The Big Butch Guy

Reading the missed opportunities thread and my interactions with the hot butch guy this morning, I got to thinking. about other experiences from my past and realized how naive (or perhaps in denial) I was during my youth. One guy really stands out in my memory...

For a time I worked in a remote location where the employees, all male, spent extended periods of time at the work site. We had a housing unit, complete with dining hall, bar, rec room, lounge, library, showers, and sleeping/personal areas. Two to a room.

One of the guys, I'll call him Al, was this big 6'4" 220lb, broad shouldered, dark haired, brooding, gun loving, butch, no-nonsense, sort, that had my 19 year/old 145lb, not dry behind the ears self completely intimidated. Well,... nearly.

Admittedly, I'm a bit alpha and at 19, was way too cocky for my own good. Usually by simply being present, Al would have me cowed. I was sure he saw me as little more than a mild annoyance that could use a good ass kicking. Instinctively I knew I should behave myself in his presence. The trouble was, I didn't always have the ability. It culminated in my little ass about 3 feet off the ground at the end of his arm, and the need to make a choice. As Al put it, “Either straighten the fuck up or find out how much of an ass kicking it will take to shut me up for a few months.” I chose the former and the toss across the space of 20 feet, convinced me it was the right one. After that, all he needed was a look, or a word and I knew I was getting near the limits of his patience.

The Hallway, A Prelude?

It wasn't much before our elevated conversation, I passed him in the hall. As he approached me those hard eyes of his fixed on mine and without cracking a smile he says "Hey kid. Wanna see a grown man naked?" He never missed a beat or looked away. Not sure of what I'd heard, I dropped his gaze and he kept going. My being new there and naive, prevented me from recognizing the statement for what it was. In retrospect, I decided to take his banter as the kind of jovial exchange grown men have. The problem was, I wasn't a grown man and he wasn't being jovial.

The Billiards Table

I fancied myself a pool player. Actually I was quite good. I'd played with the likes of Stewart, Reed and was on speaking terms with the late, great Pete "The Whiz". (I never could afford to play-slash-lose to him). So one night Al is at the table farting around and me, thinking I was one of the guys, thought to challenge him to a game.

"Hey Al how about a game?"

"Not interested kid"

"C’mon Al, you're not doing anything else. I'll go easy on you." Was my taunt.

"You really want to play me?" He says, "What's in it for me?"

‘Really dude?’ I thought. ‘You're gonna try and hustle me?’ I may be young, but I knew a hustle when I saw one.

"Al, I'll play you a dollar a ball. First to a hundred wins. Payout is the difference between scores."

Al just stands there measuring me with those dark browns. Finally, as if he's reached a decision he says, "Justin, if you want to play me, you're gonna have to put up something you have I want."

"Well what's that?"

He just stares at me with what I now know is that hungry stare a man gets, when he sees something he wants. "Think about it kid. You'll figure it out."

With that he racks em, breaks them and proceeds to run the table, over and over again. I walked away when he sunk his hundredth consecutive shot.

Not long after that, was when I’d gotten under his skin enough, he decided to elevate my understanding of why one doesn't poke a bear with a stick. After our interaction, you would’ve thought Al wouldn't think much of, or have anything to do with my annoying ass. That's what I thought too.

The Shower:

It's a Thursday afternoon, the absent sun has set behind cold lowering grey skies, flurries of icy, stinging snow skitter across the barren tundra well above the 50th parallel. I've been out in the shit all day. It's close to dinner. But I'm cold, wet, and without any fat to keep warm, in need of a hot shower just to feel my fingers and toes again.

The showers are nothing spectacular, four stalls. Each with a floor length curtain. More than enough room for one. Two, if one isn't very big. Alone I choose the stall furthest from the door, ready for the warm, relaxing comfort that accompanies the water. About the time I feel my toes again the door to the shower room opens and shuts. Heavy footfalls on the tile tell me, I'm no longer alone.

I hear a deep almost annoyed grumble of "Who's in there?" as the curtain is thrown back. Spinning round I'm face to face and naked, before a towel clad Al. He is big. Well muscled and white skinned, with the right amount of hair on his chest. I'm scared shitless.

His face lightens up with recognition. He's amused by my reaction as he looks my wet, naked, and glistening body up and down. He pauses at my freshly shaved cock, relaxed and hanging from the heat and steam. "Oh it's you!" his voice lowered and satisfied sounding. Seconds pass. He gives my body another once-over with those dark browns. I hear a matter of fact "Nice" escape his lips as he closes the curtain, I barely catch a glimpse of the towel dropping away from strong thighs, firm glutes. It’s soon followed by the sound of a curtain closing, and the water running in the stall adjacent to mine.

Still stunned by the encounter I haven't moved. The water hitting my face finally stirs me and I realize someone is whistling an old Irish tune. It's Al. All I can think is, ‘It's Al! What the hell just happened?.’ As my mind struggles to comprehend I realize he's talking to me. Talking in that relaxed chatty tone he reserves for a select few. "Hey Justin! Justin! Hey! I'm talking to you!". I finally stammer out a "Yes Al?" His reply, "So you come here often?" He chuckles at his own joke. "I myself come for the scenery."

For my part, I'm just trying to process what's going on, and halfheartedly laugh at the comment. This guy has already shown he can fuck my world up at will. I just don't know what to do. So I swipe at my skin with the soap and brace for whatever comes next.

More whistling and then...

"Hey Justin? Got a question for you?"

Me, "Yes Al?"

"Did you know there are only two kinds of men? Those who whistle in the shower, and those who beat off?" He goes back to whistling.

What could I do? The comment was so absurd, given the situation, I couldn't help but laugh.

Then I note the whistling has stopped in the stall next to me... Remember, my ability to keep my mouth shut when it’s most important, is pretty much non-existent. "Hey Al? I don't hear you whistling".

Accompanied by a low groan, I get my reply, "Quiet kid. I'm busy." Then, "Why don't you run along so I can enjoy my memory of this and finish in peace." This was my cue, he was done with me, for the time being.

The Bar:

It's late, the wind is howling across the tundra and laying bare of snow the bleak hills and craggy remnants of the volcanic mountains which long ago succumbed to the ravages of wind, rain, ice and snow. Ops normal in this fucking place. We can't even see out the windows for the snow banked against them. I'll be digging us out tomorrow. So much for my "off" day.

It’s dark. Only the dim light of the bars stereo display and a sliver of candle more dead than alive, lights the room. There's three of us left, the rest having given up the ghost and dragged themselves away to sleep it off. Pussies!

It's me, Al and his roommate Mike. We're all better than half-lit and feeling mellow. Mike 's CD of the Moody Blues is playing. I'm kicked back in the chair by the door. I feel safe since Mike is there. He is sort of my mentor, and does his best to keep me out of trouble.

“THUMP!” That was Mike’s head landing heavily on the bar. He’s out.

‘Oh Shit!’ I think I thought.

"HAW HAW! Mike's done! It's just you and me kid. Think you can handle it?"

I'm too far gone to do anything but giggle. "Handle what? I'm done. Not sure I can even find my room Al." I slur.

"I bet you could kid. I'd take my time with you."

The words start to register in my brain. Something tells me to keep my mouth shut. This time I listen. "Cmon Mike! Get the fuck up and go to bed" He picks Mike up, sets him on his feet and shoves him to the door.

He follows Mike but as he reached the door he side steps right in front of me. Al grabs both sides of my head and proceeds to mock face fuck me for what felt like forever. Once he finishes he laughs, musses my hair and staggers out the door. I distantly hear "I'm gonna have to do that to him for real someday... Move it Mike!"

Shocked sober I sit there wondering what the fuck just happened... again? Later, as I pinball off the walls of the halls leading back to my room, I paused at their door, and could have sworn I heard muffled grunts of passion, but like I said, it was late, and I was drunk.

Now, looking back I'm pretty sure Al and Mike were fucking each other behind that door. I’m older now. Sometimes late at night, when feeling a little mellow, and a whole lot honest with myself, I secretly wonder what it would have been like to have opened that door, dropped to my knees, and took whatever came.

I characterized this as fiction, though at the tender age of 19, I did spend a year in such a place with such a person.

v/r
JM