Go-go

Go-go 5 (revisited)

by Emile, 2009 - 2010

Carlos ambled away, figuring at least he could treat himself to a bus trip home.  His brother's burger joint job didn't pay much, so Carlos "supported" him - meaning the drug, chick and junk food habit of he and his buddies - to the tune of hundreds of bucks a week.  It meant he'd have to dig into his stash, even after his night's cut.  Not only was he trapped into being a depraved fuckmonkey go-go boy, but he wouldn't even have anything to show for it.  The bus ticket was a luxury.  Closing his eyes against the thought, Carlos boarded the bus exhausted, desperate to get away. 

He staggered to the end of the bus, as fast as he could go with his arse still burning from Tyler's brutal fucking, pulling his tracksuit tight around his body, to hide the filth underneath.  There were no showers at the club, well none for Carlos, he even had to leave the Lycra thong behind, "club property", although at least the safety pins and plugs that had stretched and tormented him were finally out as well.  Still he wondered if his pierced dork would ever recover.  Even just walking up the bus in the early morning light, with one beefy hand pulling the ripped sweatshirt tight over his sore stretched teats, he had to keep the other hand hanging in front of him like a gorilla - well it was that or grabbing a fistful of his tackle, to stop his monster flopping about, and the loose sweats from dropping to his ankles.  He got stares from a few of the black maids on their way back from the hotel strip, but luckily no-one he knew was on board.

He made it to the back seat, but not before the driver took off with a jerk, sending him flying onto the seat with an arse-tearing thud.  He gritted his teeth to suppress a groan, and flipped himself around, bracing himself on the seat as the bus swung and twisted through the lanes, trying desperately to ease the pressure on his leaking battered hole, even abandoning his hold on the jumpsuit, the shirt falling open and the waistband sliding down, to reveal a strip of greasy shaved flesh from his collarbone to his cockroot.  Finally he got enough grip to slide across to the back corner, tugged his clothes togther and fell into a fitful sleep with his hands crossed tightly over his chest.

He woke up groggily when the bus ground to a halt at the last stop. His bro expected him to stop by the burger joint each morning to share his takings, and even filthy and with no sleep, he forced himself to detour there first.  It meant missing his own stop home, and then walking another half mile through seedy neighbourhoods, before walking a mile or so back home.

Carlos' body was soaked with sweat by the time he made it to the back of the burger joint. His bare feet slapped against the pavement as he tugged and pulled at the tight old varsity sweatshirt, which grazed against his body wherever his ripped tee offered no protection - which was most of his torso.  Only the thin arms straps, which kept moving anyway, and the narrow band of material around his lower abs remained of the muscle tank.  But this sweat was more than just the discomfort from wearing more layers than he was used to, and even more than the early summer sun usually caused.  Of course, still aching from the brutal pounding and covered with spunk, this could have just been the discomfort of his normal male funk mixing with Tyler and his combined fuckjuices, but he wasn't sure.  Two thoughts briefly passed over his mind - first that he'd caught an infection from one of the many sessions of unsheathed bareback banging, second that one of Tyler's homemade piercings was getting infected. Neither thought was very good, he had no money for doctors, and if it got worse, certainly no money for an ambulance either.

As he rounded the corner of the alley, and saw his brother loafing off with a mate, he stripped off the sweatshirt, hoping to cool himself just a little before getting to the steamy grease-puffing cooking vents. As he did, he glanced down, discovering for the first time the brown ink had soaked through, ruining the muscle tank and dying his hulking body with broad radiating stripes.  Tylers tip, too, had stretched his last fly button more than he realised, for the stretched thread now exposed a fat band of dickskin that ran from his hooting cockhood, caught in the base of the fly, all the way to the dickroot that now rode above the unfolding spray-on pants.  Although his brother had long since figured him for a fuckjob, Carlos still clung to the idea his life was secret, and hastily tied the jumper around his waist, relying on the knotted arms to hide most of his dickskin.  Of course by then they had both seen everything.

Carlos was close enough to make out the two now, and ignoring his brother's anger at his lateness, he noticed his pal was a new employee.  He reflexively checked the guy out - the club had conditioned him to see men graphically, and despite his trashy burger bar uniform, Carlos could make out bunched shoulders knitted under the wide collar, and a wrestler's beefy legs in his wide-legged tightly sprung crouch.  The guy, more a kid really, maybe 18 or 19, had Iowa corn coloured hair and big white square teeth, and sprang himself up to standing, extending his tanned gold-flecked arm to pump Carlos' hand in an enthusiastic hello.  His brother had already unhooked his apron from around his neck and was tossing it to his kid-bro, Carlos.  "Kid, I promised Carla I'd take her to the movies today, so you're gonna have to take over from me.  Here, I need some bucks for the tickets and food and shit, gimme what you got and I'll give you the rest back later."  Of course even though he only needed 20 bucks or so, he fully intended to keep the rest of Carlos' hundreds of earnings, and with the fight beat out of him, Carlos wordlessly handed over his preciously earned money.   "Uh, Rick, please I'm really tired."  His brother slapped him on the back, none too friendly.  "Relax kid, it's just a movie..."  He began taking off up the street as Carlos slipped the greasy apron over his greasier body.  "A couple of hours?" Carlos called after him, hopefully.  At the end of the alley, his brother yelled back "Shift ends at two."

Deflated, he looked back at his new work companion.  The teen was tall, blond, tanned and muscular, and seemed too fresh for a greasy joint like this.  Maybe, Carlos thought, he'd be a bit different from the sick townies he saw so often.  Introducing himself as "Bo", the Iowa boy's face became serioes, and he reached out his hand not to slap him on the arm like he was expecting, but to grab his apron string, digging his fingers under the arms straps and hefting the material across an inch.  "My daddy always sayed that it was heathen for guys to show their manflesh off like that, you better watch yourself..." he drawled.  Carlos glanced down, realising his dime-sized pierced nipple had been staring the boy in the face.  As it was, the two were barely covered, and he was suddenly keenly aware of how much of his flesh was exposed.  Thankfully, he had yet to see his half-uncovered arse.  The kids eyes held his own fiercely, and the combination of the biblical flavour, his intent stare and lingering grip on the apron told Carlos he was gonna be in close quarters with a very conflicted boy.

"Rick" the manager called, glancing out and seeing Carlos.  "Oh, you.  Okay break's over, I got some shelves to stack in the cool room, and then burgers to fry..."  Stacking shelves wasn't easy, Carlos on the ladder was keenly aware that every time he reached up to put a box on a high shelf, and the apron pulled up, the kid's gaze would flash from his exposed torso down to his half hidden cock, until you could cut the tension with a knife.  Hesitantly, the kid asked him what he got up to.  "What you mean like sports" Carlos asked, staring down between his pits at the upward gazing farmboy.  "No" he said quietly "I meant like sex.  My daddy always said guys that look .. like you are either homos or rent boys.  So... which are you?"  Carlos lowered his hands, climbing down the ladder.  He wondered how much the kid knew. Rather than backing away from the base, the kid stood there, so when he came down, he found himself inches from the farmboy.  He placed his hands firmly on the kid's shoulders, friendly but maintaining a distance.  "Look, kid, I'm a dancer, that's all, it's a show town.  The kid reached up his arm, massaging Carlos' bulging bicep.  "Yeah, I remember now, I saw you, when I first came to town..."  Carlos' blood curdled.  The kids hand now moved down, caressing his abs through the apron.  "Strange, I ain't never seen a dancer before get arsefucked" he continued, his hand now directly over Carlos' prick.  Carlos lowered his voice to a whisper.  "Uh, shit man, look, I jus do it for cash.  Can you keep it a secret?"  The kid stepped forward, his hard on pressing against Carlos' swollen tool, nuzzling against his broad chest.  "Sure" he said into the cleft of his pecs. "If you're nice to me..."  Just then there was a bang outside, and Bo shoved him forward, giving him a stinging slap across the face.  "Homo" he spat out, and stormed out of the store room.

The rest of the shift was no better.  When they were alone in the hot greasy kitchen, Carlos slaving away at the stove, Bo would ask him all sorts of awkward questions, about how often he got fucked, who by, how large, constantly finding an excuse to brush against his nipple or arse.  Whenever the manager was around, he called him a spic greasemonkey, deliberately shoving him or pointing out every 'stupid cowpoke mistake' he made.  It was hell.  Finally 2pm rolled by, and the next shift arrived.  Bo fired off a bunch of slurs in their earshot, making them glare at him worse, but he finally stripped off the apron and slinked towards home. He was dog tired, and desperately needed sleep.  A minute later, a big SUV drove up beside him, and the window wound down to reveal Bo.  "Hey Carlos" he called "wanna join me"  Carlos waved his hand - "uh, kid, really, I gotta sleep."  the kid grinned.  "Sure thing" he said, swinging open the door "you can crash at my place.  Come and I'll keep your secret a secret" he added, hopefully, forcing the greasy go-go boy to climb in the new truck.  He drove them south, even further away, to the nondescript burbs, occasionally reaching over to squeeze Carlos' ballbag through the sweatpants - his new favourite arousal torture.  When they got to the house, the farmboy led him straight to the bedroom.  "Please kid" Carlos begged "I'll let you fuck me, just let me sleep some first."  He secretly hoped he'd wake up earlier, and get to sneak out.  "Sure" the kid said, directing him to strip and lie on the bed.  Then he began tying Carlos' hands and feet to the bedposts.  "Can't be too careful" the kid said, before stripping naked and lying on top of him.