Panel Work

I was a late start trade apprentice. When I first kicked off, most of the guys I met at the day-a-fortnight trade school were sixteen or seventeen, I was twenty. It doesn’t sound like much of an age gap, but it was a huge mental difference. I could relate to my class mates, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to find any best buds among them.

I was the only apprentice at Ralford Panels. Including me, the business had six full time employees. The firm was silently owned by an old guy, who’d been retired for at least five years. He’d set the place up three decades before, but as he didn’t come to the shop much now days, I’d never met him. The whole crew amounted to the youngest repair business in town. The eldest was the manager, John, at just twenty-eight. Terry, Mike and Shane were twenty-five and Dan, twenty-three.

They’d all been tradesmen since their late teens and body wise, they were all, smoking hot! I work out, but Terry, Mike and Dan were serious gym heads, without being grotesque. John and Shane were less workout inclined but even so, we had to be the only business in town where every single employee had six pack abs. I was smart enough to know mine came more from age than exercise.

* * *

I’d always been interested in cars, and painting them well, came naturally to me. I took over dad’s home garage with my projects, as I made my way through high school. Over the four years I did that, I managed to put aside a tidy sum of cash. I used it to travel. For two years after I graduated, I backpacked, working odd jobs through most of Europe, Asia and South America.

The experience gave me, what I thought was a balanced view of the world, and people in general. It wasn’t a view my ‘never left the city’, work buddies were ever going to get, so I didn’t bother trying to change their worlds. In fact, I didn’t even tell them I’d finished high school. Most of them had dropped out as soon as they legally could.

I scored the apprenticeship on my return stateside. Even so, I was a long way away from actually getting to put paint on an auto. At the six month mark I was still chief shit kicker, doing all the jobs no one else wanted to do, and generally taking crap from everyone. My fellow trade school class mates informed me it was the same for them. I lamented I would be dealing the situation for at least three and a half more years.    

I’d known I was gay since I was fourteen. Mum and Dad didn’t care as long as I didn’t discuss it openly around home. They weren’t embarrassed, they just didn’t want to know. It was the same story with my three older brothers who rough housed me as much as each other. My home life resulted in a persona where people automatically assumed, I was straight. I wouldn’t deny being gay if asked, but I never was. I just didn’t openly discuss it.

I also didn’t talk about who I may or may not be sleeping with, which was the opposite of my workmates. They were all single, sexed up and painfully hetero. Who they had fucked on the weekend usually took up all Monday morning conversation. It was repetitive hell, especially since they expected me to fully participate in confirming what sexual legends they were.  

* * *

Our panel shop was located in the industrial estate, east of the CBD. Three blocks away a new office tower was being constructed seriously skywards. It was rumored to be a Mob project, but who would know. Regardless, it was a big job for the city, and the steel works next door just kept getting busier. The dozen man metal crew were a good bunch of guys, their team engaged with ours well.

Occasional beer nights at the local bar, the mixed crew Christmas BBQ in the car park, and regular practical jokes between the teams were common. Jokes within the panel team were equally as frequent. It was this fact that germinated the seed of an idea.   

As July rolled around, I decided I’d had enough of my crew, droning on non-stop about their sexual conquests. It had driven me mad for too long! I had grown to realise they knew they were annoying me, and without declaring it, were now just persisting to irritate me. I needed a plan to level up the playing field. I took solace that I’d at least feel better, even if no one knew it was me, driving the scales to equality.

When I thought about my underlying frustration, I realised part of the problem stemmed from the fact I was seriously horny. I hadn’t been laid in months, and being surrounded by hot guys who regularly went shirtless was getting to me.  As the warmer weather had begun to arrive, it didn’t make things any easier. Now they would change into their casual gear in the staff room at the end of the day. It wasn’t as if everyone was running around in their tighty whities every night, but over time I got to see the whole crew. Everyone looked to pack at least five inches soft and I was sure John and Mike topped seven.

I didn’t know how my plan was going to work out, but I had some goals. I wanted to at least see my workmates naked and hard. If I could shave them baby smooth and get some sexual activity, then that would be a bonus.  I sat down and devoted some thought around what would work. A fortnight later I was ready to go.

* * *

As the main weapon of the sting, I worked on the six pack of beer for three hours on Thursday night. I carefully pried apart the cardboard carton, so I could reseal it, making it look unopened. I took each can and micro injected the mixture into the seam around the metal pressed base. From my experiments in the weeks before, I knew I could get the can to almost totally reseal the puncture, but only if I made the insert around the base rim.  I used thirteen cans to finally end up with six which stayed pressurised. I left them on blotting paper for a few hours, to confirm zero leaks.

At 4am in the morning, I made a quick dash to work, having parked my car up from the house, so not to wake my parents. I hid the duffel bag of equipment in the garden bed along the side alley of the work shop. I left the six pack on the front step with a plain printed note that said, ‘thanks for the great job, enjoy an after-work beer’. Either John or Shane, as usually the first to arrive, would find it and put it in the staff fridge.

When I arrived at eight, that’s exactly what had happened. Beer gifts were common and it wasn’t unique that it had been left on the step. Speculation though over which client it may have been, consumed several minutes at morning smoko chat. A dozen names were suggested, but in the end, no one cared, it was beer and would be consumed with a dozen others at the end of the day.