Doing Time

My name is Dan Ferguson and while i can go in to a lot of detail, the key factor about me is that I’ve always been small for my years. The early years were the worst. As I made my way through school, I lagged the height and bulk of the other guys, even though I was the same age. My upbringing was typical of a family from a lower socio-economic suburb. While we never went without the basics, we never had much to spare.

My parents had been hard workers all their life. They instilled a deep sense of self respect in their four sons as we grew, and I’ll always be grateful for it. I made use of the attitude from an early age, as I battled through school. In the beginning, my brothers would defend and protect me. When we stood together, we made a formidable team. Unavoidably though, times would strike where I had to stand my ground alone.

Looking back, I don’t think I fought more than any other adolescent, trying to find his place, but I certainly had to fight consistently bigger guys, who would see me as an easy target to establish a reputation. My father had been an amateur boxer in the army through his late teens and early 20s. I listened closely and took his lessons well. By year two of high school the guys in my class level, knew better than to challenge me, but I was nowhere near top dog status. I remained in the background minding my own business as much as possible.

On the side, I still had to contend with older louts, who would corner me on my way home from classes, or at the mall. Essentially these encounters were an effort to prove that if they couldn’t defend themselves in their own year, they certainly could push juniors around. Most times I came out worst for wear, but as puberty kicked in, my body mass developed and the balance shifted to losing one in three.

When I left formal education at sixteen (the end of level four) I had grown into a tough character, and was down to losing just one in eight fights. Mentally, I matured early, and was sure of two things. I was never going to be the biggest guy in the room, and I was gay as the sky is blue.

I look back now and I suspect dad knew of my orientation years before I actually told him on my 20th birthday. I think he realised very early that if his 3rd born was going to be small in stature (I ended up being 5’7”) and gay then he had better know how to fight and fight well.  

* * *

I entered the shipyards where my uncle scored a job for me and my cousin. We started in the same week. It was terrifying. The work was tough, and so were the men. Fist fights were common, and in those days, hazing the apprentices was almost a sanctioned sport.

During my first year, among other new chum acts, I had my balls painted blue twice, and three times I was forced to crawl naked through the ash shaft, it took weeks to get the black soot from my skin. My cousin’s tradesman took his role of absolute master much more seriously. James was frequently expected to give head. Whilst this practice was generally frowned upon by the majority of tradesmen, the truth was if you were that way inclined, no one would stop you, provided you didn’t harm the boy, or do anything more perverse. Right or wrong by today’s standards, that’s just the way it was.

In the beginning, becoming a ship builder was much like school had been. Men, as it turns out, do as boys. They seem to automatically seek to establish a pecking order, when forced into close quarters. As new chums, the apprentices had to contend with this on two battle fronts. Finding their place in their own ranks, as well as in the wider yard. The first six months were hard but my time in an under privileged and poor high school, meant that I could defend myself with my peers. I even earnt respect from grown men. I became widely known as someone who could look after himself, and someone with an almost pathological dislike for bullies.

* * *

My cousin was expected to continue to give head, well into our second year as apprentices. He complained to his father about how disgusting it was, but my uncle was never going to mess with another tradesman’s boy, even if he was blood. Poor James, a straight kid forced to suck dick weekly, while me, his bent cousin could only dream of such opportunities. I never let on to James, or anyone in the yard where my true desires lay. I could fight, but I wasn’t stupid enough to take on the whole welding floor. I simply kept quiet, and tugged myself silly at every opportunity.

Speaking of tugging, ever notice how some shorter guys have oversize dicks. Well, at least their cocks seem oversize for their bodies. I have to say that in this department, I’m typical; I’m equipped with seven inches at full throttle and just over 4½ at rest, I was a ‘show-er’. My diameter doubled between these extremes but could be best described as the same from top to bottom, and medium to thick at rest. Wash down showers at the end of the day, always resulted in good hearted stirring, about me having a third leg, etc. Occasionally I would catch an extended glance from a welder or stick man, but I never acted on it.

I left the yard one year after qualifying as a tradesman. The most I did to my apprentice was have him speed naked through the secretary pool with three others during his first week. I wanted him to at least have some memories of his baptism into the working world.

At twenty-two and with a stack of desires that could no longer be contained, I went seeking more of my own kind, I drifted to the biggest city in the state.

Economic times were tough in the wider world. Despite having a trade, the only work I could find was two bucks an hour in a city warehouse. We worked ten hour shifts lugging beer barrels for a company that didn’t give a shit. At the end of each day, I’d fall into a deep sleep, only to wake minutes before the morning shuttle arrived. If I missed it, I missed a day’s pay.

I went out a dozen times in the first few months. I discovered public ‘beats’ and experienced getting and giving my first head job. I was terrible, but at least I was keen. One night a guy tried to fuck me. I bent over not really knowing what to expect. He said he was going to loosen me up first with his fingers. When he put the second digit in, I decided I couldn’t take it, I told him to stop. He showed no intention of slowing down and I realised the situation was going to spiral out of hand. I asked him to stop again and when he didn’t, I hit him. He just picked himself up and ran off.

It was a defining moment. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to having a dick inside me, even to this day. I consciously decided at that point, if there was going to be any fucking, it was going to be me making the insert. I didn’t care who they were, I wasn’t going to bend over again.

The next weekend at a local park, I fucked my first arse, it was attached to a balding middle-aged man who simply slipped a condom on my dick and assumed the position. The event was mind blowing! I thought it the most amazing thing I had ever experienced, I jacked off every night until I could afford to miss another days pay to do it again.

The company acquired a second-hand tire transporting contract, and anyone who has handled old car tires knows it’s hard, filthy work. I, along with all the new boys were shifted across to the open-air site. We all started with new overalls but the heat was so intense, that within a week every man had torn the sleeves out, and buttons off. The fabric was disgracefully cheap and quickly wore thin. With sweat and pumped muscled bodies, almost nothing was left to the imagination.

The onsite worker showers were a converted shipping container with eight open heads along one wall, every night thirty men stripped bare, showered and crammed the shuttle within twenty-five minutes of clock-off. I was surrounded by pure muscle, maleness and dick. I was over worked, underpaid, tired and constantly horny.

* * *

David Castleton was a classic bully. He was six foot, 190 pounds and 28 years old. He also had a weaker than average heart, as I found out later. He had been on crew three months longer than I, and had taken to pushing around the new guys in what looked like boredom relief. We had a brief and non-public scuffle shortly after I came on board. I stood my ground and he backed away; we didn’t tangle again. Not until the night where everything changed.

One afternoon as we all worked among the tire stacks, David grabbed a new kid by the hair and held the guy’s face to his crutch, the kid was struggling but no match for Dave. Security happened by and demanded that everyone get back to work. Dave laughed, grabbed the back of the kid’s overalls and as he released the boy, tore every stitch from his body in one swoop. The kid worked the rest of the afternoon in nothing but his boots.

That night in the shower container, Dave started on the hapless boy again. The workers either side of the pair separated. I held my space and leaned towards the bully. I quietly said that if he was going to continue, maybe he and I should discuss the matter outside. His faced darkened instantly, he turned and without a word, made a dramatic exit.

As he stood naked in the carpark, he rotated and waited for me to follow. I sighed at the futility of what was about to unfold. When I arrived, we got right down to it. In an exchange, that lasted six or seven minutes, we rained blows on each other that would have stopped many other fights immediately. Security arrived, and instantly found their path to us constricted by excited on-lookers. The crew were intent on not seeing the battle brought to a premature end. They blew their whistles and yelled to stop but with single minded focus, we continued.

Late into the fight, I took a nasty knock to the left of my skull. It blurred my vision and gave me stock to take a step back, Dave saw his opportunity and moved swiftly to strike again while I was shaken. As he came at me screaming, I wound myself like a steel spring and prepared to release a fully loaded right arm to his jaw. Just as he moved within range two security guards appeared either side of him. They grabbed his arms mid-flight. My rocket powered punch had already left the station and would have met his chin had the guards allowed his decent to continue. As it was my punch arrived off target in the centre of his completely open, forward propelled chest. The guards fell either side of me, Dave was stopped dead in his tracks. Stone dead as it turned out. Bugger!