The Jerk-Off - 1. Chapter 1 Boy

“Boy!”

Thayer jerked at the sound, like receiving an electric shock, coming to attention as he looked wildly around.

Only his second day on the job, not even close to getting the hang of it. Each task, by itself, wasn’t that hard. Pumping gas, counting out minnows, selling fishing licenses, running the cash register. When he was working the docks, pushing rented Alumacraft fishing boats off of the shore, mounting trolling motors, handing out oars and life preservers, tying up the incoming boats, and hauling the stringers up to the fish house.

Taken altogether? Holy crap!

Mr. Elwinde wasn’t that hard to work for—or was he? Thayer had no idea. He’d never had a job working for anyone before. Up until now, work, as it were, consisted of cutting lawns and babysitting.

Thayer had just collected a dollar for a bucket of minnows from a fisherman.

“It was just seventy-five cents last year. What the hell?!?” The man complained with a scowl.

Thayer just shrugged as he put the dollar bill in his apron.

“Boy!” Elwinde screamed again. “Get life preservers on those two boats!”

He ran—didn’t walk—to the boathouse, afraid Mr. Elwinde might throw an anchor at him or something.

Sixteen years old last March. 5’7” and a half, his pubescent growth spurt of the last couple of years apparently slowing—at least for now. Long carob colored hair over his ears and down on his neck, thick and mostly straight, always neatly combed, bangs falling across his forehead, tickling his eyelashes from time-to-time until he brushed them back. Thick eyebrows over his chocolate brown eyes. His eyelashes were so long they almost looked fake. Small, straight nose. Clear pale skin, small moles here and there, occasionally broken out with a small spray of acne on his chin. Full lips gave him a perpetually pouty look, an expression more than a few girls in his class found to be positively alluring. Unbeknownst to him, a small cache of them had secretly given him the nickname “Puppy,” because he always seemed to look like he needed to be held and cuddled. A slender body, devoid of any fat, no matter how much pizza and chips he consumed.

After a thirty-second interview a couple of days ago, Ted Elwinde gave him the job. He asked his name twice, somehow unable to make it stick in his mind. Since then, Thayer quickly became just, “Boy.”

“You good?” Romey asked with a look of concern, leaning against the counter, as Thayer entered the boathouse.

“Yeah!” Thayer responded breathlessly. He grabbed a stack of seat cushions that did double duty as life preservers. He nudged them under his chin, grimacing at the odor emanating from the oily dark grey cushions. Don’t people know how to wipe their own butts? He asked himself.

Stumbling along the sandy path, down the hill from the boathouse to the docks, Thayer quickly scanned the lakefront. Bay Lake was the quintessential northern Minnesota lake. Unlike other lakes which were large and wide open bodies of water, Bay Lake was composed of a series of small and medium-sized bays, giving it a quaint and intimate feeling. Even though the lake’s total mass was impressive, it seemed like you could almost swim across it in many places. Scrub pine, birch, and oak trees grew right up to the shoreline, further closing it in and making it look like a Bob Ross oil painting.

Fifteen-year-old Roman Rodgers moved from behind the counter to the doorway, his eyes glued to Thayer’s backside as he trudged down the hill to the dock. Specifically, his butt. Unconsciously, he licked his lips. Thayer’s ass was so high and tight, Rome thought, his cheeks filling out and pushing so provocatively, stretching the fabric of his jeans. He really looks good in that navy t-shirt too, he told himself. An instantaneous stiffening between his legs. He tried to blink away the vision. Later, he thought. Tonight, he’d give his joint a good workout. Thayer was Romey’s favorite jerk-off fantasy. His only one, really.

“Gimme those!” Elwinde said as he grabbed the seat cushions out of Thayer’s arms.

He turned to the two men who were already in their boat as they busily arranged their fishing tackle around them.

“Thanks, Tin Ethel!” One of the men said.

Elwinde just huffed as he threw two of the cushions in the boat and shoved it off with his foot.

Ten Ethyl. Everyone pronounced it sort of like, “Tin Ethel.” Ted Elwinde’s nickname for many years now. In pre-historic times, there was regular gas and there was Ethyl, before it became known as premium. Back then, Elwinde’s gas station had just two pumps, one for each blend.

When he first opened up, he was going to call it Ted’s Gas. But, when he ran it by a friend, he chuckled. “Ya know what people are gonna say?” He paused, letting the last part just hang there.

Ted turned red in the face and shook his head in disgust. “Well, then I’m just gonna call it Gas.”

Lots of cars ran on Ethyl in those days. With the price hovering between ten and twenty-five cents a gallon, most folks got a few gallons or a couple of bucks worth. Approaching newly arrived cars and trucks, Elwinde got into the habit of asking, “Ten Ethyl?” That stood for ten gallons. Eventually, his customers started repeating it right back to him. “Ten Ethyl!” they’d all yell out the car window.

“Boy! Get that boat!”

Ten Ethyl turned his head, pointing his chin toward a crusty Crestliner outboard that was slowing in its approach to the dock.

As it slid into dock, Thayer knelt down and grabbed the mooring line while the boat’s sole occupant cut the motor and jumped onto the dock. Wiry, about 5’9,” several days of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and narrow eyes, Louie Lee Ledecker hitched up his pants and watched for a moment as Thayer struggled to tie the boat to one of the cleats on the edge of the dock.

“Gimme that!” Louie Lee grunted, grabbing the rope out of Thayer’s hand. A quick wrap around the near and far horns, sliding the rope through the loop, and a hard pull. The boat was secured.

As Thayer’s mouth opened in surprise, Louie Lee stood back up, squeezed one eye shut, and strained to look at the boy out of the side of the other.

“Why, if it ain’t young Dunn? All grow’d up I guess,” he chuckled.

His smile turned to something between a bug-eyed stare and a leer, giving Thayer a shiver and making him blush.

The moment passed quickly, as Ten Ethyl jumped in. “What’re ya in for, Louie Lee?”

“Provisions,” he growled.

Elwinde just smirked.

“Boy, get that cooler filled with ice,” he commanded, nodding at a rusty, dented metal cooler sitting in the well of Louie Lee’s boat.

Louie Lee Ledecker. The third of four Ledecker kids. Not really a kid, now that he was thirty-six years old. He had just trawled over from Ledecker Island. Earlier this morning, he rolled over and fell off of the couch, his body and head banging against several empty beer bottles still on the floor, leftover from the night before. Staggering to the Fridge, he peered bleary-eyed into the interior, empty save for a jar each of mustard and pickles.

“Shit!” He groaned.

Now, that he was on Ten Ethyl’s dock, Louie Lee hocked one back and spit it into the water. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, glancing down at Thayer, who was now struggling to get the cooler out of the boat. Foggy as his mind still was, he managed to file a thought away for further consideration. Scratching an itch along the side of his neck, Louie Lee turned and ambled up the dock toward The Bar. Maybe there was a way to get that kid over to the island. Dark thoughts swirled around his mind for a moment. With a shake of his head, he swept them away.

Ethel was just ringing up a couple of packages of beef jerky when she glanced over and noticed Louie Lee slumped on his stool toward the middle of the bar. The stool was literally Louie Lee’s. He’d occupied that spot along the bar so often and for so long, someone had finally used spray paint to stencil his name along the side of the vinyl seat cushion. He’d earned it, after all.

Ethel sauntered over and rested one wrist on the bar, a disgusted look on her face.

“Little early, ain’t it?”

“Depends on what time zone you’re in,” Louie Lee responded with a crooked smile.

Ethel smirked as she grabbed a bottle of Grain Belt out of the cooler and popped the top off. She slid it across the bar. Louie Lee grabbed it and took a big swallow, all in one motion.

“Ahh! That’s better!”

Ethel shook her head and walked away. Ethel Merz. No kidding! A name ever so close to “Ethel Mertz,” Lucy’s sidekick on the long running TV show. She even looked like the actress who played her, Vivian Vance—tightly curled silver hair, a round face, and a soft body. Her story was kind of fuzzy, but worthy of some fun speculation now and then. Years ago, she had mysteriously appeared in Ten Ethyl’s life. Everybody got a big yuck out of it—Ten Ethyl and Ethel. All of a sudden, they were an item. Ethel brought something to the relationship—brains.

Gas originally started out as a shack up by the road. Ted owned the whole parcel, however, including a couple of hundred feet of shoreline behind it. Between Gas and Bay Lake, the land gently sloped downward, dotted here and there with oak and pine trees, scrub, and sand. At some point, he put a dock in for his own boat, using it to go fishing early mornings and frequently after he closed the gas station late in the day. Once in awhile, during the day, when it was slow, he’d cast his line off from the end of the dock.

Some friends asked if they could launch their boats from his place. Finally, screwing up enough courage, he asked them to pay a few bucks for the privilege. All of a sudden, he was kind of in the resort business. Expansion was done using the “I need a” plan. A small boathouse, for life preservers, some extra outboards, and spare anchors. Then a bait house with a large metal tank for minnows, pails of night crawlers, followed by a fish house for cleaning the fish. The dock got extended, then a second dock was added. Boats were purchased to be used for rentals by the half-day or the full-day.

Eventually, Ethel talked Ten Ethyl into expanding further. An addition was made to the shack up by the road that included a bar, small kitchen, and a c-store for snacks and cold drinks. Gas became The Bar and Gas. Ethel took care of The Bar.

The whole place had a kind of random, ramshackle appearance. Somehow, it looked unintentionally charming—even quaint if you squinted at it a bit. And suddenly, it became very popular. Ten Ethyl was kept busy running the boats and Gas, not really having much time to pay attention to what was going on at The Bar until they sat down weekly to go over receipts and the checkbook. Then he paid attention—and, he liked what he saw!

“Need a hand?”

Cutie stood alongside the path, a smile on her face, as she watched Thayer struggle under the weight of the cooler, now filled with ice.

“I got it,” he grunted through clenched teeth. Just then, he stumbled on a rock, forcing himself to throw the ice chest down before he tumbled over it.

Cutie giggled. She whipped her long blonde hair to one side and went over to help. Cassandra Ledecker—thirteen, going on fourteen, long legs, a tight little body, perfectly small newly sprouted breasts, high and tight, blue eyes, and a pert nose.

When she was just a baby, her grandma Gwinnie pinched her little cheeks and bestowed the nickname on her—Cutie. It stuck.

She’d had it in for Thayer since forever. Her life plan, carefully annotated in her diary, included becoming Cassandra Dunn by the time she was twenty-one.

“Okay, thanks!” Thayer gasped.

Each one grabbed a handle. Together, they continued down the hill to the dock.

“Wanna come over to the island later?” Cutie asked. “We’re having a cookout.”

Thayer’s mouth fell open as he tried to come up with an answer.

Looking at him, Cutie practically melted. That look, she thought! The name her friends used all the time, “Puppy,” leapt into her head.

After a long pause, he finally found his voice. “I’ll havta see.”

Lunchtime. Thayer deftly avoided Romey, quickly grabbing his sack lunch, and heading toward the small beach on the far end of Ten Ethyl’s property. He climbed through a narrow opening in some tall grass, stepping around a shallow border of scrub pine.

Close enough to the shore that he could hear the water lapping against the shoreline and smell the rot of dead fish and other lake urchins. Far enough away that the sand and tall grass were dry enough to sit on.

He pulled the cheese sandwich out of the bag, took a bite, and popped the can of Shasta Cola open. Grimacing at the sting of the soda as it went down his throat, he put the sandwich down and gazed out onto the lake.

The feeling had been roiling inside him most of the morning. Once Louie Lee gave him that look, he’d been partially hard the rest of the morning. Even harder as noon approached, so much so that he was constantly holding his hands across his crotch to hide the erection poking at the front of his jeans. It wasn’t Louie Lee or the fact that he was an adult. It was just…he couldn’t quite put it into words.

In one move, Thayer jerked his belt open and unbuttoned his jeans. Nudging his pants and underwear over his hips and down to his knees, he gasped as his impossibly stiff cock flopped out into the open air. He looked down at it, not so much in solemn judgment, but more to just check it out. Pretty thick, he thought, pre-cum already oozing out of the large head. Pink, almost salmon colored, a shade darker than his very pale thighs. Big enough. Maybe seven inches or so. A tuft of dark hair covering his pubic bone. He pulled his hairless balls forward, cupping them with his hand. Prickly and taut.

Thayer wound his hand around the shaft, pulling it steadily back and forth. The hand that was cupping his balls, slipped further down between his legs, tickling lightly along his perineum. He let out a gasp and closed his eyes. His index finger slipped further back, barely touching his asshole. A vision. Just yesterday, he’d gotten on his knees to examine it in his bedroom mirror. The side of his face flat on the floor, he used both hands to pull his butt cheeks apart to look at it more closely. The thought of it was just enough. The thrusting instantly became more urgent, his hips off the ground.

Gasping for air, different visions came into his head. Cocks, balls, boys, girls, tits, pussies, butts. Always without faces. A minute later, he was there. The cum poured out, at least three decent spurts, hitting almost to the middle of his chest. It was a good thing he’d thought to pull his shirt up.

As his respiration started to return to normal, Thayer looked out to the lake again. The only thing that came to mind was—jerk-off. I must be the jerk-off of all jerk-offs, he thought. Already his second time today.

As he used a napkin to wipe himself off, he thought about the rest of the day. There’d have to be one more for sure, he thought. Possibly two. After he got home, maybe another one tonight, after the cookout.

He smirked to himself. I guess I’m going to the cookout.