the vet. Who put him back in the coffle where he could keep whacking weeds, only with his other arm. One time it rained for six days and we couldn’t work, so there were a lotta fights. Even Ace got in a fight with a workie that made a joke about him. I can’t remember the joke, but I know the guy will never want to fight him again.

Continue reading The WORC Program – Part 20 →

Story

The WORC Program – Part 09

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By Joshua Ryan

The Haute Cuisine de Paris Select Tour … Mike had finally agreed to book it … I was lingering on a foggy street on the Ile Saint-Louis … Then from somewhere — some seventeenth century house? Some charming local church? — a bell was clanging. “Cmon,” Mack said. “Ain’t got all day.” He was already on his way to the shit holes, where a line had formed — a line of identical packages of rocklike muscles dressed in identical boxers and tees. A dream, and a nightmare.

I was one of the last to get to the holes, so I was glad I’d shat my guts out the night before, and all I needed to do was piss. I didn’t bother to line up for the sink. I went back to my bunk and started turning myself into the image of Mack, who had already dressed.

I can’t say they didn’t give us enough time. It was all hurry up and wait for our turn at the Chow Hall. While waiting, the workies shot the shit with each other, paying no attention to me. They weren’t interested anymore. I wasn’t new. I just stood by my bunk until Boss Web yelled, “Awright, make your line!” and we all marched off to the chow palace. Bill of fare: egg and cheese on bun, grits on the side. Hearty food! What you’d get in a fast food place, if the place was about to be closed by the health inspectors. Also a cup of coffee. No cream, no sugar, but the first coffee I’d had since I signed those papers. By the time I got through with it, I was so high that Ace came up beside me and said, “Coffee. It happened to me too. My first day. Watch your step. I don’t want you havin any accidents.”

Continue reading The WORC Program – Part 09 →

Story

The WORC Program – Part 05

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By Joshua Ryan

Needless to say, I was exhausted. I was glad that the next thing they did was to lock us back in our boxes and feed us another workie bar. I gobbled the awful thing down and fell asleep on my awful, horrible bunk.

But just because I was calling it a day didn’t mean that Boss Drum was. I don’t know when, because without any clocks or cell phones to look at I was losing track of time, but at some moment that was way too soon there was a bang on the door and a key turning in the lock, and I had to STEP OUT and LINE UP and STAND AT ATTENTION while Boss Drum introduced us to yet another workie who was appointed to order us around. This one was a young black guy, very precise in the way he talked, and he was there to “start you workies off on your on-the-job training for your future positions in life.” The name on his shirt was Grig, and our first on-the-job training was washing floors. “And I’m gonna go ahead right now and tell you about how to do that.”

Continue reading The WORC Program – Part 05 →

Story

The WORC Program – Part 01

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The WORC Program

By Joshua Ryan
Part 1

This is a story about adults, and for adults only.

It is also fiction. Any connection to real entities is purely coincidental.

 

OK, I admit it. I wasn’t a perfect boyfriend.

I guess I’d lost some interest. For one thing, Mike was 20 years older than me. Granted, he was in good condition. Nice face, nice eyes, nice hair, body still pretty much together—although I gotta say, he had about 15 pounds that he didn’t need. I’d been really interested in him at the start, and there was still something strong between us. I mean, it wasn’t like we NEVER had sex. In my way, I truly loved him.

And I knew I should be grateful to him. Mike had definitely done a lot for me. He’d put me through that last year of college, he’d got me a job afterwards, and he’d supported me totally when the job didn’t pan out. If he hadn’t paid off my debts after I quit that place, I don’t know what I would have done. I would’ve had to take some shit job, just to make ends meet. And like anybody could tell you, that wasn’t my style.

So obviously, Mike had money. Those investments of his had really paid off. Some guys have all the luck! So he could afford to bail me out that way. And I know, at his time of life, he enjoyed just having somebody staying around the house, looking nice for him when he got home.

I know he used to enjoy watching me napping by the pool, or just sitting in front of the mirror, making sure that my hair was right. It was all for him, really. A guy needs his boyfriend to take care of himself. And I wouldn’t have been half as hot if I’d had to go to some crummy office every day and miss my swim and my massage and my haircut and just worry every minute about paying my debts–when Mike had plenty of money to pay them anyway.

Continue reading The WORC Program – Part 01 →

Story

The Roommate – Part 8

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By RbbrStorage

This story originally appeared on RubberZone. It is reposted here with permission.

Less than an hour later, Matt was again sweating in rubber, but this time for the added reason that he was running on his treadmill. Tonight he had returned home to find the rubber hood he had worn the night before waiting for him once again on the laundry, along with a wide tube gag, a rubber wrestling suit, running shoes and a pair of fist mitts. It was an outfit that told Matt that he was in for an evening of exercise.

The tube gag was not for piss, but to ensure that Matt could take the deep breaths that his body would crave while he worked out. But tonight it also served to effectively prevent Matt from questioning his roommate about the events of the day. Matt no longer had any doubt that the way in which his roommate had taken over Matt’s life was connected directly with the refinery. But he still had so many questions – questions he knew that he would probably never get to ask.

The workout was followed by the standard cold shower and the standard dinner – a protein shake poured down Matt’s throat – before the plug gag was secured once again around the rubber hood. And though Matt was then desperately ready to be put to bed and catch up on his desperately needed sleep, it became apparent that his evening with his roommate was far from over. One by one, Matt’s roommate took Matt’s hands, pushed them into a fist, then inserted each inside a rubber fist mitt. Then, carefully, and with a hand firmly on Matt’s shoulders, Matt’s roommate guided him down the old rickety stairs into the cellar.

Continue reading The Roommate – Part 8 →