Sugar Heart Ch. 01

My imaginary Johnny slipped the head of my cock past his sweet lips, and slid his tongue around my hardness. I groaned and leaned back against the cool tile wall, feeling the heat surge up from my balls and erupt in several eager gouts. I gasped and coaxed forth the last few dribbles of cum, which washed quickly down the drain with the warm water that still rained down over me.

Freshly dosed up with this mood-boosting surge of endorphins and serotonin, I rinsed, towelled off, and scrambled into my work clothes. After inhaling a bowl of cereal and slapping together a sandwich, I stepped into my work boots and found the trash bag next to the door. Remembering all at once how crappy last night had been was an unfortunate buzzkill. I also remembered at this point the broken elevator as well as the fact that my car was parked a few blocks from my building, and I'd neglected to give myself extra time on top of dawdling in the shower.

"Moron!" I snapped. Clearly Murphy's law was in full effect for me lately, so I at least had the foresight to double bag the spoilt contents of my freezer, having terrible visions of the bag breaking open partway down the stairs and leaking rotten meat juice all over me.

I managed to get my trash to the outdoor bins without incident and hoofed it to my car. With my luck, I mused, it'd be stolen or broken into. Finding my car where I'd parked it, safe and untouched, was a huge relief. I had a moment of concern when the engine didn't start right away, but soon it was purring like normal.

I might have had a chance at making it to work on time had the traffic not been lousy. I got stuck in a knot of congestion behind a highway fender bender, and further along, a train. Probably the longest train I had ever seen. I was more than twenty minutes late for work, and my supervisor gave me the stinkeye the moment I rushed through the door. I'd been late a couple of days last week as well-I had no excuse. I'd just been having trouble getting my head together.

"Get the lead out, Callahan!" he barked. "Lee's out sick today, and you're gonna have to pick up the slack-you've got a dozen skids need to be moved over to the loading docks!"

"I'm on it!" I promised.

"Also need you to stay an extra four hours if you can-we're way behind."

"No problem!" I replied quickly. The last thing I wanted today was to have to work a twelve-hour shift, but I'd get time-and-a-half and I could use the money. Moreover, after how much I'd pissed off my boss lately, I probably needed to prove myself a little more valuable an employee than I had been so far.

I clocked in and quickly stowed my coat and lunch before climbing into the forklift. I worked in an electronics distribution warehouse, a job I'd gotten right after high school as an entry-level, general labour position. It had been slightly less crappy, or at least paid better, since I'd gotten certified to operate the lifts. The company culture was lousy though, and I was often yelled at, blamed for mistakes that weren't mine, perhaps excessively berated for ones that were mine, and pushed to work through lunch breaks. I knew that making a stink about my legal rights to proper breaks wasn't going to increase my popularity any, so I generally just rolled over. Often I searched job sites for alternatives, but the economy was in the tank, and it was hard to find anything I was qualified for that would be financially worth my while. Plus, I wasn't entirely confident that any other job would be less soul-crushing.

I worked my ass off all morning and well into the afternoon. It was nearly 3pm when I decided I had to have a break. I was exhausted and starving, and all day I'd watched my co-workers drift in and out, taking their sweet time with their cigarette breaks. A few months back it had occurred to me that I was the only guy around here who didn't smoke, and some of the guys went out nearly every hour to suck on their cancer sticks. It hardly seemed fair that I was entitled to less break time for valuing my respiratory health. I was at least entitled to a proper lunch break. I decided for once I'd just be assertive about it. Particularly after last night's conversation with my parents, I was disinclined to continue being trod on by the whole world.

My supervisor himself was on a smoke break when I tracked him down. He stood out near the dumpsters along with several of my co-workers, all of them casually shooting the shit.

"Hey, Mitch-I'm taking my lunch break now, all right?" I said evenly.

"You moved all those skids?" he asked.

"Not quite, but-"

"You kidding me?" he shot back, pointing his cigarette at me. "You shuffle in here late half the time, and you're riding my ass about lunch breaks? Man up and get back to work!"

Baffled by the irony that they all seemed to be missing, I glanced over the assemblage of smokers, watching me curiously. I turned my attention back to Mitch. "What, do I have to take up smoking in order to earn a break?" I gestured emphatically at the lot of them. "This is complete garbage!"

He glared at me for a few tense moments before pulling out the half-crumpled pack of Marlboros from his breast pocket and offering it to me with a smirk. "Help yourself!"

A few of the other guys barked and snorted with laughter, and it took only seconds for their amusement to crumble away at my resolve.

"Why don't I just get back to work?" I muttered, seething as I turned my back to them and went back inside. I took thirty seconds to inhale half a sandwich, and stuffed the rest in my pocket for later.

After moving a few more skids and unloading some trucks, I decided I might as well take advantage of bathroom breaks. No one could deny my right to empty my bladder when I needed to. I could empty something else while I was at it. I was feeling tense, miserable, and suddenly unaccountably horny-my body was reminding me that another brief jerk-off session might go a long way toward making me feel better.

I scarfed down the rest of my sandwich as I trudged across the warehouse. There were bathrooms located on either end of the complex, but only one of them was single-occupancy, so I went out of my way to use that one. I wanted privacy.

After a good long pee, I turned to sit down on the toilet and leaned back against the tank, stroking myself to hardness. I loved the feel of my erection in my hand-I had since I was old enough to learn the art of self-loving. It remained disheartening to know my fist was the closest thing I had to a boyfriend and would be until I found a backbone, but I could be thankful I had a strong pair of arms and an admittedly pretty nice-looking cock.

I didn't want to take so long that my absence would be noticed, so I pulled out my phone and quickly searched out a nice gay porn video of two well-built young football players servicing their well-hung coach in the locker room. Although I kept the sound muted, I could tell the younger guys were supposed to be 'straight', and pressured into gay acts by the coach, which was admittedly, in the context of a fiction, pretty hot. They looked at each other worriedly as the older man seemed to be ordering them to make out with each other, and then touch each other's penises. I sighed softly and pumped my shaft harder.

By the time the strapping young athletes were bending over side by side to have their tasty-looking and supposedly (but obviously not) virgin asses fucked aggressively by their coach, I was at the brink. Bracing my steel-toed boots against the floor, I clenched my jaw tightly and held my breath, barely making a sound as I shot several eager gouts of cum into a balled fist.

Finally I exhaled hard and took a minute to catch my breath. I smiled to myself, feeling much more relaxed and also thinking with some amusement that I could teach my neighbours a thing or two about how to orgasm quietly.

I stared down at the mess in my hand and, after a few moments, brought it up to my mouth. I shut my eyes and slowly licked up every trace of my issue. It was an occasional guilty pleasure of mine. I knew it was probably weird and gross, but I liked to fantasize that I'd just beat off another guy and was eating his cum.

After flushing and washing up, I stepped out and nearly collided with my supervisor. Mitch stood and glared at me; I froze. My heart raced. Did he suspect? Had he heard me huffing and puffing away in there? Did he see the flush on my cheeks, or a hint of a satisfied smile?

After a few moments of awkwardness he said nothing, so I just dropped my head and shuffled aside while he entered the washroom after me. I silently cursed myself and Mitch as I went back to work.

My post-orgasmic high did not last long. That afternoon, everything went to hell.