The Factory Men

This is an erotic story about male gay sex. It focuses on the development of a relationship and doesn't get to the sex right away. But - it does get there.

1.

The people of the town knew just about everyone around and had known their fellow citizens for their whole lives. So the presence of two new men from the city brightened everyone's lives. And the fact that both of them worked at the factory gave everyone a chance to observe the newcomers.

Diego, a skinny kid from New York, had moved here with his fiancé, and lived in Kutztown. He hadn't been in town or at the factory long before he got into trouble with some of the men. The problem was over a game of black jack after work behind the building. Diego, goaded into joining by the guys, lost a moderate amount. Problem was he couldn't pay it back right away. He swore on his mother's life that he would pay the sum out of his wages in a matter of weeks. But until he did, the men were going to make life hard for him.

Tom Peters, a white man about 40 and the other new man in town, saw Juan crouched against the wall about 5 a.m. every morning before the gears began to rumble and the men took their places on the line. Juan was reading. Someone even saw the two of them exchange a smile. The white man liked the Hispanic, everyone said. "The white man": that was just about all they knew about him.

Tom lived at the top of the hill above town and rode a bicycle to work at 5 a.m. He didn't seem to own a pick-up, although there was a beat-up Nissan in front of the house he rented. One of the men had sent his wife to look in the car: nothing in their but books. There was a better source of information, though: Tom had a friend, a social worker called Mike who worked at the foster care agency. And Mike's wife had spilled a story. Back in New York Tom had been married to a bad woman. She had told her brothers that he beat her and they had come for him. You could see the marks on Tom's forearm where he had been cut with a knife and a slight limp when he walked. But, because he was so muscular, like an Olympic gymnast or weightlifter, other stories developed among the townspeople. He had beaten all four brothers and left them there, but then had to leave the city before all their friends came for him.

There was no proof of any of this, any more than there was proof that Tom knew the other stranger, Diego -- at least not until about a week before the Thanksgiving Holiday. Diego's girlfriend had gotten a job in Kutztown and, as a result, Diego had had to walk home for the last several weeks. Tom had seen the pretty-faced, slender young man kissing his girlfriend after getting in her car. The morning after the very first day that Diego walked home, he appeared at work with a bruise below his left eye. He was walking a bit bent, as if a broken rib forced him to favor one side. Tom, who had never spoken to this man, felt an abrupt burning sensation seeing the young man and approached him, drawing looks from everyone on the factory floor.

"What happened to you?"

The boy paused and motioned with his head to a group of men sitting and standing on nearby benches. "Them," he simply said.

"I'm Tom Peters."

Through his bruised face, the boy smiled. "I seen you," he said.

And he had. They had seen each other in the changing room. When Tom, whose shower at home didn't work, had emerged from the shower, Diego had seen his exceptional body naked. And he had seen that the older man had an erection which looked enormous. Diego turned away immediately but felt prickles all over. The moment passed, but Diego wondered why the white man was aroused. He thought he knew, though, if only instinctively. Tom was exceptionally virile and had no girlfriend. For his relentless libido he simply had no outlet.

About 4:30 p.m., when it was time to start for home, Tom found Diego again in the changing room. Both were fully dressed this time.

"I'll walk with you," Tom said.

"Okay."

The other men held back watching the two leave the factory. Crude and rough, German immigrants, drunk and God-fearing, they knew they had a situation on their hands. Walking fast, they caught up with Tom and Diego in no time, four of them, each physically larger than Tom.

One grabbed Diego's arm, pulling him off-balance.

"You two -- beautiful friendship, huh?"

"How come you're not friends like that to me?"

Tom stood still, with a look of weary resignation on his face.

"What about you?" one of them said to Tom.

"You guys should go wherever you're going."

They approached him like a wolf pack. "Don't tell me! You don't tell us what to do."

Tom sighed and sidestepped a fist at his belly, trapped the arm against his side, and spun halfway around, throwing the man bodily into the air. Diego, looking frail and delicate on the ground, stared in wonder as Tom aggressively battered his second attacker, no doubt breaking his jaw, while hooking his leg around the leg of a third man foolish enough to approach him from the side. He swept his leg towards himself, upending the man, then added a kick to the head to end the matter. He could have kicked harder -- Diego knew this -- and done real harm, but he didn't. The fourth man hesitated and Tom took him down like a linebacker, connecting his steel shoulders with his middle. The blow was hard, and the man lay breathless on the dirt. Looking bored and disappointed, Tom helped up his friend and they walked on.

Diego walked home alone the next night, and every night that week, but he remained unmolested. News of the fight had become the central preoccupation of the town with strong opinions reaching from the barber shop to the Town Hall about the stranger. While many versions of the story circulated, there was a general understanding that these men, known to be troublemakers, had attacked a defenseless young man.

A week after Thanksgiving, Diego's girlfriend, Marisol, came to pick him up from work. Her schedule had been changed at her job to nights and weekend. Wanting to get a look at her fiancé's savior, she walked into the factory. She attracted glances -- a woman in this man's environment. Tom was taking a break and reading. She took in his composed air and powerful body. As she walked with Diego back to the car she cursed in Spanish, and the two of them were heard fighting inside the car as they drove away.

2.

The second incident made the first fight look mild, even though it could not have lasted more than thirty seconds. It was a big deal indeed, because it involved the foreman's son Jack. Everyone knew that Jack liked to talk about the "spics" who worked as migrants in the mushroom plants and occasionally in the factories around the area. The jobs they took were "stolen" from "us," as Jack put it.

Maybe this was why Jack pulled a knife on Diego at the front entrance to the factory. Tall but with horn-rimmed glasses and a cruel, slit-like mouth, Jack was arrogant and showed it by making his move in plain sight, daring anyone to do anything about it. And Tom was walking up from behind. Who knew what Jack intended to do with the knife? Maybe he was only threatening Diego. But it didn't matter. Jack dropped to the ground like a house of cards collapsing after only a single blow from Tom, a bullwhip-strike with his left fist.

Everyone froze as Jack lay on the ground, actually weeping. They were partly shocked but also secretly pleased to see the foreman's son in this position.

"Why?" one of them asked. "Why you do this?"

Tom barely looked at him as he walked through the door. "I hate bullies," was all he said.

A week before this, the gifts had started. And, although everyone knew that Diego and Marisol had broken up -- Marisol had taken up with a bank manager, Diego seemed brighter, more diligent, happier than ever. He offered Tom a braided gold necklace. But Tom wouldn't accept it. He brought food: tacos and tres leches cake -- sponge cake in syrup. A pat on the shoulder and a smile was Tom's only response; he sent the food back with Diego. But Diego did not give up so easily.

By this time he had paid his gambling debts. He arrived early for work and often stayed late, helping the foreman prepare for the next day. As crude and prejudiced as the country people often were, they appreciated a man who paid his debts, and Diego had made one or two friends from among them. It was partly for this reason that Jack did not press charges against Tom. Embarrassment was the main reason, and Jack wanted to insist that the incident had never occurred. But the grudging respect people had for Diego also played a role in his decision.

When Diego was asked about Tom and their relationship, he merely said: "He a good man."

Giving Diego the benefit of the doubt, the citizens decided he was not a homosexual. But Diego saw the matter differently. It came down to one simple issue: he paid his debts. And he owed a great debt to a stranger who had defended him twice, allowed him to work in safety, and probably saved his life. Diego would not be comfortable until he found a way to repay the debt. He would scarcely be able to sleep at night.

Although Tom would not accept gifts, Diego was untroubled. He had not survived as a stranger in this town, and as a poor kid in the city before that, without resourcefulness. He began to keep an eye on Tom, not only at work, but through the slats in the blinds on the windows of his house. In a week or two, he knew all of Tom's routines. Getting up for work, Tom had an enormous hard-on. He went to the bathroom to urinate, shower, and dress. He ate oatmeal for breakfast -- with protein powder. His body was sleek with defined abdominals and heavy chest muscles, mighty biceps and a corded forearm. Upon returning from work, he read, sometimes walking around the house naked -- his member usually semi-erect. He was not a good housekeeper and left clothes and papers strewn about on any available surface. On his day off, Diego broke into the house and cleaned up.

Diego had always been more comfortable with men than women but attracted to women even if his sex drive with women was sometimes inhibited. This had been an issue between him and his fiancé. He knew that the way he was behaving, acting as this white man's housekeeper, was demeaning, but he needed to do something for the man who had made him feel protected -- like a girl. And now, as he dusted and straightened, put paper in piles, folded clothes, he playfully imagined himself as a devoted housewife. He even thought of Tom's body, its undeniable power, and Tom's disciplined, manly character. Sweeping the floor, he thought of Tom's powerful erection, his obvious need for release, and he imagined himself providing that release. But this was all mere fantasy. He knew the difference between entertaining himself with a daydream and actually crossing over to being a fag. In real life he was a man; he would never cross that line. He stopped, out of breath and a little dizzy. His body was burning, and his small penis was hard.

Next day at work Tom gave Diego a second look and a smile as if he knew the identity of his mystery maid. At lunch he asked Diego if he was okay -- had anybody been bothering him? Diego answered that, thanks to Tom, he was being left alone. Without intending to, he batted his eyelashes like a girl as he said this. Tom appraised him with amusement and patted him on the back. Diego felt prickles like a sparkler shooting up his spine.

He had read gay porn on occasion, stories about straight men who took a submissive role toward a stronger, better-endowed man. He felt like he had stumbled into one of those stories. Deciding not to fight the impulse, he fantasized about being a "slave" whose purpose in life was to satisfy his master's bursting sexual urges. Wondering how he could fulfill such a fantasy, he came up with a playful plan. He would enter Tom's house and hide in a wardrobe until Tom was in bed, then sneak under the covers and suck him to orgasm. The taboo act was exciting to think about. He would say he was sick and leave work early to assume his hiding place in Tom's bedroom.

To his surprise, soon after lunch he actually did feel sick: dizzy and unsteady on his pins. It was bad enough that he thought he might leave.

"Where are you going?" Tom asked him, seeing Diego head towards the locker room.

"I no feel so good. Think I go home."

"Unwell again?" Tom raised an eyebrow.

Diego shrugged. "Yes, I got some sick."

"Okay," Tom said. "I'll see you at my place. The door is open."

Diego knew that the older man was teasing him - mocking him. He felt a flash fire of rage on the skin of his face.

"No thanks, Amigo," he said.

"Suit yourself," Tom said. Then he looked over at the men watching them, gathered like wolves in the corner of the floor.

Diego's mind was full of images: the rough factory men and what they would do to him when they got their courage back. Tom's physical abilities. Tom's graceful, if slightly battered, body. He felt breathless. But threw Tom's mockery back at him. "I see you at your house. Be ready, carino."

Tom smiled and said nothing. Diego was gone.

3.

Soon after Tom quit his job at the factory, having accepted a semi-managerial position at the foster care agency in town. Diego's life went back to normal, more or less. He gambled outside the factory and this time won, which put him in an even more dangerous position than previously. A new foreman threatened to fire anyone who harassed another employee. However, the factory men only took this as a challenge, knowing that if they confronted the Hispanic in a bar it would be considered just another bar fight. Diego kept away from bars in or near the town. But the factory men took this as a challenge. They put out the word to find Diego, saying that he had cheated at cards.

As his need for protection grew more urgent, Diego thought more of Tom. He was still angry at Tom for mocking him and calling him a mariposa, a homosexual. But his unpaid debt to the white man made him uneasy.

He knew he was not turning gay. Somewhat lonely without Marisol, he had begun seeing a local prostitute, a girl of about seventeen. As it happened, Tom also spent time with this lovely and intelligent young woman.

Her name was Maya, and she was something of an oddity in the town. She was part Indian and part Polynesian; she had been born in Hawaii. Adopted as a young teenager by a middle-aged family in Allentown, she had run away and lived above a hotel in Kutztown. She carried on like an old-style European courtesan, entertaining men and accepting "gifts" from them. Furthermore, she fancied herself a figure of feminine wisdom and enjoyed giving her clients, who were generally much older than she, advice on their lives.

She found Tom a tough case. He found her amusing and would often stay and talk to her as she took off the clothes he made her wear and put on the plain dress she customarily wore. As they talked, she handed him the clothes -- an outfit once worn by his wife -- and he stuffed them in a black duffel bag.

He interested her more than any of her clients, and she found him genuinely attractive. For her, he was a true man, strong-willed and measured in his way of looking at things. She marveled at his body, and used a Hindi expression for him: deva tulya, which meant "godlike."

"You loved your wife?" she asked him, not for the first time. "Make me dress like her."

"I did," he smiled at her.

"So, what happened to marriage?" she asked. She was now completely naked and Tom was putting his ex-wife's panties in the bag.

"I was not very good at marriage," Tom said.

"No! I don't believe," she said. "What you do wrong?"

"Well, I am very controlling," he said.

"Oh, yes," she agreed. But she said it with appreciation.

"I wanted her to do things for me," he explained. "To do exactly what I wanted. When I wanted."

"What you mean?"

"She did everything. Sexually. Took care of the house. Everything I told her to do."

She sucked on her pinky, thinking about this. "Many woman want man like you."

"At first, yes," Tom said. "But after a while they want more freedom."

"One of my boyfriend," she said. "He talk about you. He see you leave the door."

"Oh!" Tom said, displeased. "Who was it."

"He call Diego."

"Oh, yes. I did know him."

"He love you," she said. "He do for you, maybe, if you ask."

Tom considered this, slinging his bag across his shoulder. "When did you see him last?" he asked.

"Two hour ago," she said, pulling on her olive green dress. "He go to bar downstairs."

Tom kissed her goodbye.

At the bar he immediately spotted the slim, handsome young man who had broken into his apartment just to clean it. He had often been subjected to the attentions of gay men, and he knew perfectly well that this kid from the factory had had a crush on him. He had had some experiences with men when younger. But he generally tried to avoid this kind of situation.

Diego sat at a table in the corner. Tom got his bourbon and went to join his old acquaintance who looked startled to see him. He helped himself to a seat.

"You find me?" Diego said.

"I was just passing by and I saw you. I thought I'd say hello," Tom explained. He saw that Diego was looking past him at another table. "Something the matter?"

"Those guys," Diego said. "Been looking for me. Going to beat me up. Kill me."

Tom could tell his young friend was in a state of fear. He looked behind and saw four guys from the factory at a large round table. They were staring at Tom and Diego, obviously about to make their move.

He considered the situation, then smiled wryly at Diego. "Look," he said. "I have a plan."

"What?" Diego said distractedly, trying not to look at the men.

"You owe me a favor, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, you cleaned my house once. But I have to tell you it's a mess. And I won't consider us even unless you clean it... regularly." Tom pushed the duffel bag to Diego under the table.

"Okay. I do that," Diego said.

"Wait. That's not all. Take this bag and go into the Ladies' Room."

"The Ladies' Room?"

"Yes. And change into the clothes in the bag. Put your own clothes in it, come back out, and walk out of the bar."

Diego was shaking visibly. "I no understand."

"Yes, you do. Walk straight out and go to my house."

The men at the round table were distracted by the game on the bar TV. "Go now!" Tom ordered.

The Ladies' Room was right next to the Men's. The men, who were now looking restlessly at Tom, would never notice which one Diego had entered. Tom got up and went to the bar. He ordered another drink and began shouting at the TV set. Something about a bad call the umpire had made. Then he went to the jukebox at the back of the bar and began pressing the buttons aggressively, as if the thing was broken. The bartender yelled over to him that the jukebox was off during the game. Diego, dressed as a woman, had already walked out of the bar.

4.

Tom walked into his own house and saw the handsome, slim Mexican man cleaning the floor in a floral sundress. He stood at the doorway to the kitchen for a moment, feeling an odd sensation flood through him. This was his wife -- or just like his wife. And so he did what he used to do when married. He walked up to Diego, grabbed him by the hair, and pushed him down on the ground. He took his cock out, as hard as a policeman's nightstick, and shoved it in the kid's mouth. And he brutally fucked Diego in the mouth as the young man moved his head back, trying not to choke, and licked the underside of Tom's penis with gusto. Diego then took the initiative, sloppily sucking the enormous phallus, dripping saliva, taking Tom in great gulps, breathing hard.

"You're a fucking slut," Tom said.

"Yes, yes," Diego said.