Tales from the Show Floor 04

So back when i was still a gullible, naive, fresh-out-of-high school eighteen year old, the third show I worked was a local festival right down town in my home town. I was two for two for taking it in the mouth, and so going into this third show, I had already resigned myself to the fact I would be doing it again. You see, at this point, I hadn't figured it out that these guys were taking advantage of me. I'm not saying I would have put up any disagreement had I known that, but there is something to be said for not realizing that taking one in the mouth each show was not part of the unwritten job description.

In any event, the show I'm at is a weekly festival held downtown by a semi-popular radio station. They close off the streets, bring in food venders, and have cover bands play the greatest hits from bands that were popular before I was born. I arrive, attired in a simple grey t-shirt and blue jeans shorts, complete with flip flops. To my surprise, I'm assigned to one of the beer trucks. As far as I was aware, I was three years shy of the legal age to serve alcohol. Now, I don't bring this up, because, hey, free alcohol. So I grab my assignment, check the cart number, check the map location, and head off in search of my employer.

What I find is a rather rotund, aged man that looked like he'd been in love with beer since he could hold a glass.

"ugh, I really don't want to have to suck this guy's dick," i think as I plant a smile on my face, and go up and introduce myself. He looks me over, almost bored, and gives me the spiel. My braless t-shirt was not yet hiding the ample double D's they would be today, so apparently I wasn't impressing him. He takes me into the back of the truck, and shows me the beers. This guy actually has a rather well stocked little business, and I see dozens of various bottles, none of which Id ever heard of before. My beer knowledge started with Bud and ended with Miller. These bottles had decorative pictures with fancy words that read like poetry, or at least someone who knew how to use a google synonym search.

He asks me what I know about beers, to which i say. "nothing." He sighs and laughs, and cracks some open, and says I might as well get a crash course. Porters, wheats, shandies, pale ales, stouts. He explains the qualities of each, takes a sip, and then hands me the bottle to do the same. Now, to get this out of the way, all beer tastes like piss smells, to me. It did back then and it does today. But, I smile and taste a little of each. And by the last one, if i wasn't ready to take a load in my mouth just to get rid of the taste of beer. As far as I'm concerned, beer breath is worse than cum breath. But I keep that to myself as I endure micro brew 101.

Finally, class is over, he hands me a pail full of ice and beers, tells me to charge $6 a beer, and to get out there and sell'm. Finally, something I know how to do. He sends me out and I descend on the crowds, and even by my standards, it's surprisingly easy to sell people $6 beers. Maybe it's the warm weather, the salty foods, or the feeling of an open air concert, but these people are there to drink. I'd been to these festivals before as a visitor. I even run into a fair amount of people I know, who are all to happy to buy beers from me. A few, family friends, past teachers, give me that weird look, knowing how old I am, but I just shrug and smile, as i take their money and hand them their beers.

Things go wonderfully, and sales only pick up as the night goes on. At one point my boss has me ditch the pail, and join him in the back of the truck. Just picture any of those food trucks you see these days. Window on the side, tiny aisle, and coolers on the rest of the interior walls. Either of us sliding past the other involves some serious rubbing up on one another. At some point he just sits back in a little plastic chair and drinks while I service the counter.

Sales slow down around 11pm, and then there's another rush at quarter to midnight, once the bands have finished, and they announce the festival will begin shutting down at midnight. He tells me to flip the outside lights, and we can pack up. It's maybe a half hour to get things put away and tucked inside the truck. I yawn, and take a seat on the floor, he goes back to his chair, cracking another beer, and offering me one. I don't really want one, but i'm thirsty, so I accept. He asks me how I ended up working here, what my college plans are, how I liked high school. We sit and bullshit, and suddenly i'm three beers into the chat.

There's a knock on the door outside, and I almost say something, but my boss raises a finger to his mouth, the universal 'shushing' gesture. I pause, and from outside I hear an "all clear."

"Just clearing everyone out," he says, handing me another beer. We talk about alcohol, my opinion on beers, and my favorite drinks (long islands, screwdrivers, mudslides) I'm definitely buzzed, and realize I'm probably going to have trouble walking, but It's nice to just sit and bullshit and drink free crappy beer. The guy reaches into one of the bins, and hands me a new beer.

"Here," he says, popping the cap off and handing me the bottle. It's unlabelled, in a clear glass bottle. I take a swig, and something magical happens. It doesn't immediately make me want to vomit. Now, maybe that was aided by being over 3 beers into the night with no dinner, but it was really good. It had like, this light raspberry taste, and just a hint of yeast, and then like, this smooth wheat aftertaste that reminded me of cream of wheat.

"Wow, they do actually make good beer," i joke, looking at the blank bottle again, "What's it called?"

"I dunno, haven't come up with a name yet. Between you and me, I don't even think it'll ever see the light of day," he says.

"Why not?"

"Well, it's made from fermented semen," he says. I didn't think people actually did spit takes in real life, but he says this to me as i'm chugging another mouthful and sure enough if I don't spray it all over myself as I almost choke.

"You gave me fucking jizz beer?" i say, aghast. He laughs, shaking his head.

"No. Well, I mean technically yes, but it's fermented. It's not the same." He must see the doubt in my eyes, so he continues.

"Listen, do you like chocolate covered raisins?" he asks.

"Oh course," i say (who doesn't?)

"Would you eat a chocolate covered grape?" I mull that one over, then shake my head. "Same difference," he adds.

I have my doubts about the analogy, but I take another sip of the beer, and I admit to myself, it doesn't taste like any load of cum i've ever taken down the hatch.

"It's fucking good jizz beer," i say after a moment, going back to enjoying the half empty bottle.

"No arguments from me, but I can't imagine the FDA is going to green light it if I tell them brewing a batch up involves me depositing a load of my secret sauce into the mix." At this point, my curious has the better of me, so I have to ask.

"Wait, this is made from your jizz?" I ask.

"Why the fuck would i have another guy jerk off into it. It was tough enough convincing myself to try my own batch."

At that, I'm up on my knees and my hands are unzipping his pants. I'm drunk and curious and my mind's telling me grapes taste a little bit like raisins, don't they? To his merit, he manages to blurt out a "Woah, miss," before the rest of it is lost in a mumble as his cocks disappears into my mouth.

Now, I love sucking dick. That's never been up for debate. There's something internal in me that just gets enormous comfort and satisfaction when there's a rock hard shaft keeping my mouth open. But I am sucking this guy off with an eagerness and determination I had never felt before, and haven't since. I am fellating this guy like i'm out of breath and there's oxygen in his balls. I hear the rattle of shelves as his hand grabs a nearby rack for support, and his other one makes a death grip on the countertop. He's panting for me to slow down Meanwhile my head is bobbing away with single-minded focus. If this guy ever wished he knew a girl that could suck dick like a vacuum cleaner, I'm betting he's regretting it now. He manages to grunt "miss..." before he can't help himself and floods my mouth with the prize i was so hungrily coaxing out of him.

Except the first load shoots across my tongue, and my entire body freezes like an ice statue. What he dumps into my mouth is not the candy coated raspberry jam explosion I was dreaming about. It's not even remotely sweet or fruit flavored. What it does taste like is the grease someone had been frying sausage and onions in. Now, to be fair, it was by far, not the worst tasting spunk I've had to guzzle. But when your expectations are yanked out from under you, it adds considerable negativity to the experience.

I kneel there, frozen in abject disgust, as he proceeds to empty one of the largest loads I've ever had to endure. It feels like seven or eight big shoelace-like spurts. Once he finally stops cumming, i slowly slide my mouth off, dumping it all onto the floor. I retch and spit and hock, and he's not completely oblivious, so he says, "I uh, I did say it wouldn't be the same thing."

I just sit back, and grab the jizz beer, to rinse the taste of actual jizz out of my mouth, occasionally glancing at him and glowering, even though deep down I knew it was my own damn fault.

The followup to this is that over the course of my employment there that summer (the festival ran several weekends) he managed to talk me into blowing him two more times. The second time, he said he had eaten poorly before and that was the cause of the foul taste, and the third time he convinced me that being drunk was having an adverse affect, so I should do it sober. How's that saying go, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Not one time did it taste remotely like his fermented jizz beer.

It wasn't until years later that I learned fermented semen isn't even a thing. Why didn't they teach us that in high school?

Oh well, until next time.