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My High School Job in Rubber
Wetsuit
mudcub
Here is a mostly true story about a job I had in high school in White Bear Lake, Minnesota. I only worked there for a few summers.

I should have known I was gay when I saved the money I made from being a farm laborer and bought Laurie Anderson's "United States I-IV" on cassette. I should have *really* figured out I was gay when I left that job and played showtunes on the piano for a paddleboat that did dinner theater up and down the Mississippi River. But I guess I was gay the minute I figured out I loved crawling into heavy industrial rubber suits.



As a teenager, I worked at an apple orchard near my house. It was a

really nice job - usually it involved sitting in a hot barn talking to my

friend John for most of the day. He and I ran the cider press, and we had

to wait until the crews brought in that day's harvest. Actually, that

isn't true... we usually only pressed apples that had been sittin' around

a while and had started to turn to jack. But it made a good excuse to our

boss why we weren't workin' that day. "Honest Paul, we ran out of apples

and we were waitin' for more!"

 

Making the cider itself was ok, too. It wasn't really a two-man job, but

John and I managed to stretch it out to an eight-hour workday. It was

back-breakin' work lifting the boxes of apples into the press, and in the

steamy barn, we  quickly built up a good sweat. Our boss Paul was kind of

a jerk - he wouldn't let us work with our shirts off since he said it was

"unhygenic". Plus, we had to wear these company demin shirts that were

incredibly hot and didn't let your skin breathe. So, I usually wore an

undershirt under my company uniform, and after a few hours, I'd strip it

off. By that time, the white t-shirt underneath would usually be sopping

wet. What I hated was the way the denim channeled the sweat down my back

and down the back of my jeans, so I usually had a wet ass and looked like

I had just pissed myself.

 

As a gay guy, today I love uniforms and rubber. I think it was this job

that did it for me. We had to put on these huge clunky rubber boots. Mine

were way too big for me, since John and I had replaced two guys who went

off to college the previous summer, and the company gave us their old

stuff. Often, sweat would gather inside the boot too, and John and I

could pour it out at the end of a shift. I remember a couple of times

when I wasn't lookin', he came up behind me a poured his boot out over my

head! I really let him have it then... I wrestled him to the floor of the

barn. When we got up, we were both covered in dirt and mud and all the

other junk on the floor left over from the pressing. But at least I know

I can give as good as I get!

 

But my favorite part of the cider job was the rubber suit. Every day, we

had to clean out the press, which meant that one of us had to get into

our gear and get inside the thing. The juices left over from pressin' are

really acidic and will eat through a pair of jeans if left soaking

overnight (I found this out the hard way and ruined a new pair of jeans

when I first started). Plus, there's lot of gunk in there: apple remains,

branches, and (don't tell anybody this) often dead mice and birds. All of

it got pressed into our cider, but it was eventually pasteurized so

nobody cared. It was really messy work, and had to be done with a small

shovel and bucket in a really tight enclosure. With the heat in the barn,

I must have put out a gallon of sweat every time I did the job.

 

The suit was a beige color that was almost see-through. It looked like it

was ten years old, but I knew that they bought a new one every summer.

The old suits were hung up in the barn from years before, and they were

worthless and falling apart from exposure to the acid. So, John and I

only had one suit between the two of us, and since we traded off doing

the chore every other day, that means we had to share. John was a good

friend of mine (though I haven't seen him in over ten years)... at the

time he was 6 feet tall and about 180 pounds. He didn't play football on

the team, but he threw shot for the track team each Spring. After the

track season, John was pretty huge and muscular - though he got fatter

every summer when he started drinking beer and stopped workin' out.

 

But the thing about John was - he really stank. I don't know if he never

showered or what, but the guy really reeked. His family was poor, and I

know he wore the same shirt for days at a time. I rememeber making fun of

him for that, and he got mad at me, and said this was a shitty job and he

didn't want to get his good clothes dirty anyway. John had a point, after

a few weeks workin' there for the summer, all my clothes were pretty much

trashed anyway.

 

I only made fun of John once for his smell. I think it was one time when

we did two pressing in a row on the same day, and I had to get into the

suit that he had just taken off several hours before. John was always

really good at hangin' up our gear when it was wet with sweat, so it

wasn't like it was sittin' in a corner of the barn. Still, when I stuck

my head in the opening to put it on, this amazingly strong stench of b.o.

hit my in the face. Usually, the suit just smelled mostly like rubber,

but this time, I didn't even want to put it on. I gulped in a breath, and

dove in. You had to put the suit on by crawling in a hole in the back and

popping yer hear into the attached rubber hood. This time, I don't think

I've ever put it on so fast! I almost didn't need John's help... though

the thing was so heavy and bulky that getting it on was a two-man job,

and I got almost as sweaty getting' into it as I did wearin' it! When I

had put on the respirator and gloves, I remember said something nasty to

John (I don't remember what it was), and John stormed out of the barn. I

was pissed because I couldn't get out of the suit alone. I think I worked

really slowly, and then had to go up to the office and find someone to

help me get out of it.

 

I could imagine what it would be like to be tied up in the suit for hours

at a time, 'cause hell, sometimes I *was* in it for hours. One time, I

had to remove part of the press that was at the bottom, and I had to get

in there with a wrench and hammer. It took forever to get the part out,

and at one point I was pissed because John kept makin' like he was going

to close the press on me (we did shit like that to each other all the

time). I always tried not to piss in the suit, but I did sometimes. I

know John did, too, because sometimes the suit would smell really pissy

when I put it on. However, the was one of those things we never talked

about.

 

When we got into the suit, we were supposed to wear the company denim

shirt and jeans, but there was no way. I wore the full outfit one time

when Paul was around, and I've never been so hot in my life. It takes

about ten minutes to get into the thing, and there I was on one of the

hottest days of spring that year in a cotton t-shirt, denim shirt,

briefs, jeans, and heavy socks all under the respirator mask, plus the

suit and rubber gloves. The suit had it's own rubber boots that were

attached, and after you got out of it, you were supposed to pour out all

the sweat and hang the suit upside-down. However, sometimes we forgot, or

got busy, and the next time you stepped in the suit, you'd sink up to

your ankle in cold sweat. That was nasty.

 

However, as the summer wore on, I usually just wore a t-shirt and briefs

in the thing, with no socks. As I said, the suit was really see-through,

and it looked funny when John got in it almost nude. I usually wore a

shirt, since the shoulders were heavy, and if you were shovelin' or

something, it could really chafe. However, when it got really hot, I just

wore a pair of briefs, which were like a wet dishrag by the time I got

out of the suit. I knew John before I knew I was gay, so we never did

anything strange to each other. Still, I think back on all the times that

he helped me get out of the tight rubber opening, pullin' my ass out of

it, and I know it had to be erotic. Still, as I said, I never talked to

him after I went away to college, and I wonder where he is now.

 

I worked that job for two summers, and then I got a car and found a

better payin' job. Whenever I go back home to Minnesota, I sometimes stop

back at the apple orchard and check things out. Last time, I went out to

the barn - but they had torn the old one down, and had a better-looking

facility. It was next to the kitchen, and wasn't so secluded, so you

couldn't get away with anything if you wanted! But when I saw a bunch of

rubber suits hanging upside down over a grate near the wall, I had to

thing about all the hot young teenage boys that had my old job, and were

sweating through a lot of hard work!
 


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But I guess I was gay the minute I figured out I loved crawling into heavy industrial rubber suits.
LOL! I know a few straight people (women and men) that love that too!

Are they cute? Can you give me some names and contact numbers? {grin}

Dude! I've been there. I'm from North Saint Paul. lol

I used to flirt with the girls in the bakery so they would let me eat their hot tarts for free. (Ooh, that sounded *dirty*).

For some reason, the guys got all the dirty smelly jobs while the girls got to bake things.

*Gruffly* Ya ain't a MAN till ya do a dirty job BOY!

Not that you would mind though ;o)

Great bit of history about your life btw. Enjoyed reading it very much.

I wonder how many farm laborers even know who Laurie Anderson is!

Wow...that's amazing. They are a member of the tourism organization I used to be president of, and that is where Keith, I and his sister's family go every fall to load up with apples, etc. Now when I go I will also think of other things *eg*

Write to Mike Rowe. I wouldn't mind watching his hairy ass being extracted from a rubber suit.

Just wanted to drop a line and say I've been digging story time.

Oh my!

You SOOOO need to tweak this only *slightly* and turn it in to a VERY nice homoerotic story for perhaps a book of short stories?

Mmmmmm... :-)

"I remember a couple of times when I wasn't lookin', he came up behind me a poured his boot out over my head! I really let him have it then..."

Oh. My God!

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