Date: Fri, 26 May 2006 14:01:26 GMT From: "firstname.lastname@example.org" <email@example.com> Subject: DISAPPEARANCES - Case No. 5 (Authoritarian) DISAPPEARANCES by Bill Smith [If you are new to the DISAPPEARANCES series, the story below story needs to be read in the context of the introduction which was previously posted with Case. No. 1. As usual, I would appreciate your comments on this story at firstname.lastname@example.org. Thanks. Bill Smith] Case No. 5: "Follow as close to the person in front of you as you can," the group leader announced over his bullhorn as we congregated for the final leg of our trip to a promised job in America where the lot of us were supposed to get a job with a landscape company. For days, we had been traveling in the back of a trunk all the way from Mexico City to get to this place, the 'secret' tunnel under the U.S.A.'s highly publicized barbed wire fence presumably keeping all the maligned brown skins out from the "land of opportunity." Each of us had paid a hard earned 4500 pesos for the promised job in California. Once there, we knew we'd be paid less than minimum wage, put up in shabby overcrowded barracks hidden from public view, and transported in a closed van seven days a week to work for a company that tended the lush lawns of the affluent who appreciated our role in keeping the price of tending their yards down to a minimum. Plunking down the 4500 pesos wasn't all it took to get to this place, however. All of us desperately putting every penny we could get our hands onto for this chance at a better life were rejected unless we could prove we were under 22 years old, were in good health, and were 'decent' looking so those having us work on their lawns "wouldn't be embarrassed" or accused of hiring only those decrepit and in need of proper health care. We fully understood by the company transporting us that there would be no health insurance or care once we were in the states, that we would have no legal rights since we weren't citizens, and the only way out of the contract they had with the lawn maintenance company for our services was if we ran back to our families "a failure and less than a man" as they put it. The company had done its selection well: each member of the group appeared young, healthy, strong and muscular, determined, and 'decent' looking going by their handsome faces and impressive physiques As we entered the dark tunnel for the final leg, each of us muttered a little prayer we had learned as small children in whatever Catholic church our parents patronized and, as instructed, followed closely behind the person in front of the long line. Only after all of us had emerged and looked back at the bleak barbed wire fence we had just passed under did the volunteer militia of "Protect our Borders" descend on us with the headlights of this pickup trucks glaring in our eyes, their rifles firing warning shots into the air, angry shouts of "filthy Mexicans" and "Latin trash" and "job stealers" reaching our ears, and then finding ourselves quickly cuffed behind our backs as their whiskey-laded breath fouled our nostrils and their eyes gleamed with pure racial hatred. When one of us ran for it before he was cuffed, he was shot in the back, his remorseful death scream searing into our memories forever. Two others who put up a struggle as they were cuffed were knocked to the ground as a bullwhip slashed open their shirts and blood ran down their backs in riverlets as they groaned in agony. "Decent looking bunch this time," one of the unshaven, unkempt looking 'militia' men commented in a drunken slur. "Shall we call the border patrol that doesn't appreciate us anyway, or make a little profit on this bunch? As Mitch says, they're not bad looking by anyone's standards - that is, if you can stand all the brown skin and black eyes," he quickly added before he was misinterpreted by his fellow volunteers whose mission was "to protect America from the brown skin invasion." "Hell, if they were girls, they'd be pretty enough to fuck. Too bad they're not or I can tell you what we'd do with them!" another fat old man in his fifties chortled as he rubbed his crotch to make sure everyone understood he was all man despite what he looked like. The young Mexican men knew enough English to understand most of the conversation to date and shuddered, especially hearing the last comment from the fat slop who was now pawing his gun as if he wanted to shoot them on the spot. "We could sure use some extra funds to buy some more kegs and some decent food. At least we deserve that for our concerns. It ain't easy sitting out here in the dark night after night waiting for these little brown fuckers to coming slithering out of the ground," the tallest one among them said, a man looking to be in his late sixties and sort of bent over with age. "Worth it, though, since I got laid off because of these oily bastards. Yeah, I know they said it was because of drinking too much, but I know the real reason was they could hire one of these illegal scum at a tenth of what they were paying me, a white Christian man with full union benefits whose damn proud of his country and all it used to stand for. They never fooled me one bit with all their lawyer-talk." "I'm with you, Claude. Let's call up that man in El Paso who deals in this sort of thing without making a lot of noise about it - you know, real quiet about what's going on - and yet he pays pretty well - at least he did for that last batch of young girls we caught crossing a month or so ago. What did we end up getting for them, anyway? I seem to remember $1000 a head and no questions asked. Does my memory serve me right, guys?" "Yeah, that's what we got, George, and he made sure he never asked our names or nothing so we couldn't be traced. Real slick that way. Wonder what happened to those Mexican cunts, anyway?" he laughed since he assumed we all knew the answer. "Spreading their legs outside the capitol up in Austin, probably. All those politicians like them fresh I hear," another voice from the back chimed out to a gale of laughter. Again, a shudder ran through the entire group of captives as they realized what had happened to what could have been their sisters or girl friends. "One think I admire with those good solid right-wing Christian politicians that have their heads screwed on right," George added, "is that they never forget how to enjoy themselves even having to fight off those damn bleeding heart atheist-commie liberals all the time." "Which gets us back to the question at hand. Shall we make a little beer money on these boys or turn them over them over to the authorities and the fucking A.C.L.U.?" "Shit. That's a no-brainer. Call the guy up in El Paso and see how much he'd offer us?" With that one lonely call on a cell phone in the middle of a star-studded sky in Texas, the fate of the 19 of us still alive was sealed. Within an hour, a big closed trunk arrived with a "Solutions Personnel Services" logo painted on the doors and within five minutes, 100 cases of Lone Star Beer and a fresh case of shackles was unloaded, a plastic sack full of $20 bills was handed over to the militia treasurer, and, still shackled, we were forced at gun point into the fairly new GMC truck that turned out to be thickly insulated so no one could hear our shouts, climate-controlled so we weren't roasted in route, and was equipped with sturdy thick metal walls and a heavy locked loading door at the rear. Inside was a couple of cases of bottled water, a portable chemical toilet, and about five granola bars each. The floor had been covered with fresh straw so we could at least lie down shackled. It was obvious this was going to be a long trip. It took us hours to learn how to get the water bottles and granola bars open with our hands shackled behind us and then how to hold it for each other so we could get some water and nourishment in us. ******* When the doors were unlocked 24 hours later, the night air was considerably cooler than it had been where we'd been caught. It was so dark at our destination we couldn't see much of anything other than an old barn we were led into complete with horse stalls, loads of straw on the floor, and chains with manacles attached hanging from most every wall, both inside the stalls as well as in the wide aisle making up the center. With our arms still shackled behind our backs, we watched as the barn doors were locked behind us once we were all inside under the supervision of some really big, tough looking white men carrying bullwhips coiled in their right hand. With nary a word of explanation or where we were, one of the men took a razor and a pair of scissors out of his pocket and tore, sliced, and cut every stitch of clothing off of the first man in our group. Within a minute, he was standing stark nude in front of us with only his shoes on. The speed of being stripped like this had overcome the victim and he stared in disbelief at the rest of us as he began to cry. One of the men man handling us had obviously seen grown men reduced to tears before. "Don't get all upset, amigo. You won't spend the rest of your life in the buff. Just as soon as we get you a new home, you'll be issued some decent duds to cover your ass instead of these smelly old things you're crying about." "A new home?" the young man said, still sobbing. "And a good job?" he asked hopefully. "Damn right, boy. Just as soon as we find a buyer for you." Before he could find his voice, the now naked boy was dragged over to one of the stalls, had his shackles removed, and was almost instantly rechained to the wall restraints, this time with his feet chained into a position that forced his legs wide apart, his arms stretched wide above him, and his neck fastened by a crude iron collar to the wall of the stall itself. When he finally found his voice and started screaming in protest, a thick gag was jammed in his mouth and fastened around his head so all that was heard was muffled screams that were barely audible. Within half an hour, each of us was similarly fastened totally nude, each in a different stall and all of us gagged so the silence was broken only by the rattling of a lot of chains, muffled groans, the occasional crack of a whip directed toward one of us they through was struggling too much to suit them, and the cheerful banter between the workers as they went about their tasks. The minute we were unloaded, the two drivers who had taken turns at the wheel getting us to this remote spot disappeared the minute we were delivered, no doubt to get some decent food in their bellies and into a comfortable bed. Each of them were thumbing a nice roll of fresh $20 bills as they climbed into the truck to take off, obviously pleased with the pay they had received on delivery. ****** A day later, an absolute panic swept over all of us as we realized the enormity of our plight. We had been briefly released from our restraints to do heavy exercises in place (under the steady urging of a heavy whip over our backs), eat some slop that resembled corn mush out of a bowl without utensils of any type, and take a crap over in one corner of the barn. Then we were again chained in our stalls but this time so loose we could lie down in the straw and sink into a long sleep, exhausted as we were by this time. When we awoke, it was the next morning and we got some more corn mush in a bowl, allowed to empty our bladder and bowels, and, after being told our new jobs were in the making, then given a bar of soap and told to wash in a horse trough. After we had all bathed (and felt considerably better with some rest and a full stomach), we were again gagged, chained into upright positions that displayed our entire bodies, but this time outside our stalls in the wide aisle going down the center of the barn. A feeling of deep helplessness and despair engulfed every single one of us. None of us had ever imagined our entry into the U.S. would mean being chained naked in the aisle of some old barn God know where. The minute the last of us were chained in place for a good display, a side door opened and three pairs of men entered in business suits. Each pair of men were handed a box of Kleenex and another box of latex surgical gloves and given some instructions as they were led toward us. "To simplify things, we limited purchase options to just three companies by invitation only this time. That keeps everything discrete and practically eliminates "leaks" since we have full information on each of you and the companies you represent. Any mention of the transactions taking place today will be promptly handled by disclosing which company paid how much for each piece of goods they bought. That would ruin you and your companies so you better be damn sure you keep your mouth shut from here on out. In other words, if this ever gets out, you will go down with us but you'll also lose your investment and go to prison and we won't since the money will be long gone out of this country and so will we. "Since you're curious, the three companies we invited here today are all previous customers at one time or another and all have good records of handling those purchases to insure things remain quiet and as far away from snoopy government agents and the press as possible. They are Acme Chicken Processors, Chicago Construction, and Seagate Farms. "For your convenience, we've grouped the goods by price: the first group you'll inspect will be the lowest price running $50,000 each; the next group will be cost you $60,000 each; and the last group of just four young men are priced at $100,000 each but you'll see why when we get there. All transactions are in unmarked U.S. currency; goods are to be transported out of here one hour after the last boy has been sold today; and all sales are final with no guarantees and no returns - so look them over carefully before you decide. You are responsible for any restraints you choose to use for transport to their new home and any food once they leave the barn. We will issue a basic set of clothing for their transport but you will need to dress them anyway you like outside of that one issue of clothing. We don't provide any transportation so I assume you have brought something suitable to get them wherever you want - just remember open windows aren't a good idea until they are more fully acclimated to their new employment. I might add that escapees haven't really been a problem outside of your loss. Every single one of them, and there have been amazingly few over the years, has either snuck back over the border or just disappeared - no one has ever gone to the police or immigration authorities or got a lawyer or whatever. They have enough sense to know they have to claims for legal protection and whoever has bought them probably has a stiff bounty on their head. Besides, as far as this country is concerned, they're criminals the minute they crossed that border and no one gives a shit what happens to them after that - they can be shot, starved to death, fucked to death in some brothel if they're easy on the eye, or, as you men well know, sold into permanent bondage to one of your fine corporations who can get so much work out of them their purchase price is the buy of a century. Any questions?" "That about covers it, Brad, other than I'm curious why that last group you mentioned is priced double what the first group is. They work twice as hard or what?" he laughed. "Depends what you call work... a.. a ...Henry.. wasn't it? As they say, some of us have it and some don't," Brad chuckled in reply. But I know each of your companies keeps a few goods around to make sure your best customers are kept happy," he winked as the other's snickered knowingly. With that, each of the six men snapped on their latex gloves and approached the first group of us which included eight men all toward the high end of the age range, all knowing practically no English, and all muscular and sturdy but certainly not particularly handsome. The latex gloved hands felt their muscles all over, checked out their teeth, looked for runny eyes, and that was about it. Within five minutes, Seagate Farms had plunked down $250,000 for five of them and Acme Chicken Processors paid $150,000 for the other three. Each man in that group was unchained, taken over to a big bin where they could route around for clean, but used jeans, t-shirts, knit undershorts, belts, and tennis shoes until they found something that would fit reasonably well. Once free of their manacles and now fully clothed, they were taken out to the waiting panel trucks outside that would take them, they were being told, to the new job they had been promised. "Sorry about the naked bit, boys, but it's common here in the U.S. for an employer to know what he's hiring on - medical insurance, federal regulations, and all," I heard one of the men explain in Spanish to a pleasant looking well-built boy that now had a hopeful look on his face. "Is it far to your farm, sir?" the boy asked in Spanish. "About 15 hours straight through, but we'll make sure you're fed well and you can sleep in the truck," came a reasonable reply. The boy beamed at his good fortune, already forgetting his employment interview was no more than a cattle inspection. While one of the pair from Seagate Farms and Acme Chicken Processors stayed out in the truck with the new "employees," the remaining four company representatives checked out the next group of seven still fully displayed so every aspect of their bodies could be inspected chained to the stall walls making up the center aisle. This group were slightly younger, just as muscular, but not quite so coarse looking. The four representatives again carefully felt the muscular structure of their neck, their shoulders, their biceps, their pectorals, their backs, their abs, their butt, their thighs, their calves, and finally examined their feet carefully. The inspection was little different than that utilized in picking out a prize horse up for sale, including, at the very end, hefting the Mexicans' balls in their hands as if weighing them and then squeezing them to assess firmness. The men being assessed turned beet red in embarrassment and humiliation, but, remembering what they had overheard about federal regulations and medical insurance requirements, tolerated the examination with little resistance. Soon, Chicago Construction had bought all seven of them, plunking down $420,000 in thousand dollar bills for the goods. As the next group was released from their bonds and allowed to dress themselves out of the clothes bin, one of the Chicago Construction agents apologized for the "thorough inspection that may have embarrassed you a bit, but we've got to make sure we've taken on real men. That's what it takes in the construction business, amigos - real machismo." Again, one of those pulling a fresh pair of jeans on over his white undershorts asked in Spanish, "Will we be working in Chicago then, sir?" "You're sure not stupid, amigo," the representative replied pleasantly in perfect Spanish. "You picked up right away on the name of your new employer - Chicago Construction. Yes, most of our work is right in the city or its nearby suburbs - a few jobs are in Indiana and Wisconsin but even there we'll transport you to and from the work site every day. By the way, I was impressed with those big balls of yours, amigo. Very machismo," he smiled as he used his uplifted palm to illustrate how full it had been when he had hefted the man's balls just minutes before. "Like a bull, sir," the Mexico chuckled as he patted his crotch now covered with a pair of tight jeans in response. That left four of us in the last group. Looking around, I could see, relative to the others already outside in the trunks, that we were the youngest, freshest looking among the 19 of us, we were clearly hung considerably heavier, and, from my perspective at least, had prettier, more attractive facial features and bodies that were well defined, hairless, and extremely muscular. Still, I didn't think we should 'cost' more than twice as much as those in the lowest priced group, but took a certain perverse pride that some people thought I was 'worth' more than my colleagues. Leaving a company representative out with each trunk, we were now down to three to look us over, but the inspection was a lot longer and more elaborate, if not a hell of a lot more embarrassing, than the other groups had undergone. The muscle evaluation was about the same as the middle group, as was weighing our balls and checking out our teeth, but all four of us were stroked, despite our strong objections, to a full erection and bent over to have a finger rammed up our ass to "test for problems." All of us grunted and groaned in protest at that part of the exam and, I at least, had never had a finger or anything else up my ass until this moment. I couldn't imagine anything more personal than that when we were again whirled around in our restraints and stroked vigorously until we shot a load out onto those latex gloves. They sniffed and even tasted some of our cum with the tip of their tongue - a procedure I couldn't imagine for what purpose other than to test our manhood or something. All of us looked at each other, ashamed and embarrassed, at being tested like this. That done, however, they quickly seemed to lose interest in us as they concluded the sale. Chicago Construction bought me and another guy; Seagate Farms bought the other two. Each company hauled out $200,000 cash to pay for the pair they had bought out of this last group and we were quickly shown to the clothing bin. Once dressed, I risked asking a question in Spanish as we headed for the trunks. "Jesus, man, why is it necessary to jerk us off right there in front of everyone?" The other man purchased by Chicago Construction joined in, again in Spanish of course. "Yeah, and why stick your finger up my ass? Isn't that kind of personal?" "Indeed it is personal," the agent replied smoothly. "But necessary at the price we're paying for you. Your new jobs will be at a higher level than your colleagues in the other groups." "Higher level?" I asked, then remembered I better keep on his good side for now and added "Sir." "Yes, if you're lucky, you may end up as a sales rep in marketing or a customer relations associate in our external affairs office. That means you'll have a lot of contact with agents from companies we're bidding new contracts with. Your job might end up keeping them happy - takes a smart employee to accomplish that, but your good looks won't hurt." I smiled back as I thought of this higher level position he mentioned in marketing but still didn't understand what jerking me off and then sniffing my cum had to do with that. "Medical standards are more rigid the better the job you're assigned," the agent added when he saw I still looked a little confused. I got into the back of the Chicago Construction truck and joined the other nine already sitting around the edges, staking our their territory for the long trip ahead. All of us were happy we were at last on our way to a job in one of America's major cities. By the time we reached Chicago, every single one of us had forgotten all about having our naked bodies pawed over while we stood there in chains. They had fed us anything we wanted to order at the Mexican restaurants they stopped at periodically and they had stopped anytime anyone had to hit the john outside of that. The company reps learned our names and were most friendly as they asked us about what parts of Mexico City we came from and why we had chosen to come to the U.S. They said a nice bed of our own would be waiting for us back in the company "dorm" in Chicago and the mess hall there featured all the Mexican food you wanted to eat both before we left for work and that night when the truck brought us back. He did remind us, however, that we would have to leave for work no later than 5 A.M. every morning due to the traffic and that we generally didn't get back from a given work site until 8 P.M. or so - even longer if our work site was way out in the suburbs. But, he added, once back and a full dinner under your belt, you'll have a little time for TV, doing your laundry, and taking a good hot shower. "What about lunch?" one of us asked. "Eat up hearty at breakfast," he laughed. "We don't do lunch with you guys - takes too much time from your work assignments." When we looked a little taken back by this, he quickly added, "You'll get used to it quick enough. Americans eat too much and are all getting fat. We don't want that burden for you boys - skipping lunch is a good way to keep trim and healthy." "How long do we work before we get our first pay, sir?" one of the men in the $50,000 group asked. "Well, it'll be a while," the agent replied vaguely. There was a long silence as the entire group thought about that answer. "Sir, my family back in Mexico is expecting some money from me before too long," another man said. "And, sir, we'll need some money to buy some more clothes and put in the plate at church and ..." he hesitated and looked shamefaced at his colleagues, "a woman now and then. Any money we had brought with us went with those clothes we were wearing before they took them away back at that barn." "I know all that, amigos," the agent replied pleasantly. "We're well aware you're all flat broke and only have the clothes you're wearing right now. But we're way ahead of you. First off, we'll furnish you several sets of clothes once we get you in the barracks at Chicago. Second, Chicago Construction gives a nice donation to the local church in your behalf so you don't have to worry about that. And we know your families are expecting a little something from you at least once a month so that will be arranged once you've mastered our employee bonus system. And what was that last thing again?" he snickered. "Oh, yes, a nice juicy cunt now and then and some tits to suck on. Well, don't worry, boys, that's part of the bonus system too - those are all things you earn through exceeding our modest work quotas. Chicago Construction doesn't really pay you in cash directly." A look of alarm spread around all of us. "Don't worry so much. It all takes care of itself over the long haul. You saw us pay some big money for your employment contracts back there in the barn. We'll have to get that money back through your work over a period of time - so, at this point, you owe us whatever your selling price was, but its in the form of a promissory note - so many hours of labor for whatever your employment fee was plus interest of course. It's going to take a long while to pay that fee back to us. Then we're feeding you hungry boys and clothing you and giving you a nice place to live and paying to transport you to and from the job site - all of that's expensive and the company's not a charity - we expect to get paid back for that even though we do arrange all that at cost - we don't make a penny on that part of it - just a nice employee benefit Chicago Construction is proud of. Then we've got legal fees to pay if you get in trouble - after all, you are illegal, we've got medical fees if you get hurt on the job - that's expensive too. We'll send 500 pesos a month to whoever you designate back in Mexico if you can exceed your work quota every month, but we won't do that until you've put in the first month's work and actually exceeded your quota. I know all of you want to let your families know you actually were lucky enough to land a good job In America and will be in a position to help them out now," he added softly, "and the company wants to help you in that obligation." We all murmured our appreciation on this last item which was foremost in our minds. "Now, before you start worrying again, let me explain the employee bonus system so you can get a clear picture of your obligations to Chicago Construction and Chicago Construction's obligations to you under your new employment contract. You're being paid at the rate of $5 an hour. You'll be actually working 10 hours a day- it generally takes a couple of hours to get to the work site and a couple of hours back. On the average, you'll be working 30 days a month - in other words, every day. That's $50 a day times 30 days or $1500 a month." We all whistled in appreciation of the money we'd be earning and one crossed himself in a silent prayer of thanksgiving. "But there are costs we have to deduct from that, of course. Your employee fee is written off at $500 a month, so if you cost $60,000 that means you don't get that paid back for 10 years. Then there's the cost of food - which is very expensive in America - so that cost $8 a day or another $320 a month that has to come out of your wages. Your lodging, sheets, laundry, the TV and all your several sets of clothing costs us - I told you we don't make a cent of profit on any of this, didn't I - costs another $400 a month and that's a real bargain in Chicago - real estate prices are out-of-sight there. It costs us another $50 every month to send those pesos back to your families every month. That adds up to $1270 a month in expenses before we figure in the transportation costs - getting you to the construction site and back in one of the company vans costs us $130 a month - that's considerably below our cost with the price of gasoline nowadays. That means you'll got a $100 a month left over and we credit that to your account at the company store that stocks snacks, Corona beer, pineapple soda, some toiletries, and laundry soap. A whore will cost you $40 a lay on the average and can be charged to your store account, but a blond whore from here in Chicago will cost you a full $100, so you need to save up for something like that. If you're running short in your account, you can borrow up to one month ahead but with 10 percent interest for the month." The agent leaned back with a satisfied look - having given this same explanation a 100 times before on other trips - as if all questions had been answered. "But, sir, the way I figure it, that gives us nothing in our pocket at all for at least ten years," one man said in disbelief. "You've overlooked the fact you have the company store account every month to do with as you please and the fact your family is given a check each and every month," the agent replied coldly. "Things here in the States are expensive and you're lucky we've made arrangements for you to keep your head above water if you simply meet your work quotas." "But sir, that employment fee we have to pay back - I don't understand - can't you just hire people without paying those big fees for them like you did back at that barn? The way it plays out - well, sir - it doesn't sit well it's, sir, - well I guess I'm saying it looks like you bought us back at that barn like you would buy a slave or something and then we have to pay you for what we cost through slave labor, sir - at least you could look at that way, I guess, sir." "So? What's your point, boy?" the agent said without emotion. "You ever heard of what economists call wage slaves? That's most of us, boy, who have to spend everything we earn just to support ourselves. That's what you're doing. If you want to call yourself a wage slave, go ahead and call yourself that. But everyone else is calling you an employee. Because that's what you are - you're an employee with pay-back obligations." "Yes, sir," was the surprising response as the questioner mulled the blunt answer over in his mind. "I'm not surprised at your question," the agent said directly to the man who had raised the whole issue. "Anytime anyone 'buys' another person, they're technically a 'slave,' and the company does 'own' you in a sense since they 'bought' you fair and square and for big money at that. But we never call you 'slaves' - we always discretely and politely, I might add, just call you 'employees with obligations.'" "Thank you, sir," the man again said, accepting the truth of what the man had said as the rest of us realized it was all true. We had been put up for sale and bought for sizeable sums and it made more sense now that we had been stripped down and inspected like animals - after all, if we were buying a animal back in Mexico, I'm sure we would look them over thoroughly before plunking down a bag full of pesos to take ownership. The other good-looking boy who had been 'bought' for $100,000, like myself, asked "I didn't know America had slaves now. I know Mexico and the United States both had slaves for a long time, but that was 150 years ago for the most part. I never heard of them buying people nowadays." "Well, as I said, we don't call you guys 'slaves' anymore - the term is out-of-date in that most people just think of blacks. But there's a lot of 'employees with obligations' here, especially in the jobs Americans don't want to do themselves but they want done at minimal cost. You can think of yourself anyway you want, but, I'm telling you, you're not going to hear us calling you a slave. In your own case, boy, since you cost us a cool $100,000 you're going to be given special opportunities to pay us back." The handsome boy looked surprised but didn't want to monopolize the conversation at that point since the 'special opportunity' only seemed to apply to him and the other boy costing just as much - me. "Forty bucks for a whore is an awful lot," another man asked. "Even if you never had a beer or bought a bar of soap, you could only dip your wick twice a month at that rate," he said in a tone that conveyed his frustration. "That's not enough for men in their prime," he swelled his chest in pride. "Maybe not," the agent laughed, "but there are other options. We always have some boy whores who'll let you fuck them for $10 and give you a blow-job for $5." "Mother of God," the man crossed himself and looked horrified. "Well, you said you got horny," the agent just laughed. "If you can't pay $40 for a pussy, and don't find a nice looking cheap boy to your liking, there's always the palm of your hand - that's about as cheap as it gets. You get horny enough I think you'll find some of the options quite satisfactory, no matter how machismo you are or how many 'Mother of God's' you mutter. All that religious nonsense you learned as a child doesn't make any sense up here in Chicago where real men learn to take care of their God-given and perfectly natural needs any way they can." "But I'm a man, not a homosexual," the man shot back, obviously insulted, and looked at the others in the group for confirmation. "Yeah, and so I've heard from every single one of you boys any time you're in front of each other. But let me tell you that those boy whores we keep in the dorms for your convenience are almost always busy and not just with each other," he chuckled. "We had to add a couple more of them just a few weeks ago just to keep up with demand. Seems like jerking yourself off gets old before too long," he added for emphasis. "Are these whores, girls and boys, 'employees with obligations' like us?" I asked suspiciously. "Yeap!" was the quick answer. "Mostly employees interested in earning bonus points fast and who are, of course, decent enough looking to be given the opportunity." "And whose offered these opportunities?" I asked cynically. "Those who have a lot of employee fees to pay back," he answered me flat out, looking me straight in the eye. "But, it's up to them, of course," he added with a knowing look, "and, naturally, they got to have the looks it would take to get anyone to spend valuable company credit on them." At that moment, before we even got to Chicago, I knew I was going to be offered a special 'opportunity' eventually. I looked at the other boy costing $100,000 and with the look back from his handsome face, , I knew he understood also. Both of us sunk into a deep funk as we pondered our future. TWO MONTHS LATER: But things didn't work out quite like we thought. Miguel (the other $100,000 boy) and myself were assigned to a work crew just like the others and transported each day to the work site the company had a contract with. We got up at 4:30 A.M., wolfed down a huge breakfast, took a good crap, and dressed in some dirty jeans, construction boots, a t-shirt since it was summer, and a sturdy "hard hat" with our first name and a number on the front and back. By mid-morning we were told to take our shirts off in order to avoid getting too hot and to make sure we got tanned enough to avoid sunburn when it really got hot. As they said, we learned to put up with our hunger and work right through lunch and were ravenous by the time the truck finally got us back to the dorm. Generally, we ate until we thought we would burst immediately upon return, then hopped in the showers to get rid of layer after layer of sweat and grime, stuffed our dirty clothes in our laundry bags and put on a fresh pair of underwear to watch a little TV before we hunkered down in our cot exhausted. The only thing we were willing to give up sleep for was doing our laundry so we'd have some clean clothes, drag ourselves down to the commissary to buy a few treats to break the monotony of our Mexican diet, read a letter from back home thanking us for the pesos they were getting each month, and write a short note back telling them we were in good health and working hard and leaving out the rest of it which would make us look like failures in their eyes we knew. Most of us were beating off every night since you heard the muffled panting and suppressed groaning in the nearby beds and most had, after a month or so, succumbed to renting out one of the expensive whores if they had enough company credit to do so by restricting buying any beer or snacks or even much postage. Everyone using the $40 option bragged about "getting a good lay" for days afterward and I never heard anyone complain about the quality or skills of the girls involved. But that was so expensive it was a rare treat and some of the guys were obviously beating each other off occasionally if they thought no one could hear them in the crowded confines of the dorm and that everyone was sound asleep but them. Of course, we could hear them if we happened to wake up and heard them moaning and sighing and giving little instructions to each other, but at this point who gave a shit! By the second months, our bodies were solidly tanned, our muscles had really filled out, and our fatigue level wasn't quite so great as we got used to the heavy work load. Our morale seemed to improve quite a bit as we saw for ourselves we could handle the work load, we were being well fed just like they said, and the dorm offered no privacy but was reasonably comfortable what with its fans for ventilation, clean sheets and good mattresses, and our families were writing back how proud they were of us. The credit in the company store did offer us a few choices to make in our lives so we never had the feeling we were actually slaves, but rather, as they said, 'employees with obligations.' All of us agreed we could last through the 10 years it would take us to get rid of our 'obligations' and then we'd be free to start earning some real money. The only problem was our bleak sex lives. Buying a whore once a month or so just didn't do it when you're in the peak of manhood. Our Catholic training had taught us the sin of any sex outside of marriage, especially 'self-abuse' as they called it, so all of us were sinning like Hell at least once a night or so. Since we were sinners anyway, what with jerking off and, at least for some, the occasional whore, the thought of being sucked off by a good looking boy or even fucking their tight hole got more and more appealing as time went on, especially since the price was certainly right. Eventually, a couple of the guys, going as a pair for courage, bought into the option and reported back to us we were fools not to look into this. The boys provided were nice-looking, sexy, and damn good at what they did, they claimed. Having a boy suck you off or plugging their hole didn't mean you were a maricon (homosexual). You had to be on the receiving end to be a maricon they pointed out. You were still all man as long as you were the one calling the shots. After that initial exploration of the reasonably priced boys available, practically everyone in the dorm was using them just as long as their credit held out. Consumption of beer went to practically zero to save credit as did all the other snacks. Even I, with the suspicion I might end up as one of the boys being bought every night, started sampling the available goods and, like the others, was soon spending almost my full allowance on the relief the good looking boys provided so splendidly. Miguel, the other $100,000 boy, was also engaging in this new 'sin' and enjoying it just as much as anyone else. But he, like myself, wondered if the "special opportunity" mentioned on our way to Chicago didn't mean joining this male whore corps sometime in the future. We were at least as good looking and just as well hung as any of them. "I asked the boy I bought last night how much he had cost Chicago Construction," Miguel mentioned to me at work clearing a site the next day. "You figured those boys are 'employees with obligations' too?" I replied. "Not only that, but 'employees with obligations given special opportunities,'" Miguel continued. "What was the guy's answer?" I asked. "$100,000," Miguel said, sucking in his breath. "And, yes, he can pay it back in three years, not ten, if he meets the expectations involved in the special opportunity given him. Besides that, he gets out of work everyday and just has to work nights doing you know what. And he gets a $400 a month credit at the company store instead of our lousy $100, so he can get most anything he wants anytime he wants.." "When the three years are up, what then?" I asked. "Well, the way he explained it, he'll get paid directly the $33,000 a year he was paying back his employment contract and will still get the free room and board as long as he continues what he's doing satisfactorily and still is able to get enough customers interested in him. If he wants to work at the sites again, he'll get paid the same $5000 a year he was paying on his employment contract but still get all the other benefits you and I have." "In other words, he's actually getting $28,000 a year extra to whore himself," I told Miguel, "plus getting out of all that back breaking work we're put to each and every day." "If he stays on in his present job after his three years are up, what's he going to do with the $33,000 cash he'll pocket every year?" I asked Miguel. "He said he'd send an extra $1000 home every month and still have enough to buy some fancy clothes, get a Jaq or a Caddie on time payments, and start saving up to buy a nice young Polish boy or girl for himself." "You can buy Poles as well as we Mexicans here?" I asked, almost incredulous. "A good looking blond boy?" "Or girl if you have enough money," Miguel answered. "The boy last night said some guys like him had saved up enough over time to buy up a small number of men and women to whore out on the streets and were getting rich fast. Mexicans, Poles, Russians, Rumanians, and blacks from practically anywhere in Africa." "You mean they're pimps now?" I asked. "Pimping out anything a customer might want with 'employees under obligations?'" "Yeah. Makes our life look sort of bleak, doesn't it?" Miguel giggled. "Working our ass off seven days a week in the boiling sun and desperately trying to scape enough together to buy a blow-job five or six times a month. Something's wrong here, my friend. Especially as good looking and sexy as everyone claims we are. You ever thought of putting our assets to work for us? I know, after talking to that guy last night, I've been giving it some thought. We're getting nowhere fast in our present situation." "Jesus, Miguel. Whoring? That's the only name for it, you know, and you could hardly claim you were real machismo taking a prick up your ass or down your throat no matter how advantageous it might prove to be at this point in our lives." "Shit! That machismo crap doesn't make any sense up here in Chicago with all of us beating off in desperation and hiring a boy the few times we can afford it. And, the Church has all but abandoned us, looking with a blind eye at our so-called employment contracts in exchange for a big contribution from the company - talk about being bought off - and then calling us sinners for even beating off, let alone sticking it up a boy's butt. I can't see where that boy last night is any worse off than we are - just smarter, maybe." "You've got to be kidding, Miguel. Drowning in cum and being reamed up your ass over and over? This whole job situation is playing mind games with you, I'm afraid - you're not talking like the good friend I've had for over six weeks now." "Hold on. You haven't heard the whole story. Those boys just work half-time at our place. Guess what they do the other half?" "Haven't a clue, amigo. Fuck each other? Work their balls off at the construction sites like the rest of us?" I replied sarcastically. "Don't be so smart-ass with me just because I'm looking for some decent opportunities around here to get ahead and you're not half as ambitious as the person I knew back in Mexico City," Miguel retorted sharply. I was put back by the unfamiliar (but very obvious) frustration with me that the tone in his voice reflected. I looked in my friend's eyes and realized he had every reason to find me tiresome: I had become cynical and sarcastic, and, as he pointed out, lost a good deal of my ambition over the past month or so. "I'm sorry, Miguel. You're right, I'm being a real shit most of the time and even giving you, the best friend I've got here, unnecessary grief. What do those boys do the other half of the time? I'm really interested this time around, not just being a shit." "They fuck women," Miguel said, "but not some 'employees with obligations' buying them with canteen credit. No, I mean there are women out there in Chicago who can do the company a lot of good - contract lawyers, supply representatives, purchasing agents, advertising execs, even some company big-wigs - who have lots of influence and power and money and don't mind using all of that to get someone in their bed that's appealing to them, is willing to do whatever turns them on the most, and carries no baggage with them - once they've had their fling, they don't want any obligations, any silly notions of love or romance carrying beyond the bed, no career complications because of an embarrassing boyfriend or spouse. Most of all, they want to pick and choose exactly what they want when they want it. And they want a boy in their bed who understands he's there to please them exactly and has learned to put his own needs on the back burner. That boy last night said he and the others chosen for the job were mainly just like him - good looking, well hung, able to get it up and keep it up, and able to ascertain just what those women wanted once they had made the necessary arrangements." "Well, I'm beginning to get convinced you're on the right track, Miguel. But I'll sign up for one of those boys tonight if they're free and check this out for myself before I decide anything. But I do agree, Miguel, we're not getting anywhere as it is." That night I was able to arrange to be the last person signed up for use of one of the boys provided in the canteen. It was easy enough since most didn't like the idea of "sloppy seconds." The boy was very good looking, bright eyed, and his big dick showed off well against his cleanly shaved body. I told him straight away I just wanted a quick fuck first so we could talk until he had a next customer if one showed up. He asked me how I wanted to fuck him and within seconds was on his back with his legs pulled up to his shoulders and his ass nicely positioned for my ease of entry. I was so hard up I started shooting up him as soon as I was all the way in, and, I'm afraid, it was all over within three minutes. "Jesus, you hardly got your money's worth," the boy laughed as he quickly cleaned me off with his mouth and then wiped me dry with a soft cloth. I looked him over and found he was even better looking than was my initial impression. His skin was blemish free and healthy looking, he looked and smelled as clean as a body gets but still had a distinctly masculine scent to him, and, frankly, his sex organs were just as attractive flaccid as they had been erect when he had originally "displayed" himself as all the boys available in the canteen tended to do when you first were introduced to them. "You wanted to talk?" he prompted with a pleasant smile on his face. "Yes," I replied, not bothering to put my clothes back on since he didn't have any to put on apparently - at least not in plain sight. "My friend and I have employment contracts that costs Chicago Construction $100,000 each - I think because we're both pretty good looking, have good muscular physiques, and, both of us are really big in the manhood department. At least, that's the only difference I can see from those they just paid $50,000 or $60,000 for other than the fact we both understand and speak English at least a little. But so far, we've just gone out to the sites and worked our butts off like everyone else. Well, anyway, when we first got employment, they told my friend and I we would be given some 'special opportunities' and so far I haven't seen any. My friend told me you might know something about how to go about getting one of those 'special opportunities.'" "You have to volunteer," the boy answered bluntly. "They'll never tell you or order you to do it - special opportunities are all voluntary - protects them legally that way." "What special opportunities are there?" I asked. "You're looking at it," the boy said without embarrassment. "Turning a good looking and appealing body into a practical advantage within the corporate structure," he chuckled. "In other words - hustling - as we called it back in Mexico City where I came from originally." "Oh, are you from Mexico City too?" I asked, completely forgetting we were both naked and it was essentially a whore I was talking to. "Yes, but I suppose you might call it whoring. Before you pass judgment, let me tell you I'm paying off my employment contract in three years - only have six months left to go - and will get paid big bucks after that as well as continue with the company benefits. Already know the color of the new Caddie I'm going to get and my family is going to get $1000 a month once I have my contract in hand. What I will be doing is no different than right now - three nights a week keeping you boys drained and happy; four nights a week with just one chick to spend the whole night with. That chick may be young or old, fat or thin, ugly or pretty, white or black or any shade in between - doesn't matter. They pick us out from lots of pictures, descriptions, and even testimonials of previous customers on the company's coded special website and once they choose us, we're delivered right to their door to do any damn thing that turns them on - all night long if they want so you have to learn how to keep from shooting off unless that's what they want. That's probably the hardest part about it, frankly. That and getting used to occasionally have to fuck or giving head to some really old fat bitches with sagging tits. But most customers aren't that bad and a lot of them are a real turn on - especially some of the blonds and red heads - I never dreamed I'd be swimming in hot pussy like they've arranged for me - it's a dream come true more times than not." "Yeah, but what about... you know .. having all us guys getting to go down your throat and up your ass over and over. Three nights a week of that stuff is a lot if you're not bent that way." I tried to put it delicately. "I'm not gay," he retorted, "if you ever thought that. But I'm really into fucking those women I can tell you. But you don't have to be a gay to service you guys, you know. God knows you're all desperate for some relief and, once you get used to it, it's not nearly as bad as you think. Once your hole gets properly stretched a little and you learn how to take a big one down your throat without gagging or choking, you find you don't mind it nearly as much as you thought you would - in fact, after a while, a good fucking is actually enjoyable once you learn to relax - getting your prostate properly massaged by a big one well up your butt gives you a feeling you'll love - better than fucking a chick even! But I know I'll never convince you until you've tried it out for yourself. I thought they were conning me until I actually experienced it for myself and shot the biggest, most satisfying load of my life when a big black Mexican fucked the shit out of me one night right here in this canteen. As for sucking guy's off, well, your jaws are sore for a few days until you get used to it, but, can you believe it, after a few weeks you actually learn to crave the taste of fresh cum - it got sort of an addictive quality to it, I guess," he laughed. "One other thing, since you brought all this up. Those lady customers know all about us servicing you guys when they're first considering us on that special website where they can view the goods offered. The company spells out all our use so nothing is held back from anyone considering renting us for an evening's pleasure. You probably think that would turn them off. I thought it would when I first found out the company was spelling all the little details of our life on that website of theirs. But, you know, it turns them on all the more. I bet I get more questions about what it feels like taking a prick up my ass or down my throat than anything else. I hardly ever get a question about other women I've serviced - it's always the men and what they want us to do and how big are they and how many times to they fuck us before they're totally satisfied and that sort of stuff. Men never ask about other men hiring our services. You're the first one I can recall interested in that end of it. But I don't think it's because you're gay - it's pretty obvious you're thinking about volunteering for the special opportunity. You've got the body for it - I could see where they paid $100,000 for your employment contract - it wasn't to put on roofs or pour concrete," he scoffed. "You're an idiot if you and your friend don't get with it." "Yeah, but still, when you get right down to it, it's, as you say, just whoring," I replied. "And you're not? Working your balls off at those construction sites for nothing but room and board and a token little payment to your family so you're not ashamed of yourself. The only advantage you've got is that beautiful well-hung body you've got - for God's sake, wise up and put it to some use that will benefit you in a mere three years rather than Chicago Construction." He was totally sincere and it was obvious he hadn't suffered any damage either physically or psychologically from his job now. On the contrary, he was proud of his new career and unashamed of having some ambition for a better life. The next day both Miguel and I asked to see the head man and volunteered for the special opportunity. He got all the new contracts processed promptly(which included a guarantee we had not been coerced in any way in pursuing these new duties) and told us to report the next day to a training seminar at the company headquarters rather than going to our regular work site. The first week of the seminar, taught by those 'volunteers' ending their original three year contracts, involved learning some exercises to make our muscles display better - although we were already in great shape physically from all the work at the sites; making us wear a dildo most of the time to get us properly 'stretched;' practice sucking each other and our teachers off six or seven times every day until we overcame our gag reflex and could take even the biggest ones all the way down our throats without much trouble; and learning how to body shave each other, give each other enemas, and oil our bodies until they gleamed. At the end of that first week, we all had sore assholes and sore jaws. It was a whole lot easier doing all this with a bunch of enthusiastic fellows who rarely showed any reservations about what we were doing at the training sessions. The second week we fucked each other now that our holes were more open; learned what women most wanted us to do, including some oral service, and got instruction in how to hold off an impending climax so we could stay hard just as long as our women customers wanted. The third week, we learned how to properly keep our asses lubricated on those nights we had canteen duty over at the worker dorms, learned a lot of tips in how to best please a woman and make sure she experienced lots of orgasms when we were servicing them; learned hot to best display ourselves to turn both men and women customers on; and were taught techniques in how to groom our bodies, keep our hair in great shape, and learn how to pick out clothes that would best display our assets and yet not embarrass any of the women that might like to take us out for dinner or show us off to their friends. We were issued a tuxedo for formal dining; several sets of sharp casual clothes for being taken to the women customer's apartments or hotel rooms; a business suit if the women wanted us to accompany them to a conference or sales meeting; a golf outfit; a tennis outfit; some gym shorts, a Speedo type swim suit, some Bermuda shorts, a posing strap, and plenty of skin-tight form-fitting bikini- type underwear that was designed to sort of lift us up so we displayed our assets well even in a tuxedo. But with all the sharp threads, we were told we'd be out of them more than in them - most of our actual working time we'd probably be in our birthday suits so it was important to keep our bodies close-shaved and well oiled and treat any abrasion or scratch promptly with some antiseptic cream so it wouldn't detract. I will say by this time we no longer suffered sore asses or aching jaws no matter how much we were used, and we appreciated the fact our female training kept us well drained. It was nice, for once, not to feel so horny you thought you would bust all the time until we could save up enough credit to get drained at the company store or resort to using the palm of our hand. Photos were taken at our "graduation" from the seminar exactly 21 days after it had started. Photos front, back, sideways, bent over, thrust out - you name it - every pose artistically done by a professional photographer in a variety of exotic backgrounds, but making sure every bodily asset was shown to its best advantage and that we were shown both fully erect as well as "at rest." These were posted on the website along with "puffed-up" descriptions of our backgrounds. For example, Miguel's description said: "Miguel loves to use his beautiful body to bring pleasure and delight to anyone smart enough to choose this beautiful boy as their very own to do with as they please. He's 5'8" tall, a well-muscled 160 pounds, a smooth light brown with deep black eyes and matching bewitchingly curved eyelashes, and sports an appealing physique. He's got a44" chest featuring well defined pectorals and beautiful brown nips just begging to be sucked; a tiny 28" waist highlighted by ridged abs; and 33" hips that allow a very appealing 'bubble-butt' that's especially attractive. For many, his 9"x5" erect penis practically shouts 'Superman' if not his nicely shaped firm balls hung close beneath him, but even flaccid this beautiful man's phallus is 7"x4-1/2" . Straight from Mexico City, Miguel is a perfect example of the best of Latino manhood, despite the fact he just turned 20 a few weeks ago." My own description was even more flowery and both Miguel and I got a good laugh out of it. THREE YEARS LATER: Upon graduation, we were put into immediate use. Miguel and I both were fully booked from day one of our new job and the past three years has been an endless stream of overnight "dates" with a huge variety of women (most of them decent looking, demanding, but not too kinky) and as many of the company's contracted construction workers with fucking us or having us suck them off as they could work into the schedule. We'd seen a few of our colleagues leave the 'corps' as they got too old to have their contracts renewed and a few new volunteers replace them, all fresh and eager for their new life. Those leaving the corps at long last on the contracts that paid you so well, generally had enough stashed away no one worried about them once they left. Of course, they could always go back to actual manual labor with Chicago Construction if they wanted or if too many fancy cars and fine restaurants had eaten up everything they had earned over the years. I learned later about 80% of them ended up back at the construction sites, but they were now regularly paid workers so they still earned at least a decent living and, as we said, they sure had some good memories. Miguel or I, like most of our colleagues in the corps, seldom had any difficulty getting it up no matter what and, like had been predicted long ago, I too now liked to savor a good load of cum in my mouth and had learned getting fucked more often than not can lead to some real orgasmic pleasures once you learn to position yourself right so your prostate gets tickled properly. We now actually looked forward to our nights in the canteen with the men there than just enduring it as we did at first. The women? What can I say. I'm obvious a 'pussy hound' even if I never got a chance to know it with my limited up-tight experiences back in Mexico City. The women who rent me can sense my interest in their pussy right away and it really turns them on. When the company calls them the next day for an evaluation of our services, I very seldom get anything but an "outstanding" or "excellent." Neither does Miguel so we both take considerable pride in that. The company even has the construction workers back in the dorm rate us as they leave the canteen. Again, both Miguel and I are usually rated in the top two categories, probably because we view those construction workers as a big source of sexual pleasure as well as them us. That way, they appreciate our interest in them, and we don't just think of ourselves as "service providers." That's a long way from being the stereotyped hustler/whore, who begrudgingly takes a dick down his throat while he's thinking of something else while the guy fucking his throat thinks of him as nothing but a low-down piece of thrash. TWELVE YEARS LATER: Miguel and I just signed onto our third new contract since our original employment obligations were all paid in full. We still live in company-furnished apartments, get all of our food and most of our clothing furnished by the company, and enjoy daily workouts in the company fitness center. In our free time, we enjoy the sights of Chicago in our latest model cars, listen to our own CDs on the best music systems made, and have furnished our apartment with the trendiest furniture and decorations. Our families in Mexico City brag about us to all their friends and are living high off the hog these days on the $1000 U.S. dollars they are getting from the company each and every month. We're described down there as "construction executives up in the Windy City who have done right well for themselves." Miguel was the one who insisted right from the start of our first paying contract that we start investing half of our take-home pay in some solid conservative investments for when our looks fade. Already, those investments have doubled and we both view them as untouchable, even to the point of limiting ourselves to a new car only every three years and limiting our eating away from the company mess hall to make that level of investment possible. The only time we eat out is when our female clients take us to a nice restaurant and they pick up the bill. We got a disease once (the company insists on regular testing), but the company doctor promptly treated it aggressively and within two weeks we were back on full schedule, grateful we were only docked that two-week period and making doubly sure we never got careless again. FIFTEEN YEARS LATER: We weren't surprised that the company refused to renew our paid contract once again due to our advanced age. After all, Miguel was 37 now and I was 35 - a little long in the tooth for our business. Like most of the other corps members with non-renewal contracts, we took the first vacation in our lives that involved a two-week trip down to Mexico City for a reunion with the entire family where we were heralded like Hollywood celebrities. Everyone admired our nice clothes as well as Miguel's Caddie Escalade we drove down in, and marveled at how fit we both were after all those years of sitting in a chair as a big-shot executive in the construction business. Mama sighed that I still had no children as did Miguel's and both sets of parents tried repeatedly to introduce us to "nice girls" that would make good wives, but we both said we had nice girl friends back in Chicago who we might marry some day when we weren't so busy with our careers. That seemed to satisfy them in that they certainly didn't want to see an end to those nice checks every month from the Chicago Construction company. When we got back to Chicago, Miguel and I both signed onto a paid construction worker job with the company which gave us a much reduced income but insured the payments kept up to Mexico City as always. Actually, it was good to get back into the sunshine and open air once again and the hard work actually felt good in that all our muscles got used, not just the ones we humped with. Moving back to the company dorms saved a lot and made it convenient to eat the free food and get the free transportation, so we could still add to our investment fund periodically, although certainly not at the same level. And, for once, our commission allowance could be spent on beer and snacks in that our sex needs now could be handled pretty well by the palm of our hand or a commissary boy once or twice a month. Middle age does have some advantages in that both of us realized we were pretty well fucked out by now and surely our machismo had been amply demonstrated to everyone's satisfaction by now. THIRTY FIVE YEARS LATER: At 56 and 55 respectively, Miguel and I were finding it practically impossible to meet our work quotas anymore no matter how hard we tried and the company refused to issue us a new paid work contract. It was just as well, I suppose. Who wants the daily struggle of trying to meet quotas you can't reach? We moved out of the company dorm and its free food, bought a nice little house out of our savings some miles out from the city we could afford easily enough, and settled down to sharing a fairly new Chevy Malibu to get around in. It was a shock when, for the first time in our lives, we had to pay for our own groceries, pay the utility and gasoline bills, taxes on the house, and all the rest of the responsibilities most Americans have to face each and every day. Our advantage was we had a nice nest egg put away, a paid for house, and an annuity that assured that $1000 a month to our aging parents never stopped as long as they lived. Although we had enough put aside to retire modestly, we really weren't ready for that quite yet and wanted to keep active. Miguel got a job as a bartender at a local bar where his charm and good looks still insured the bar customers learned to love him and I landed a job at a 'greeter' at the local Wal-Mart Supercenter since my English by now was probably five times better than anyone else in that store. Neither of us would ever be U.S. citizens, of course, since we were 'illegal immigrants' but it was easy enough to get employment if we accepted wages substantially below that they paid anyone who actually was legal. We paid plenty of sales income, and real estate tax under a federal I.D. number although we never paid Social Security or Medicare payments, but then, of course, we weren't eligible to draw upon either of those programs either. We couldn't vote and were always scared we might have an accident and get arrested where someone would check us out, but usually any scape like that was easily handled by stating we were retired from Chicago Construction and they could check us out through the company's personnel office. Miguel and I used to chuckle when we thought back on our life. For all practical purposes, we had started out our life in this country as literal slaves although they never called it that. We had to work our buns off in the hardest work to 'pay off' what the company had paid for our bodies. The only way to beat the system we ever saw was to turn ourselves into company whores where others could do anything they liked with our bodies in return for a chance to buy our way out of a bad situation. Fortunately, our handsome looks, a big muscle between our legs, and a determination to make a go of it led to great success in this area as far as the company and us were concerned. Later, when age caught up with us, we could still go back to our construction work and make a decent living. Even now, completely separated from the company that used to literally own us, we lived considerably better than the average American if you looked at things like modal income, home ownership, savings, and things like that. Of course, they were citizens and we never would be. But Hell, you can't have everything I suppose. One final thing. We weren't completely worn out sexually. A number of months ago we had hired on a likely looking young boy just smuggled in from Mexico by some exploitative human trafficker the stupid kid had paid $1000 to. His story was so similar to our own all those years ago except he had happily escaped being "sold" as a slave to someone. He was just dumped out of a van into downtown Chicago hungry, tired, and clothed in rags. One day he came to the door asking if he could cut our lawn or clean out our gutters. We did better than that. After extracting his story out of him (he spoke not a word of English), we offered him a permanent job as housekeeper which included the yard and odd jobs we needed done in addition to doing the laundry, fixing the meals, and keeping the house spotless. The poor kid was so hungry and desperate he said he'd sleep back on the kitchen floor since we probably didn't have an extra bed or, if we wanted, he wouldn't mind sleeping with us if we'd like him to. Turns out the kid had been fucked steady all the way up to Chicago in that van before being dumped out on the street and had survived since then by selling himself in some of the seamier parts of the South Side, mainly to black gays who seemed to like Mexican boys currently. "You don't need to do that if you don't want to,"Miguel said kindly. "We'll hire you on anyway." "I want to," the 19-year-old boy replied promptly. "It's nothing new to me at this point so I'm not losing my virginity or anything and, although I don't want to brag or anything, it will guarantee you won't throw me out on the street when I break a dish or miss a spec of dust. Besides, you guys are still good looking you know - I mean, considering your age and all." "Fine - no sleeping on the kitchen floor," Miguel and I both said at once. With that, the boy smiled and stayed with us until first Miguel passed on at the age of 72 and I died with the boy right beside me a year later. We left him the car, our house and everything in it, along with what was left of our still substantial savings, in return for his loyalty and fine service, both in and out of bed.