MY LUMBERJACK

Marie was doing a story on lumberjacks. She was worried she would end up surrounded by a group of smelly, unkempt freaks, and she was. She just didn’t expect them to be so hot. She expected more beer guts and excessive body hair, but she was surrounded by happy trails and six packs. It made the smell of man sweat and sawdust bearable. It was easier to ignore their shaggy hair and constant spitting. Okay, maybe not the spitting. That was gross, and she found it difficult to walk without stepping in a loogie. The nasty bastards smoked and chewed tobacco, so they had excessive phlegm, and since they worked outside, they just spit EVERYWHERE!

Yes, she was disgusted by them, until they’d turn around and walk away. Then they’d pick up those axes and start swinging, with their muscles all taut and rippling. She decided to just not walk around.

“Did you want someone to give you a tour?” the foreman asked her.

“Yeah, sure. Will that require me walking through that, though?” she asked pointing to the loogie minefield.

The foreman grimaced. “I’ve never looked down before. That’s gross. Don’t worry; I won’t make you walk through that.” He turned away from her and called to a guy named Anthony.

Now Anthony also had a happy trail and a six pack, but it looked like he’d had a haircut in the last decade, he didn’t smell like tobacco, and he didn’t seem to be hacking up snot. Marie was pleased. She also noticed and was perplexed by his choice of pants. The men all wore tight-fitting jeans, but Anthony’s jeans were a bit baggy. They didn’t sag, they were just loose. She wondered if he ever worried they’d get caught in the machinery.

Before she could say anything, the foreman told Anthony to turn around and promptly tossed her on Anthony’s back like he was a pack mule. “Take Ms. Marie to the processing plant and show her around. Keep her off the ground, it’s nasty out here.”

“Will do, boss,” Anthony answered, like it was perfectly normal to carry women around his workplace on his back.

“Do you do this often?” she asked him.

“Do what?”

“Give women piggyback rides?”

“No, we don’t get many women around here. I suppose if more were here, I’d give more rides. What did you want to see?”

“If we can just follow the path of a felled tree so I can document the process, that’d be good.”

“Alright,” he agreed and walked her to the far end of the plant. “You saw them logging outside, right?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well, over here is where they come in from the yard.”

He proceeded to walk her through the process, and she learned a lot. She also learned that he was the only one who wore baggy pants and would often get teased or scolded for it. He was reminded several times to stay back from the heavy machinery, so his pants wouldn’t get caught in it. He was also taunted about, “Being baggy, because there’s nothing saggy.”

Marie thought the guy who had come up with that phrase was an idiot. She was also surprised that it didn’t seem to faze Anthony at all. They called him Teeny Weenie and teased that he was wearing baggy pants to hide his tiny dick. Marie realized that all the tight-jean-wearing lumberjacks were outlined in their tight pants. She could tell you who hung left and who hung right. It was slightly disturbing, and she was happy to be on the back of the only person who didn’t seem to be putting his penis out there for show.

By the end of the day, she was happy to get out of there, but when Anthony set her down by her car, she watched him stretch and pop his back.

“I’m so sorry. I was so distracted by what was going on, I totally overlooked that I was such a huge burden on you. Let me buy you dinner. It’s the least I could do,” she offered him.

“That’d be really nice, thank you. I just need to clock out. Would you like to just meet at the local diner?” he asked.

It was an hour later that they met up at the diner. Anthony had showered and smelled very nice. His black pants were loose, but not as baggy as the ones he had worn to work.

“You clean up really nice,” she said in greeting.

“Thank you, you look great,” he complimented her in return.

They had a nice dinner and enjoyed each other’s company. At the end when she tried to pay, he stole the bill and insisted. He was such a sweet gentleman all through dinner; she invited him back to her place.

They sat on her couch, and she could tell Anthony was nervous, but she wanted to give him the go-ahead to kiss her. She finally just took matters into her own hands and planted one on him. He smiled and kissed her back lightly.

“Is this okay?” she worried.

“Yeah,” he said a little shy. He was so damn cute. He spent all day around crude, gross men, and he was so bashful and shy. It was then she realized that he might be self-conscious about what he had in his pants. He was teased all day in front of her. She needed to reassure him somehow.

She ran her hand down his chest, tickling his abs. She loved those abs. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t look down, hoping to help him keep up his confidence. “Anthony, have you ever heard the saying, ‘It’s not the size of the marker that counts, but how you scribble?’” she asked him.

He looked at her confused. “Do you want to color something?” He looked at her refrigerator, where a poorly-drawn horse was talking to a cat. It had been drawn by Marie’s niece, who was no artist, unless she was going for abstract. Otherwise, the picture just looked like a guy sitting on a bat and vomiting an orange blob.

“No, I don’t want to color. What I was trying to say is…” how did she reassure him without sounding like a whore? “It’s not the size of the sausage, but the way it’s stuffed.”

He looked at her even more confused. They had just eaten. “Are you hungry again?”

“No, no, um…It’s not the size of the pipe, but how it’s plumbed,” she tried again.

His brow furrowed, but Anthony was determined to figure out what the hell she was getting at. “Maybe give me one more,” he encouraged.

She decided it was best to be blunt. The massive amounts of sawdust must have addled his brain. “It’s not the size of your dick that counts, but how you use it.”

His eyes popped wide. “That’s what you were talking about?” he asked shocked.

She giggled and leaned in to kiss him. Now that he knew what she wanted, he was eager to please.

“Marie,” he whispered as he groped her, “I know the size of my ax doesn’t matter to you, just the way I swing it, but I have a pretty damn big ax.”

She looked at him wide-eyed, as he guided her hand down to the front of his pants. He wasn’t kidding. His once-loose pants were very tight; at least they were all down the left pant leg. “Whoa!”

“Yeah, that’s why I wear the baggy pants. I can’t walk in anything else.”

“Wow, that’s a really nice ax.”

He gave her a big grin. “Thank you. How about you let me do some swinging?”

“Yes!” she agreed eagerly.

When she wrote up her report on the lumber mill, she went very in-depth on the different ax-swinging techniques. She knew Anthony would read it and truly appreciate the amount of thought she put into it.

And he did…repeatedly.

By Savannavansmutsmut