By Joshua Ryan
The month or so before I was supposed to graduate, the tension was building. I was studying for final exams and also getting letters from colleges saying I was either in or out. I dealt with that stuff kind of in the background. Mainly I went around lookin at all the things in my life like, pretty soon, I’m never gonna see you again. My friends, my school, the house where I grew up — they were like, in the past already. My dad and my brother had been like that for quite a while, and they seemed to feel the same about me. I mean, they had this look like, “Are you still around?” I guess we were never a real close family.
I’d been dreading all these things that happen at the end of high school — like, proms and yearbooks and graduation ceremonies and so forth — but they were in the past too. I just did them. Although I didn’t go to the prom — none of the guys asked me! LOL! But I did put on the robes and march in the graduation ceremony. Of course I was thinking, these people think that WORKIES look like clowns!
Then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to do except hang around the house, and my dad finally said, “Did you answer those colleges?” Because two colleges offered to let me in, so if I wanted to go I should sign some forms. That’s when I told him no, I still wanted to be a workie, and we had another fight. But it wasn’t as long and as hard as the first one, cuz by that time he didn’t really like me. A workie wasn’t a son. And actually, he was right, cuz workies never see their families or talk to them. So he finally said, “All right. I can’t stop you. I hope you’ll be happy.” So I said, “Thanks, Dad.” But there wasn’t any hugging or crying. He just said, “When are you leaving?” which might mean that he was wondering when he could start using my bedroom for something else! Or maybe that’s just the way I felt. Anyway, I told him I wasn’t sure; I knew I had to take a physical and get final approval from the Center. I put it that way — I never mentioned Mr. Hamilton, cuz I didn’t want anybody to know where I’d be doing my service. But I told him I thought it would be soon. He didn’t say anything after that.
What I was wondering was, here it’s the end of May, and I haven’t heard anything from the Center, so should I be calling to tell them I’d graduated, hurray!, or just wait for them to contact me. I was shy about calling. I didn’t want to do anything that might be outta line. I really HATE decisions like that! I rode around on my bike, deciding I’d call and then deciding I wouldn’t call … And what if it turned out I wasn’t hearing from them because the whole thing fell through somehow! And I’d have to tell my dad, sorry, I’m not doin it after all — I’ve been rejected. That would be so horrible…! But anyway, just when I thought I was really about to call, here was a text from the Center: “Your physical examination is scheduled with Philip Lessing MD, 434 Brooks, Tuesday, May 31, at 11:00 a.m.” May 31 was tomorrow!
Brooks Street wasn’t that far, but somehow my bike got me there half an hour early. I didn’t want to be late! Typical doctor’s waiting room. Two young guys in there already. Nice looking, so I started a conversation. They knew each other. Found out they were waiting for another doctor, but they were both doing physicals. One of them was doing it for his sports team at school and the other was doing it for one of those adventure things in some weird country. So what was I having an exam for?
“I’m joining the WORC Program.”
“What did you say?”
“The WORC Program. I’m gonna be a workie.”
Both of them sorta leaned away from me.
“Dude! Did you get sentenced or somethin?” “Yeah dude. What went wrong?”
“Nope. I just wanta be a workie.”
End of conversation. They didn’t say anything for a while, and after that they went back to chatting with each other. Sort of interesting, getting my first whiff of shame!
Nothing much to say about the exam. Pretty thorough, had to take my clothes off. Although when you do that in a doctor’s office they always put something over you or around you or whatever, so it isn’t any fun being naked, the way it was in Mr. Sinclair’s office. I did notice that Dr. Lessing, who was just this ordinary 40-something guy, wasn’t treating me much like a patient. Even when he asked me questions, they were more like orders, and he was all “Stand here” or “Hold your arm still,” not “Stand over here please” or “Hold your arm still for a moment, Noah.” And when he made his notes on the computer I could see a big WORC CANDIDATE at the top of the screen, with my name Burns, Noah right under it. So he was treating me like a workie too. At the end it was “That’s all, Burns. Report goes to WORC.” And I was out the door.
I was feeling real good now, like definitely this was gonna happen. So that was on a Tuesday, and I knew I’d pass the physical, cuz what problems did I have? But until I was actually in a workie suit — wow! what a fuckin thought! — there was always that possibility that something would go wrong. Every time I went to the store or something, my dad was lookin at me like, “Is this the end of him?”, and I really didn’t have anything to do except get worried and jittery, so I did! But I should have had more faith, because on Friday my phone buzzed and it was a text that said, “A Report for Service message has been sent to your email address.”
Wow! Wow! This is it! I jumped on my email, and this was the message from Mr. Sinclair: “Congratulations, Noah. Your physical shows you in good health, we have obtained your proof of graduation, and Mr. Hamilton has directed us to proceed with your induction, training, and assignment to Hamilton Farms. I assume that this is still your intention. The attached document provides directions for you to follow. If you have questions, let me know.”
Now I was INCREDIBLY excited. My finger POUNDED the download button, and there was my
REPORT FOR SERVICE NOTIFICATION
Noah Isaac Burns, WORC Program volunteer:
You are scheduled to report for service in the Work Options for Recovery and Correction Program. Your reporting location will be the WORC Recruiting Center, 3115 Overland Road. Your reporting time will be Friday, June 10, at 4 p.m. Your reporting officer will be Mr. Frederick Sinclair. At that time you will sign a standard contract, committing yourself to permanent supervision by the Program. Immediately following your signature, you will be admitted to the Reception and Processing Unit of the Center.
You must arrange transport to the Center so that no vehicles are left in the parking lot of the Center or on surrounding streets. Any such vehicles will be impounded by the police. Farewells to family or friends should be arranged before your arrival on the premises.
DO come to the Center carrying proof of your identity. This must be government issued picture ID, such as passport or driver’s license.
DO NOT come to the Center carrying such personal items as toiletries, currency, credit cards, family pictures, cell phones, or other electronic devices. These items, if present, will be discarded by the Program. Clothing should be simple and easily disposable. Any articles of clothing you find necessary to wear or carry with you will be shipped (package rate) to a person designated by yourself, or, in lieu of that provision, become property of the State. As a participant in the WORC Program, you will be provided with requisite clothing and hygiene supplies for the remainder of your service.
Your first days in the Program will be stressful. In preparation, you should get adequate sleep and avoid consuming any drugs or alcoholic beverages.
You are strongly advised to settle any financial or business affairs in the time remaining before joining the Program. No business affairs may be conducted thereafter. In lieu of specific arrangements to the contrary, all assets of participants in the program are by law automatically transferred to next of kin or legal designee(s).
RECEPTION AND PROCESSING:
After your entrance into the Program, you will spend approximately three days in training in the Reception and Processing Unit. At the conclusion of the training period, your service will be available to potential lessees. You will remain in the Unit until you are leased out or you are chosen for service in an enterprise of the State.
YOUR LIFE IN WORC:
As a participant in WORC you will be guaranteed healthy food, appropriate clothing, secure and sufficient housing, state funded medical care, useful employment, and firm guidance throughout your period of service. You will not be permitted to exit or be removed from the Program except by mutual agreement of the Program and you. In return for your maintenance and security, you will be required to comply immediately with all regulations and orders issued to you. These regulations and orders are intended to ensure a healthy, safe, and productive life for you and all with whom you come in contact. Guidance and discipline will be provided in response to any misconduct.
State law authorizes participants in the Program to communicate only with lessees and officers of the Program or persons authorized by them. Communication with former family or acquaintances is strictly prohibited. In the interests of privacy and security, public access to information about participants is strictly prohibited, and participants are considered “legally dead” and immune from civil suit. You will “start fresh,” with a permanent assurance that your needs for food, clothing, housing, healthcare, guidance, security, and productive work will be met. Your ability to profit from these guarantees will depend on your willingness to adapt to your new way of life.
Any questions should be directly immediately to your Reporting Officer, specified above.
When I read that, my heart was beating so fast, I thought maybe the doctor was wrong about my being in such good health! And during the next seven days — WHY did I have to wait so long? — it just kept happening. I’d ask my dad to pass the butter, and my hands would start shaking as soon as I grabbed the dish! Of course, all I could think about was this huge thing that was gonna happen in just … 168 hours, 101 hours, 32 hours, 24 hours! Maybe I should meet some of my friends for the last time? But I was too nervous. Nothing but long walks and hot jerks!
I did clean up my room — sorta! And I wrote a note for my dad. Just to say that this was it — thanks for everything, and I’m checking into WORC now. Friday afternoon — good, he was down at his business. Then I called one of those rideshare things. I never wanted to spend money on that before, but what the hell! I wouldn’t need money after today. Kind of a young dude, and the car smelled like weed. “How’s your day goin for ya?” and so on. When we got to the address I gave him, he said, “Sorry, I musta got you wrong. This is the WORC place.” “Yeah!” I said. “I’m joinin up!” Man, you shoulda seen the look on his face! You know, there’s lotsa guys that act like, hey, whatever you wanta do, that’s fine with me — until you do something like that. After he let me out, he couldn’t peel outta there fast enough.
I didn’t want to be late, so of course I was early, but I didn’t wanta just sit, so I walked around outside for a while. The place was larger than I thought before, just from parking my bike and goin in the front door. Most of it was this big warehouse thing, all concrete and basically no windows, and a parking lot out back that was all fences and razor wire, and you couldn’t see in, unless you went off the sidewalk and peered through the fence, and maybe you couldn’t see through it even then. Anyway, I didn’t want to go off the sidewalk and maybe get yelled at, before I was even a workie! Which by my phone looked like about five minutes! Yeah, I forgot the instructions and brought my phone. I wondered if they’d yell at me about that! So I hustled back and got inside the lobby and gave my name, and I hadn’t been sitting for more than a couple of minutes — you know, sort of looking down at my hands while they clenched and unclenched — when I heard “Mr. Burns, Mr. Sinclair will see you now.”
Mr. Sinclair gave me a little smile and asked me to sit down and said he needed to see my government issued picture ID, because that was the rules. So I whipped out my wallet and took out my driver’s license and he took it, but he didn’t give it back. Then he said I was lucky, everything seemed to have worked out the way I wanted it. “Oh yeah!” I said. “I’m actually … Thank you for all your help!”
“Just doing my job,” he said. “So — You know why you’re here, Noah.”
“And you read all the way through your Report for Service.”
“And you realize that the commitment you’re about to make is permanent and irrevocable.”
“Those are pretty big words!”
I said that, but then he looked at me like, maybe this isn’t the right time for a joke. Of course, I did NOT want to do anything that would make him start thinking I was crazy after all and then “void the sale,” like my father said when he had problems with a customer. So I said, “Sorry, Mr. Sinclair. Yes, I do. And I do know what they mean. Those words.” I was starting to babble. Gotta watch that.
“Then this is it, Noah. I’ll print out your Contract and Commitment form. While I’m doing that, just go ahead and empty your pockets for me. I mean, take out your wallet and your change or your keys or whatever else you’ve got in there. I see you’ve brought your cell phone. Just pull that out too. Drop it all on that side of the desk.”
So there went my phone and my wallet and my credit cards and some change and a comb and so on. I was just wearing jeans and a polo, so I wasn’t like, carrying a lot with me. Still, it was weird to see my stuff laying there on this other guy’s desk. Oh well!
“Your clothing will be sent to your designee,” he said. “Which is your father, right?” The form was coming out of the printer, and he looked at a page and read off my dad’s name and address. “Is that the place?”
Another thing I guess I forgot — at some point I was gonna have to get rid of my clothes. “That’s right,” I said. “That’s where he lives.”
He stacked the pages and stapled them together. Then he pushed them across the desk to me. “Here’s the form, Noah. Signature on the final page.” He opened it to the page and pointed to the blank line at the end. “You may read through the document if you wish.”
Of course, nobody reads through a document with a million words in it. He put a pen on the desk and I picked it up. I lingered for a moment, just listening to my heart thumping. Then I signed.
I don’t know what I expected — maybe confetti and balloons! LOL! But he just got on his phone and said, “All right, he’s ready.” Then he put the phone back in his pocket and said, “OK, Noah, welcome to the Program.” I was gonna say something, but two guys in officer uniforms were already in the room. “This is Burns?” one asked. Mr. Sinclair said yes. Then the first officer said, “Stand up, Burns,” and the second one said, “Put your hands behind your back.” They handcuffed me like that and took me out of the room. Last glimpse of Mr. Sinclair. He’d gone back to his computer.
Of course that was the first time I’d ever been handcuffed, and it was quite a surprise! At first not a good surprise! But then I realized — I was totally in custody now, and they were definitely gonna do what they were there to do for me, which was to make me a workie! They would fix me up completely, and there was no way I could get out of it, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t! So a couple hours later I’d been stripped out of my “civvies” — “Get them civvies off you, kid” — and fitted with my collar with my workie number on the front — 35571 — and locked in my storage box with my first workie bar to chew on! Not exactly hamburger and fries. But I got it down and laid back on my bunk and put one hand on my collar and felt the little rough place where my number was stamped, and you know where the other hand went! BEST jerk of my WHOLE life!
The next day was even better, because of all the things that happened. I didn’t know they’d yell at me all the time and run me around the place, buck naked, with my junk bouncin up and down, or tell me to go nuts to butts with the other workies they were processing. There were two of them, and one of them was overweight, despite not being that old — not way overweight but enough so the boss workie was always yellin at him and tellin him to move his fat ass and sayin he’d have to start losin that pork if he wanted anybody to buy him, except for landfill. And wow! I didn’t realize I’d start right off bein bossed by other workies! Which just made it even clearer, my new life was gonna be more totally different than anything I’d ever imagined. Also, when you’re bossed, you’re secured. Somebody’s watchin you. And when you’ve got layers of bosses above you — you’re even more secured. Was that why my dick was gettin happier all the time?
Anyway, the other new workie was hot, and I didn’t mind puttin my junk in his ass! Or the other way around! Which occurred to me — this was the first time I’d ever actually touched a guy’s junk, or even his ass. Except for those pats in gym class, when we played soccer. But maybe they don’t count — LOL! So how great is that! All this stuff happening to me at once, and it’s all totally new!
Anyway, they ran us in to see the vet, which is what they call the doctor — people go to doctors, workies go to vets. And HE turned out to be a workie! I was sorry he was so sad and grumpy, though. “Hold still! Stop fidgeting! I told you to hold still!” That’s the way he talked to me. Interesting … More interesting — news flash! I got paddled! My first taste of “guidance and discipline,” like they said in my Order to Report.
It was because I got caught tryin to talk to the hot dude. Right away the boss pulled me over and told me to grab my ankles and blam! the paddle hit me. The first hit didn’t actually hurt very much, but it built up, and by the time he finished with me I was cryin like a baby and he was tellin me, “That’ll teach you to keep your big mouth shut!” But I was thinking, maybe it won’t! Cuz I like to talk! And I noticed that my cock was stickin out like a fuckin PIPE! So there was something it liked! I’d never really been shamed before, except when my dad yelled at me sometimes, but that’s just your dad yelling, it’s not the other kids even, but this was gettin my butt beat by a workie in front of a bunch of other workies, even the guy with the big fat ass. And I was crying, so that made the shame twice as bad — and I guess it made my prick twice as happy!
So there was lotsa brand new sex stuff to learn about — but the biggest thing was losing my hair! Which they took off with a chemical thing in the showers. When you walk in, you’ve got hair on your legs and your chest and your head, of course, AND your junk; when you walk out, you’ve got NOTHIN! I mean NOTHIN! No eyebrows, even. I saw the other two dudes lookin at me, and it was the first time in my life when somebody saw me and got this expression like, “Help! It’s Frankenstein!” Cuz everybody saw what had happened to him just by lookin at the other dudes. I did too, and wow!
Then I reached up and whoa! It’s true! Ain’t got no eyebrows anymore! I looked down, and my dong actually looked like a BIG fuckin pipe! I guess because there was nothin around it anymore. Also because, if you’re me, you’re always so hard that you’re ready for that pipe to start gushin! Comin outta Showers there’s a mirror, and I wished they weren’t marchin us around, cuz I coulda stood in front of that thing all day. I thought I looked just like Butch! If I’d been able to see what he had under that uniform!
So, back in the box again, and who’s lonely when he’s got this fabulous BIG dick and a thousand happy memories! Came once, waked up later and came again. Twice as much fun now.
Next day, nothin really new, but how much can you ask for? Can’t be new all the time. Though they did make us do this real shameful work, like scrubbin floors with nothin but a little handbrush, so you gotta squirm around on the floor and you’re naked and your dong is rubbin the suds. I liked that kinda shame too! Made it definite — I was what I was. When I was out on the street, somebody could look at me and say, “Oh, that’s a nice young guy, probly about to start college.” They couldn’t see what was inside — I was startin to be a workie. Even I couldn’t always see that. But now, there wasn’t any doubt. Another thing about working like that — you do it and you do it, and pretty soon, your head is empty. Nothing’s there! No worries, no cares. If you wonder what to do, boss comes along with some guidance. I got paddled again, only not so many strokes. This time cuz I missed a spot. That’s just what my dad called little penny ante stuff. Just to keep you awake. It did, too.
I was figuring how to talk to the other workies without gettin caught, and I did get some chat time in. I found out that the hot guy was a teacher that was just outta college for a year or two and he got busted for passing drugs to some students, because he liked them, and they asked, and “I guess I was lonely,” but they were 17 or something, and he was given a choice — prison, and maybe workieville after that, or workieville now. So that’s what he chose. “Last choice you’ll ever need to make,” I told him, but I guess he didn’t like to hear that, because afterwards he like, basically, wouldn’t talk to me anymore. So that night I didn’t fantasize about him, I just grabbed my collar and thought about how great my life was being! Same results as before! So fuck you, teach! I don’t care how hot you are! But it was fun being down on my knees scrubbin floors with a teacher. Like we were suddenly equals. Which we were!
OK, so now things were movin fast, cuz I was gonna be the first workie outta there. The other two weren’t sold yet, but I was. I was PRE-sold! So on day four they picked me up off of the floor I was swabbing and put me in the shower and then it was time to go to Outfit and put on my workie suit! Which was extreme! Because you look at that thing, and you realize — I’m gonna be wearin that suit for the rest of my life! And it’s the same suit that every other workie wears! So one minute, you’re this little guy with a big dong or whatever, like mine, and it’s shaped in a certain way and it has a certain color, and that’s just your dong, cuz every part of you is different from the parts on every other guy, but then you put on that suit and – FUCK! you’re exactly the same. And you’re totally not the dude that was standing there five minutes before. So it’s like a miracle!
When I first saw my suit, I was just blown away by the whole thing. It was exactly what I’d been wanting all that time, and it reminded me of Butch and so on, but when you touch it and smell it, and it’s so strong and heavy and different smelling and feeling from anything you ever dressed up in …. I can’t describe it. If you can just figure out how to deal with those buttons on your crotch! I mean, you keep reachin for that zipper that just ain’t there. And the boots. Those definitely take some gettin used to! But there’s nothing like feeling that shitkickin steel in your toes! Even though it makes it hard for you to walk, right away.
I was all trembly and shaky when I was putting it on. And I’d actually forgot — my suit would have my NAME on it! The new name that my owner would give me. It would say on my chest, “So and So, AT YOUR SERVICE.” I was so excited and like, confused, that I didn’t even look for my name, I just went for the undies first, because they were the stuff on top, and it wasn’t until I had my shorts on and my t-shirt on and my pants on and my sox on and my boots on, and now I’m gettin the buttons on my shirt open so I can get into that, I remembered! and I finally, actually LOOKED at the front of the shirt. And there it was:
MY NAME IS
WORC NO. 35571
AT YOUR SERVICE
So that’s the name Mr. Hamilton gave me — Lucky! The $40,000 made me proud, but that made me even prouder. And he was SO right! I was SO lucky!
OK, after Outfit I stood out on the loading dock with a WORC cop next to me, and some guy named Mr. Lyons came out and talked to the two dudes from the Farms that were gonna be taking me there, and they put me on a leash and led me to a truck that had a cage on it and put me in the cage and drove me out to the Farms. It was a nice day and there were lots of people in the streets, and naturally I got a lot of attention, which I never did before, but that’s something that being a workie does for you, it really changes your life. We even drove past my high school, but it was summer so the only kids that were out there were some guys taking summer school, and they must have been having a break because some of them were sitting out on the steps. So they pointed at me and laughed and one of them yelled “Take it to the dump!” Which I thought, you know, here’s these dudes taking extra classes or making up classes or whatever, just so they can check some boxes and get into a college where they can check some more boxes and try to get a job, and check some more boxes so they can get promoted, so they can pay more taxes or whatever, but I’ve already got it all taken care of, and I don’t have to sit around and bullshit with a lotta other kids like that.
So then I was enjoying the trip out to the Farms, because maybe I wouldn’t ever see any of that stuff again. Although when we got there, that’s when things went south.
To be continued …