Work Jerk (1760 hits)
Category: Humor -> Dirty HumorRating: 0.18 on 11 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by DrBenway (View user info) at 2005-09-18 21:23:55 EDT
After eight months in my first serious professional job, I thought I had the problem beat, excuse the pun. I had wondered if it would happen again. Would I risk it? Would the temptation simply become too great? "Most likely" was the tenor of the jeers from my friends who knew me better than I apparently knew myself. "You can't help yourself...you know you want it.''
I think I started jerking off at work about eight years ago, although the memory of my university years is little more than a colourful morass of beer, sleeping and nebulous memories of sex with monochrome, melancholic Goth girls so maybe it was earlier.
I was working as the night manager at a 25-room motel. A double story, brown brick number on a main road heading out of town. A lot of small-time businessmen, poor country tourists, couples having illicit affairs during the day, guys coming in for hookers at night. My job was simply to man the fort and try to squeeze as much cash out of our horny patrons as possible for the shittiest possible rooms.
One of the regulars would glide into the car park in his black corvette about 10 each Friday night. Thickly muscled, with a shaved head and always smelling incongruously of musk. We knew the routine so there was little conversation when he came in. He would pay for his room, a couple of calls would go out. One would come back, and 20 minutes later a girl - these ranged from bleach-blonde 40-year old skanks, to tight-bodied 18-year-old honeys - would be dropped off, then I assumed rogered senseless, or made to massage his feet or crap on his chest or whatever kinky shit he got into, and be picked up. Having paid for the phone calls in advance he would saunter back to his car and drive off. I would go and check the room, ostensibly to collect the key, but driven more powerfully by a curiosity to see whether any evidence of the debauched deed remained that I could glean a glimmer of sexual frisson from. There was always a half smoked panatella in the ashtray and something in the bin which I was less interested in and left for the Greek grandmas to be outraged about when they cleaned the rooms in the morning.
One night, soon after muscle man had checked in, the flat-line buzz of an internal call woke me from my study of Levi Strauss - the anthropology guy, not the jeans guy. Very few people called reception at night. There wasn't much I could offer them apart from dry wit and for $12 an hour you don't get much of that. I wandered over to the old black, bakelite switchboard and noticed the light from room 22 flashing. One of the shit rooms that faced the road. Muscle man's room. The woman, slightly skankier than usual, with ragged blonde hair and a kind of cheesecloth mini-dress thing on had already gone up. Maybe the call was part of an elaborate plan to extricate himself from her clutches. "Sorry, this must be a mistake, I'm a Mormon preacher, look the reception guy will tell you, I come down here every week in preparation for the Sabbath.'' I picked up the receiver and stabbed the connect button. A muted sound like a stocky Russian housewife ramming a weathered fist repeatedly into a bucket of washing schlepped out of the receiver.
"Hello" - I suspected pretty strongly I wasn't going to get an answer.
"Hello"
"Ohh, Ughh......"
"Turn over...''
There was nowhere to sit at the front counter next to the switchboard. I looked down. Pretty soon my erection started to make itself apparent through my cheap, black, polyester work pants. "Fucking shit, this is cool, and extremely improbable,'' I thought. To get through to me they would have had to, while fucking like monkeys, knock the receiver off the phone by the bed and dial zero. How they did it I'll never know. Sometimes things just go your way. What made it even more titillating was that room 22 was right above where I was standing. I always put muscle man there, partly because it was a shit room, but mostly because I hoped one day to be able to hear what was going on - that he would leave a window open in the summer heat and the sounds of love (well, fucking) would drift down to me. Now I had a direct link. I stood there, covered from the front window from the chest down by the counter. I grabbed my dick through my pocket and gave it hard squeeze as the fucking went on over the phone. Shit, this was bad, standing here listening to these guys fuck with a raging boner, intensified as they always are by a slight hangover, rubbing myself up. My dick started to get that meaty burning like when I'd been watching a girl feel herself up in front of me and forcing myself not to touch her until the last minute. Upstairs the fucking was building towards what I assume would be his climax. She was starting to give out a few more sighs and encouraging grunts, "come on baby...yeah," very original stuff. He was slamming her faster and faster and then just seemed to stop. Not a grunter this one.
"Shit the phone's off the hook," she said. "Hello?" Click. She hung up.
Where the fuck did that leave me? I looked down at my boner. That fucker is not going away by itself, I thought. Another six hours of sitting down, feeling my dick rub against my pants, fantasising about the two of them going for it. Pure hell. I weighed up my options. Well, my one option - the only question was where to do it. I had a back room which led off the front office, but my boss lived right next door. He would have to open the front door with his key and come through which would take a while, but stranger things had happened. I had been robbed and tied to a chair a month earlier. It wouldn't do to have that happen again with a turgid cock in my hand this time.
Then I realised I had the perfect site. The staff toilet had a small window I which looked out on the motel driveway. I could open the opaque glass a crack, stand up beating off and still keep an eye on the reception area. It also meant if my boss came by I had the perfect excuse for not being in the office and I had clean up facilities right there. The way my dick was almost hurting by now this would take no more than two minutes anyway. I locked myself into the toilet and dropped my pants to the floor. It's very important in the work environment to ensure that any clothing is well clear of the ejaculation radius. Naturally I would be catching my load with a bunch of toilet paper. But as any guy knows a cum stain is the most stubborn variety. A silvery streaky snail trail which it is simply futile to attempt to remove with anything more than a full blown detergent-powered wash.
I licked my hand, grabbed my knob hard and gave my self no more than 50 hard strokes before coming with a guttural wheeze. As I cleaned up and surveyed my accoutrements for telltale specks, a pair of headlights swung into the driveway. The girl stalked down the stairs and into the passenger seat. I zipped up, and made my woozy way back to Mr Strauss' The Raw and the Cooked.
That was the start of a beautiful friendship - with myself. I stayed in that job for another eight months. Almost every night, compelled by in-house movies, raunchy literature or simply my memories of that night I'd have a date with the staff toilet. Muscle man kept coming back. I kept hoping he'd call me again.
My next job was as a concierge at a five star hotel. I made the most of delivering newspapers at five in the morning, especially on weekends when couples trying to rekindle the fire would come in on our special romantic packages, up all night fucking, the music of their exertions floating out into the halls and pushing me into the staff change room for a quick strop.
After university I spent a year teaching English in Japan. No chance for the work jerk in that environment. And very little motivation either, with most of my students under 15 and my co-workers phlegmatic 50 year old men.
Back in Australia, and back at university, I started working at a dry cleaner. Apparently cum shows up even whiter when treated with pre-cleaning dry clean fluids. Not something I needed to know, but there you go. On Saturdays, nursing the mandatory hangover, I would count down the minutes until 5pm when I would close the door and head out the back for a bit of self-love, made all the more piquant by the day-long anticipation.
Flip forward four years and I'm a business reporter at a daily newspaper. Not much to get excited about here, and that's probably for the best, I thought. The previous two years spent as a reporter on a community newspaper had been work-jerk free. I'm a professional and it's inappropriate, I would vaguely try to convince myself. Meanwhile the muscle man story was developed, embellished and tightly edited to one of the core anecdotes in my repertoire. I assured people I didn't jerk off at work anymore. "It's not like that. There are hundreds of journos, who all know me, watching me come in and out of the toilet. The last thing they want to suspect, and I want them to think, is that I've been in the john whacking myself on a Tuesday afternoon. And an $800 pin-stripe suit with a jizz stain looks even worse than black polyester slacks with the same."
But then I was promoted. I started working Sundays. I had to lay out the pages for the section and edit any stories which came in on the wire. Few did.
I had just broken up with my girlfriend. An extremely hot, randy, shaved Asian girl who liked to have others watch us fuck. In return for a cd-rom of fuck pictures we had taken, I had promised to write her a story about the threesome we had with one of my mates at my parents' beach house three months earlier. I was never going to do it at home. Writing at home was too much like work.
She "accidentally" made up two beds in the one room. Then she told him he looked lonely all by himself. I watched him roll on a condom. He bent her over on her hands and knees and shoved his dick into her and she gasped. Then she started sucking my dick.
It was Sunday, there was hardly anyone there. And once again I was at work with a red, throbbing insistent penis nagging at the inside of my jeans. I fell quickly and with a resounding thud from the wagon of my onanistic chastity. Now it's only a matter of time before it's 3.30 Tuesday and I'm in the little boys' room desperately scrubbing a stain off my Italian suit with some third-rate toilet paper which is balling up and making it look worse, hoping I can clean myself up before interviewing come CEO. My boss will walk in. My fall from grace will be sharp, and painful. At least I still get cheap dry cleaning though.
User Reviews
Submitted by sinna (user info) at 2005-09-19 12:04:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Wa-wa-wa-wanker.
Submitted by missedthepoint (user info) at 2005-09-19 08:55:10 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
fuck it - i laughed...
& now I'm off for a wank.
Submitted by ozzy (user info) at 2005-09-19 08:09:07 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
So you used to pull your pud at work. And......?
I was waiting for a funny or embarrassing moment but it never came.
+0 = worth reading. Not too bad for a first post.
Submitted by Chinaski (user info) at 2005-09-19 03:20:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
-2 die, you n1gger.
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Another six hours of sitting down, feeling my dick rub against my pants, fantasising about the two of them going for it
__
Fantasising? Learng tou spayeull, you fucking imbecile.
Submitted by GirleButterfly (user info) at 2005-09-18 22:30:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Good Story...
Submitted by podium (user info) at 2005-09-18 22:16:39 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good story.
Submitted by hael (user info) at 2005-09-18 22:15:11 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
I am in love with you!!! XX
Submitted by Magic_Monkey (user info) at 2005-09-18 22:13:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Whiplash (user info) at 2005-09-18 21:47:42 (#)
Ranking: 0
This made me really, really, really uncomfortable.
Enough masterbation posts already, I feel like I've been watching gay porn all day.
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Submitted by lordofthedance (user info) at 2005-09-18 21:45:51 (#)
Ranking: 0
Is this masturbation Monday or something?
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Dont post masturbation stories unless your a girl
Submitted by Faidel (user info) at 2005-09-18 21:53:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Wahoo! It's not just me!
"Fucking shit, this is cool, and extremely improbable"
Good read, interesting story...
Submitted by Whiplash (user info) at 2005-09-18 21:47:42 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
This made me really, really, really uncomfortable.
Enough masterbation posts already, I feel like I've been watching gay porn all day.
Submitted by lordofthedance (user info) at 2005-09-18 21:45:51 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Is this masturbation Monday or something?