Tag: work

Shovelwork

He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting.

“You feelin’ okay about ya work, Igo?” Lem asked once they got into it. He had a bottle of wine in hand — he kept wine in a cold box outside their heated area and saved it for special occasions. He drank from it, then pushed it upon Igo. “I seen you keepin’ up with them in the shovel room.”
“It is hard work! My shoulders are very tired,” Igo said. He opened his mouth to say more but caught eye of Buck’s club-like dick resting on the floor between Buck’s legs — Buck was sitting splay-legged to air out his balls, which was disgusting, Igo thought — as Lem’s foot ventured to it and Lem picked it up with his toes. He tried gripping the skin on the top of it, but he couldn’t get it up more than a few inches before it slipped out.
“Yeah, man, shovelwork is fuckin’ awful,” Lem said. His eyes were trained on his toes trying to pick up Buck’s shaft. “I did that on my first contract. You nevuh done shovelwork, Buck?”
Buck shook his head. “When I gots here-” He paused as Lem almost got his dick up with his toes, then it slipped out of his foot-grasp again. “Mistuh Chow said he ain’t want me doin’ shovel stuff on account of my ass bein’ tall and big and shit, and he say he need tall guys in the access chamber, and plus I prolly get hit in the head wit’ them shovels.”
“Oh yeah, yeah, they hit me couple times, hurts like hell,” Lem said. He was focused on picking up Buck’s dick with his toes, which distracted him from what he was saying. “And you… taller ‘an me… Buckums.”
Igo couldn’t tear his eyes away from that. Buck’s dong jiggled like jello as Lem slowly perfected curling his toes around the skin atop it. He finally got it up, slowly, gripping the skin tightly. Buck and Igo both sucked in their breath, Buck exuberantly but Igo with shock and disgust.
Lem finally had it up as high as he could, and then he made to sort of bump it in the air — making Igo shy away — and move his foot to the underside of it, so it landed like a flabby sausage on the top of his off-brown foot.
All three cheered, as all three realized they had gotten distracted from the game. Buck and Lem held cards in their hands, and more were spread out on the blanket in front of them.
Lem didn’t keep Buck’s dong on his foot. The whole reason he had started doing that was to see if he could get his foot close to Buck’s balls, so he could yell “balltap!” and kick him in the cojones. He did so and got Buck harder than he meant to. Buck yowled in pain and laughed, leaning back and gripping his balls to protect them from his foot.
“Owwwww, fuck, Lem, fuck-!” He kicked in the direction of Lem but didn’t really aim it. In this tiny space, it was hard to miss, but it was only a glancing blow to the meat of Lem’s hip, as he twisted away. “Makin’ my… balls achin’! Aw, fuck!”
Buck jumped up, and his dick flopped near Igo’s face. He backed off quietly. Buck paced in the tiny space — he could only take a few steps back and forth — as he held his sore balls. “Ow, shit! Lem, I nevuh hit ya balls that hard!”
Lem laughed. “I ain’t mean it, I ain’t mean to hit ’em that hard-” He held his hands up then went back to protecting his own balls. “Don’t — I ain’t mean to-“
“Fuck!” Buck roared and stamped his feet.
“I ain’t mean to kick that hard, sorry, sorry,” Lem said. He was still laughing too hard to sound genuine. “I ain’t mean to.” Then he did a horsey version of Buck’s Appalachian drawl. “Leeeeehm-uh, you’s mayahkin’ muh bawwwhhhls buh ayahkin! Ayahkin!”
“I don’t say it like that-! Fuck you, Lem!”
“Mah baaaaaaawwwhls iz ayahkin like baaaayahkin-“
Buck was laughing too now, as the pain in his balls eased. He had to admit that was funny — he had a comedic soft spot for guys getting hit in the balls. He still held them in his hand, his dong still dangling free. He bent over a little, realizing only too late that that put his hairy ass near Igo’s face. “Oh, my bad, Igo-“
“Shove somethin’ in there, Igo!” Lem said with a howl. “Just grab whatevuh you got ovuh there. He always used ta put his ass in my face till I jammed a handheld radio in his booty.” He made a little psst sound. “Went right up there. Nevuh came out.”

From Buck the Roughneck

Rig E19

The oil rig was loud and dirty and somehow both hot and cold at the same time. It was all right angles and grimy corners, pipes belching steam. Unpainted steel, the smell of cigarette butts and spilled gasoline. Lift this, screw that, loosen those, tighten these. It was all so pointless. It was ugly. It looked ugly, it smelled foul, it sounded alien and harsh and hateful, it felt anodyne and sterile, and the air tasted of poison and loneliness.

From Graham the Lover

Their home was at one end of a long hall. It wasn’t a real barrack, it was a dead-end hall with a disused first-aid clinic in it. They done bunk down here cuz it was more private and roomy than the barracks, and this whole part of the rig was mostly unused. Rig E19 was made for a bigger workforce than it required — automation at work, factories on autopilot, solar power smokestacks be colliding hadrons, barcodes as the Mark of the Beast, black holes for souls, this nigga knows which way the wind blows! — so Lem and Steel shacked up in this big empty dead-end away from the resta the rig. They done set up curtains where they living area began.

From Steel the Roughneck

Steel spread out the blankets on the floor to provide insulation. Covering up the cold steel would help bunches, he thought. The remaining blankets he hung up on the outside wall with duct tape. It got cold as hell — Rig E19 was in the North Pacific, near Alaska. Santa Claus wouldn’t even go here. Rudolph’d go on strike for sure. For sure! That outside wall faced the cold Pacific seaspray, so it was icy as a snooty bitch. The blankets was thin, but they would do for now.
The resta the rig was cold, but the living areas was all heated and done up with blankets and even more space-heaters. It was toasty as toast in there. Fresh out the toaster!

From Steel the Roughneck

This rig was built for more workers than there were — lots of the job had been automated in recent years — so whole wings were no longer used. Mr. Chow said they could bed down wherever they wanted. Buck and Lem chose a corridor that dead-ended at a disused room. They claimed everything from the intersection with another corridor to the dead-end, and they used the extra room for storage. The dead-end was curtained off with sheets and done up with extra mattresses, pillows and space heaters.
He tapped the sheet being used as a curtain. A mat lay right there, like a welcome mat but Mason knew Lem well enough to know it’s real purpose — there were peanut shells under the mat. Lem and Buck stepped over the mat when coming in and out of the dead-end. If anybody snuck in when they were gone, the shells would be smashed under the mat, and they’d know someone had been there without permission. Mason stepped over the mat.

From Roughnecks Got Oral Needs!

Most nights, Buck and Lem showered with each other. This was the winter contract, which was understaffed — more than half of the roughnecks here a couple days ago had left during their leave. Buck didn’t realize how many fewer workers there would be. That was because, Lem explained, the rig was less efficient in the winter, and Mr. Chow actually lost money pumping oil until it warmed up. He kept it going regardless because otherwise the rig would fall apart and be inoperable in the spring, but it continued with a skeleton crew mainly tasked with maintenance. The drill did run, and oil was pumped, but only the minimum needed every day to ensure smooth operation.
Otherwise it was a lot of cleaning, inventory, weatherproofing, organizing, etc. It was intensely boring and not much work. The chill was intense in the unheated corridors now that it was winter. Buck got a thrill out of walking to the shower every night, which he still did in his briefs and sandals (though he now wore his sandals with two pairs of socks). He thought it was hilarious how steamy his chest was, and it set his heart racing. Most night it was literally cold enough to take his breath away, and he could barely breathe the whole way to and from the shower.
Lem did not do that. He was leaner and lankier than Buck, and like the other roughnecks, Lem wore several layers of clothes in the corridors. So Buck got naked in the showers in seconds, while Lem lazily undressed and smoked a cigarette (which he did only to annoy Buck, because Buck kept hassling him about hurrying up).

From Buck the Roughneck

He and Lem got to know each other as they shared a living space — not a real barrack or even a room, they claimed a disused dead-end corridor. They hung up sheets and blankets and towels to make a wall blocking off the dead-end from the rest of the rig, and they covered the floor with mattresses and pillows. With enough space heaters, it made a cozy home fer a nine-month contract.

From Buck the Trailer Trash

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Buck was sprawled out on the “bed” — just a stack of pillows and cushions and blankets on the floor. That was where they both slept. They used their bunks for storage.
That’s because sleeping on the floor was more comfortable than the bunks. For Buck, the main reason was that he was six-foot-eleven, and the bunks were seven-feet-long exactly. He had to squeeze in, couldn’t stretch his legs, couldn’t raise his arms, couldn’t sit up without banging his head, and getting out was an awkward and ungainly struggle.
The other big reason was that rig E19 was as cold as a witch’s clit. It was in the North Pacific, and it was cold enough that the inner decks — which were exposed to the water — grew gardens of icicles. The bunks were built into the walls of the corridors, and the corridors were mostly unheated.
A few corridors were heated thoroughly, which was where Mr. Chow told them all to bunk. He let them choose though, and Buck and Lem preferred the privacy of the dead end. They rigged it up with blankets and pillows and space heaters — Mr. Chow provided plenty of space heaters — which gave off enough warmth for the both of them.
The space heater made the bunks much too hot. Some of the other roughnecks jerry-rigged up a system to aim the space heaters indirectly, but it was tough to find a good temperature in those little bunks. If the heat was aimed directly in, the bunk turned sweltering. If the heat was aimed elsewhere, the bunk froze solid. Most of the living areas were, like the dead end, set off with makeshift walls made of blankets and cardboard.
Nobody came to this dead end. There was a door marked “clinic”, but inside was just a bunch of old toolboxes and stacks of rotting first-aid gear. That was all there was, aside from six bunks, in this dead end.
That meant they could string up blankets to form a wall, making the dead-end corridor a room. The corridor itself was narrow, but the bunks were like shelves, and the clinic-cum-closet provided extra space. They kept the door open, so Buck’s feet could aim that way. He had plenty of room to stretch.
The blanket-wall insulated the “room” from the cold corridor, and it was heated by space heaters.
The one downside was that the bathroom was far away. They kept a piss bottle, but dookies required hotfooting it down the glacier-like steel hallway to the nicely heated bathroom. That was where they showered too.

From Buck the Roughneck

Craving the nigga-heavy nights of a crowded cell

Though he ain’t want nobody to know it, Thumper looked forward to work, and the dawn couldn’t come early enough.

Ain’t nobody got time to text a notiony nigga like Thumper, he thought as he stretched hisself home silent as samurai on his lumpy feet. Lingering moonlight bathed his booty in both fog and dim. His brain felt old, but Baltimore was older. The city smelled like the past at night. It smelled like the future during the day, but at night, Thumper recognized streets he grew up on and windows he walked past back when, and he recollected names and faces that done drain away. Nighttime smelled of asphalt and history.
He was glad to go home alone. Them two Jaekwel and Deon smelled like clean knees, but parta Thumper’s noggin craved the nigga-heavy nights of a crowded cell, and he steady checked his phone before finally slipping into a solofied slumber.
Though he ain’t want nobody to know it, Thumper looked forward to work, and the dawn couldn’t come early enough.

From Thumper the Mover