Stinker's Jobs Part 1: Parks and Reeks
by Mudcub
patrick@mudcub.com
Warning: This story contains a lot of raunch and man sex. If you aren't interested, consider this to be a warning. This story should only be interpreted as one man's fantasy, not as a clearance to actually try any of the unsafe practices here.
My plan was that when I turned eighteen I would leave town. But it didn't turn out that way. My grandma died, and I ended up spending months trying to clean up her house in order to sell it. It took weeks of work, and I ended moving in there. The place was so run-down, my parents didn't care if I just stayed there rent-free as long as I could pay utilities. So, that encouraged me to stick around.
But then I got busted for underage drinking. And being drunk in public. Littering. Which was bullshit, since I was just hanging out in the park minding my own business at four in the morning. But I still got busted.
The judge sentenced me to ten days public service cleaning up the park. Which I didn't really mind... I love that park. And I don't mind picking up trash, in fact I kinda like it. I love the smell of a fermenting garbage. I don't know why -- I just do. I would just walk around with a big plastic bag and find trash people had left on the ground, and then jab it with my "sticker" or use my "reacher grabber". Or, I'd drive an old pickup truck around the park and load up the back of the truckbed with all the black plastic garbage bags from the metal trash cans all over the park. One of my favorite jobs at the park was climbing into the big dumpsters and hosing them out. Nobody liked doing the job, so they left it up to me.
Best of all, I was supposed to wear this huge rubber suit to do the power washing. The rubber stank, and was insanely hot to wear outside in the summer. The attached gloves were huge and clumsy and made it hard to hold onto stuff. I loved the reek of old sweat from the workers who had worn the suit years and years before me. It was great when sweat dripped down my body and pooled in the attached rubber boots. Sometimes I pissed myself and added to the liquid at my feet.
Nobody bothered me while I used the high-pressure hose. And the dumpsters stank so bad, nobody came near. So, I would stretch the job out for hours. I would lie in the dumpster where nobody could see me and jack off through the heavy rubber of the suit. Man, I am kinky... I would root through the trash and eat any good looking food I could find. But mostly, I would just sleep, making a nest out of the softest trash and piling extra bags on top of me so nobody could see me.
Because I would do the jobs "nobody wants to do", when my ten days were up, they offered me a fulltime job. Best of all, it was government work, and paid really well, with benefits and everything. So, at eighteen, there I was with a house and a good job, all by accident. My employer was officially the "Parks and Recreation Department", but everyone who worked there called it the "Parks and Reeks". The guys who worked there were the lowest of the low. The joke was that if you were too stupid to get a job with Reeks, you were too stupid to live. I ended up fitting in really well.
I have to admit that I live like a slob. As, I said, I love garbage, and my house is no exception. If I have a food wrapper, I just wad it up and throw it on the floor. There's a good eight inches of mud and food on the mats of my truck, and in the summertime, the whole cab just stinks of rotten crap. That's the way I like it, and it someone objects, they can just get the fuck out of my truck.
I don't wipe my ass. It started because I ran out of toilet paper and was too lazy to buy some more. But after a few weeks, I figured out that I really liked it. I mean, if my asshole itches, I'll run my hairy hand up and down my crack. Then, I love to sniff it. Man, it's an art to get the right musky sweaty smell of an ass that's just-over-the-edge of ripeness. I only own three pairs of underwear, and they are permanently brown and yellow from never washing them. I find sticking my finger up my hole through the fabric is just as good as toilet paper.
And I don't shower much. I love to wear the same t-shirt for days at a time. At work, we have to wear heavy blue coveralls anyway, so I can wear whatever I want underneath. Sometimes when it's hot, I don't wear anything at all, and I love to reach my hands into the overall pockets and play with my dick and balls. But in the winter, I have to wear thermal longjohns or a dirty union suit, and after not washing it for a long time, the armpits can build up a pretty high smell.
So, that's why they call me "Stinker". It started out as an insult, but after a while the guys realized I didn't mind. I thought it was pretty funny. And it kept my coworkers away from me. At least the ones that were prissy and annoying. It was like a test -- if a coworker didn't mind a ride in my filthy truck and sticky floorboards, then I knew he was a pretty good guy. Or at least a guy who didn't mind a free ride home after work.
Plus, those guys stunk bad enough themselves. As I said, most of the Reeks workers weren't too smart and weren't too rich. But almost all of them were horny. At lunch, they'd talk about how their wives wouldn't put out, or about how they hadn't had sex in months. And that's when I'd offer them a ride home in my truck. And then I'd offer them a blowjob. Or more.
I had ethics. Or at least personal ethics that I considered ethical. For example, I would never spring gay sex on a guy. Or trick them in any way. So, if I drove a guy home, I would drop them off at their house/apartment/whatever and clearly say, "Do you want a blowjob?" And if they got out of my truck and ran, that was ok. But I would never corner them somewhere and then try something tricky.
This strategy actually failed me the first time I tried it. There was this guy on the landscaping guy named Joaquin, but he was really chubby, like 300 pounds or so, so everyone called him "Gordo". Joaquin didn't seem to mind. And I thought he was amazingly cute. Like a huge teddy bear, and he sweat all the time, which I thought was erotic. And he didn't mind a ride in my filthy truck, and as I said, that was one of my first tests for a guy.
So, I drove Gordo/Joaquin home, and parked in front of his house. I said, "do you want a blowjob?" and the guy's eyes grew huge. He stammered and said, "I've never given anyone a blowjob before... but, but I guess I could TRY!" I told him that I was the one offering to blow him, and he relaxed a lot. I ended up sucking the cum out of his dick while we sat in my car and the end of the dark street he lived on.
But the funny thing was... I remembered the look on his face as he considered being the one to blow ME. And after I "took him home" a few times over the next few months, I brought up the idea of him returning the favor. And he went for it! Gordo ended up being a good friend to me, and even though he never fucked me, he often hung out at house and watched TV and drank beer... and blew each other. In my opinion, the recipe for a great evening.
I gave blowjobs everywhere in the parks that first year. There were over a hundred guys working for the city: the landscapers I already talked about, and the maintenance guys that repaired all the plumbing in the bathroom. There was a whole administration department that pretty much stayed inside all the time and stayed away from us. And then there was the usual parade of other hot guy that would visit. Construction workers working on new buildings: masons, fencers, electricians, and all the truckers and deliverymen who made things appear on site.
There were a few other guys that would go farther than a blowjob. Sometimes I would put out the "out of order" sign on the men's room, and bring a guy into there for a blowjob. Some guys would take a LONG time to cum, and I'd be on my knees there in the puddles of piss in the bathroom, and the guy just would never shoot. And while I don't mind how long it takes, I can tell when it's starting to get boring for the guy. So I'd take the dick out of my mouth and say, "Do yaw anna fuck me in the ass?" And I never had a guy say no.
Nothing like getting my ass reamed out. I found that every guy who was taking a long time to shoot would cum instantly after bending me over the sink. My theory is that the guys liked looking into the metal mirror of the sink and watching themselves fuck a guy. It wasn't as much about my tight ass as the idea that they could watch themselves. My theory is that every guy, gay or straight, is actually into themselves more than anything else.
So that's when I started to get a reputation. Guys talk. And especially the guys in the Reeks department. A bunch of gossipy bitches! One day I was feeling REALLY horny. I don't know why. But I told a bunch of guys to stop by the men's room in Lincoln Park any time during the day. Man, I texted my coworkers, called a bunch of them, and even posted on the internet. I told my boss that I'd be busy the entire day, and then I put up the "out of order" sign on the door without locking it. I actually brought a sling from home and drilled the chains into the ceiling. Finally, I stripped naked, got in the cling, and just waited to see what would happen!
Man, there was an entire line! Seriously, there was like ten or twenty guys waiting outside the bathroom all day and night. I had three or four guys playing with me in the sling at any given time: one fucking my ass, one humping my mouth, and two I would give handjobs two while I laid there. And this went on for HOURS, seriously. And I would look to the side, and some of the guys would be playing with each OTHER. And this was in one of the worst-smelling bathrooms in other parks, with tons of dirty toilets nad shit everywhere. I was in piggy HEAVEN!
There was one park in our system that was known as "Pickle Park". That was the park where all the gay guys hung out, and I loved finishing my work there. I made sure that all my tasks finished up with a trip to Pickle Park after dark. There was a big oval of road that ran inside the park, and guys would park their cars on the side of the road and sit there. Some guys would jack off while waiting in their cars, while other guys would walk around the park from car to car. Guys would roll down the windows of their car, show a hard dick, or just talk about things they could do together and places they could go. So guys would drive a "new friend" home for an hour, and then drop them off back at the park. The circle was busy all night long after the sun went down, and I blew literally hundreds of guys in that park.
There was another park outside of town that was really rural. It was heavily wooded, and got a reputation for being kind of dangerous. Well, not really dangerous, but parents told their kids to stay away from that park. There were trees everywhere, and guys would walk into the woods and disappear into the inky blackness of the dense vegetation. Man, guys would do anything back there: sucking, fucking... I knew a few guys lived permanently in the wilderness, and you'd find tents and rudimentary campgrounds hidden around for the homeless guys. My boss told us to leave those guys alone and not call the cops.
But I loved fucking in the woods. There's nothing like leaning over a big branch and getting plowed. Lay on my back and look up at the hot guy fucking me and watching the trees above and the sky and shit. A real back-to-nature feeling. And the homeless guys didn't mind how bad I stank -- if anything, they smelled worse than I did. I loved eating a cheesy dick or rimming the asshole of a guy who hadn't showered in weeks. We'd just fuck like animals. Some of the guys I'd invite back for a shower, or give them some money for a hotel room, but overall they liked to keep living just as they were, as long as the weather was ok.
Overall, the job wasn't too hard. Often, I worked with the landscaping department hauling shit around. I love laying sod, now THERE'S a job that gets you real filthy real quick. I mean, one guy will load you up with fifty pounds of grass rolls, and the dirt gets all caked up your arms and all over your chest. Man, there was mud everywhere, even in my underwear, and I'm not sure how it got there. And the end of the day, we all looked like pigs in the mud, and even I had to rinse myself off with a garden hose before I could get in my truck.
Another job I loved was cleaning out the bathrooms at all the parks. There were ten parks total in my home town, and each one had a concrete-brick building. Now, I did a good job with the ladies' side... those facilities were always sparkling clean. But I would often leave one or two toilets incredibly filthy. I liked to see who would use them. It was amazing... there would be shit piled up in the john like a pyramid, and the next day I'd go in and see that someone had loaded some more shit on top. I wish we had cameras in the bathrooms -- I have no idea how someone could shit on top of a one-foot pile without making a mess. And I wanted to see who would WANT to shit like that.
Plus, I loved the stink that much shit added to the place. The windows were open without glass, but still that much shit had to make it's presence known. I loved to hang up a "closed" sign on the men's room door and lock it. Only the Reeks workers had a key, so I know nobody would bother me. And then I'd take my own sweet time cleaning the place. But first I'd make the men's bathroom a little dirtier first.
I'd strip down out of my coveralls and throw them in a puddle of piss to soak. I loved how they'd feel all wet when I pulled them on later. I'd keep my boots on. And then dare myself to do stuff. For example, I'd kneel in front of the urinals and lick the porcelain. I loved the salty taste. And best of all when the piss had dried and there were crunchy salt crystals along the bottom where guys had sprayed. I'd lay flat on the floor and lick the sniff the tiles. Then lick them. And I'd drink the piss water guys left behind.
A couple times, I found a turd in the urinal. Guys like doing that to be funny. And I'd scoop it out with my hand and then eat it like a candy bar. There were always dried turds when guys shit on the floor and let it dry. I liked to find dirty toilet paper and smell it. Chewing and swallowing it was difficult, since it was so dry, but it was fun to chew up into a paste like a spitball before swallowing.
I've seen it all. Used condoms where I'd suck the jizz out. I loved when the condom was covered in shit like someone had fucked someone in the ass and then thrown the thing on the floor. That gave it extra flavor. Or I'd look in the trash and sometimes with a full pair of underwear, like someone had shit themselves and then thrown the evidence away. I'd sit on the dirty floor of the bathroom and wear the dirty briefs on my head like a hood. I'd jack off while smashing the shit into my face and rubbing it all over my head. Finally I'd eat the contents like a horse eating out of a feedbag.
A couple of the parks were near an old-folk's home and those guys would leave whole diapers. I'd put the diapers and feel some old guy's shit mashed into the crack of my ass and his cold piss against my cock and balls. I'd wear them like that all day under my coveralls. If anyone at work smelled me, they didn't say anything. After all, I had been cleaning bathrooms all day.
Every summer there would be a few festivals: music concerts or carnivals or sports events. And I loved those because it brought in the Port-o-potty guys. I'd volunteer to be on their crew, and help set up the rows and rows of shitters waiting for marathon runners or beer drinkers whatever. My favorite thing was that the men's and women's bathrooms were kept separate, so if I ever found a turd on the floor of a port-o-john, I knew if it came from a guy. The women's stuff I just cleaned up, but the guy's bathrooms I would really get into.
But after a few hours in the hot sun, those things REEKED. And that's even for the ones where people were being careful. For the johns at a music festival, people didn't seem to mind if they shit on the floor or smeared their mess all over the inside of the door. Man, I had seen some real damage, where it looked like someone exploded in there.
Again, my favorite part of the job was the gear. For the port-o-potty cleaner job, I wore rubber overalls that went up my waist. I was supposed to wear a button-down shirt from the company that supplied the toilets, but usually I just went bare chested. But we had to wear full respirator because the crap smelled so bad.
So, there I'd be naked but wearing a heavy black rubber apron from my neck down, and a gasmask so nobody could see me. I loved to go into the filthiest shitter I could find and close the door. In the summer heat, it would be a hundred degrees in there and the sweat would pour off my armpits. I'd snake the hose of my gasmask down into the hole to get a huge whiff of the bubbling contents below me. It was a fantasy of mine to crawl down into the tank and jack off, but our port-o-potties only had a fifty gallon tank in the base... not quite big enough to actually get inside. But I'd still jack off thinking about it.
I'd pull the hose inside the port-o-potty from the "honey truck" parked outside. The pumper has a long corrugated hose that stretches from their tank all the way to the bathrooms. Usually, the hose is smeared with shit from the workers who haven't been very careful. Man, that sucker had a lot of pressure. I'd put the wide hose down the hole of the portable toilet, and within second, it would suck up everything in that 50 gallon tank at the bottom of the unit. I'd look down into the black hole to see how good the sucker worked (and take a big sniff!) and hose down the walls with a water hose that I also drug in. Then, I do the sucker again. Some of the messier tanks took three or four iterations.
Finally, I'd dump two or three gallons of "the blue stuff" in the empty tank. Sometimes, I needed to hose down the inside walls of the bathroom too. Or at least replace the toilet paper. Anything else needed help from the guys who supplied the bathrooms to the parks. For example, if the unit was damaged in any way or needed repairs to its structure, us Reeks guys were supposed to fill out some paperwork and report it to the managing company. And that's how I met Fred. Fred owned the cleaning company that owned the bathrooms, but Fred wasn't too proud to get out of working. As a small business owner, it was great to see that he wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty... in fact literally!
One of the first times I saw Fred, he was wearing his company shirt and workpants and a gasmask. A guy was yelling at him, one of the patrons of the food and wine festival we were working at. The guy was drunk, and kept pointing and saying the port-o-potty "ate" his cell phone. I saw Fred turn away, and roll up the sleeve of his denim shirt. He flung open the door of the port-o-potty, knelt in front of the seat, and thrust his arm down the hole of the shitter. And I mean ALL the say down, all the way to the armpit. Fred turned his head to the side, and through the gasmask I could see him concentrating, feeling his way through all the shit and piss and toilet paper. Finally, he pulled up a hot slippery mess dripping off his arm, and in his fist was a soaked iPhone. Fred stood up, walked out of the bathroom, and threw the phone and the drunk guy without saying anything. The asshole who lost his phone tried to catch it instinctively, then realized the cell phone was still covered in crap and the guy screamed and swatted the phone away. It bounced on the ground, and I hope the screen cracked.
So, that's when I knew Fred and I were going to be good friends. Meanwhile, Fred was impressed when I stayed behind after work and put in some "free" labor after hours to help load all the used port-o-potties back onto several flatbed trucks to take back to his facility. We were all tired and sweaty from a hard day working at the fair, but personally, I didn't want to take off the rubber overalls that I was wearing and have to give them back to Fred's company who was just letting me borrow them.
Plus, there was the fact that I wasn't wearing anything under the overalls. And I was feeling extra kinky that day, and had taken a shit in them before I was going to give them back. The evidence of the act was smooshed between my toes and under the sole of my left foot from where the turd had fallen down the back of the pants and into the attached rubber boot. Worse, I had taken another turd and shoved it inside the hose of my gasmask so I had to smell it all day as I worked. I had planned to hose the overalls and gasmask out before I gave them back to Fred, but the guy came up to me as the last port-o-potty was being hauled on the truck.
Fred was a chunky guy, about 5' 10" and 230 pounds. His black bushy mustache and dirty overalls made him look like an Italian plumber. In fact, sometimes the guys working for him called him " Super Mario" as a nickname. But usually they called him "Boss", because he was Fred Schmidt, the owner of Schmidt Cleaners. And because of him, the whole crew had good-paying jobs.
Fred looked me up and down. "Thanks fer loadin' the shitters," He said.
I did know what to say. "Thanks?" I shrugged.
"You can give me back those overalls," he said, pointing to the rubber that I was wearing. "You don't get to keep those."
"Um," I stalled, "uh, they're really sweaty. I can clean them up and give them back to you tomorrow." I was more worried about the shit that coated the INSIDE of the overalls more than the outside. How was I gonna explain that? "Plus my clothes are in my truck over at the park."
"No," said Fred, "how `bout I give ya a ride." He at me kind of funny, smiling. "You can change over there."
"I'm ok," I said, "it's not far to walk."
"Nonsense," said Fred. "Lemme drive ya." He turned and got into the flatbed that was carrying all the used port-o-potties.
I had no choice to obey. But how was I going to explain the condition of my work clothes?