My Dumb Joc Co-Worer

Author's Note(s): I don't recall when I first stumbled upon the story "Dumb Jock Roommate" on this website, but I remember quickly reading it several times after I found it. I became enthralled with the idea of the "dumb jock" archetype that SluttyNaughtyJock so expertly brought to life. After connecting with the author and receiving his blessing, I decided to make my own contribution to the "dumb jock" canon. I hope you enjoy my campy story about a nerdy outcast and his incredibly dumb, sexy-as-fuck jock co-worker.

All characters in this story are eighteen years of age or older.

I pulled into the parking spot closest to the building's rear entrance. The neon green light emanating from the clock on my dashboard read 7:55 p.m. I didn't really enjoy my job, but it was a necessity. Without it, I wouldn't be able to afford to gas up the clunker that got me around my small town. The idea of being a newly minted eighteen-year-old without a car was beyond tragic.

I marched towards the entrance. My oversized navy overalls almost swallowed my diminutive frame as I walked. The lingering smell of raising bread and vanilla fought one another for dominance as they rushed into my nostrils.

The bakers had already left for the day. Even though there were two shifts, none of them ever worked in the evenings. The early crew made baguettes and pastries to be sold to customers through the day. The team after them focused on preparing items that would either be shipped or picked up immediately upon opening.

After making sure to punch my time card into the outdated device that kept track of my hours, I got straight to business. I'd learned that if I hustled, I could have roughly half of my shift to fuck around and do other things. Usually, I'd read some of whatever fantasy novel I'd checked out from my high school's library or doodle characters from my favorite comic books.

I had been so worried that I'd be found out that I often lied to my boss, Mr. Evans. I'd make up excuses about the bakers misplacing materials and exaggerated how much my workload had grown in just a few months. I thought it'd make him happier that I was still finishing everything at the end of my shifts while reassuring him I was self-sufficient.

It had been a surprise when he'd told me that he'd "listened to my concerns" and hired another person to help me out. I'd offered to work an extra two hours each night, but he told me that he wasn't comfortable having me staying past midnight since I was still in high school. I tried to remind him that I was eighteen and would be graduating in a few months; it didn't sway him.

I was awkwardly waiting by the small desk that had all of the packing and shipping order slips stacked into two piles on top of it. I flipped through the pages, trying to gauge how much work I'd have that evening. First and foremost, I needed to wait for Mr. Evans, since he'd texted me that he'd be stopping by for a few minutes at 8 p.m. with some news.

"You're really going to get along with B," Mr. Evans said as he opened the door. "He's been with us since the beginning of the school year. He's a hard worker."

I looked away from the tally of orders. A massive figure blocked the door. Mr. Evans was pretty tall, but the guy with him had to be six-foot-five or so. At almost a foot shorter, I suddenly felt like a munchkin.

"B goes to Lakeview," Mr. Evans continued, "so I'm not sure if you've met. Maybe you've met outside of school, though? You're both graduating this year, so you have to have some mutual acquaintances."

Jesus Christ

, I nearly muttered as I got a better view of the colossus. He looked like he was some combination of a professional athlete and a model. He was the twenty-something Hollywood hunk that directors always cast to play a teen heartthrob.

They were both still focused on one another, so I wasn't too worried either of them would catch me staring. The Adonis had shiny blond hair that was slicked up into a wave at his hairline. Most of the guys in my year sported a similar style. He had dazzling, straight teeth, and two dimples appeared on his cheeks as he smiled. His deep blue eyes made me want to dive into their waters. His jawline was sharp, and he had the nose of a Roman statue.

"And here's the man himself," Mr. Evans announced. "B, this is Archer. Archer is going to be working with you to help pick up the extra work that's come along with the increased orders."

Archer extended his hand. We shook; his grasp was so much firmer than mine. My fingers were tingling when we finished.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey, buddy," he replied.

I became more aware of just how massive he was. He was wearing fitted jeans and a Polo shirt. He had what some of the guys at school called "bazooka arms"; his biceps looked like two small melons struggling against the elastic cuffs of the arm holes. His pecs jutted out right at my face. It was impossible to ignore them. His thighs were thick like tree trunks; I wondered what it'd be like trying to wriggle into jeans with legs like that.

He was hot - hotter than hot, in fact. I knew that I was attracted to him right away, but I also knew that he was dangerous. As a hundred-and-twenty-pound nerd, I'd had plenty of interactions with jocks that looked like him over the years. I knew how to spot a geek-bashing meathead from a mile away. I knew we wouldn't be friends; I'd be lucky if we got along. I didn't worry about my safety, though, since I knew Mr. Evans would back me up if that became an issue.

"So, you two don't know each other, huh?" Mr. Evans asked.

"No," I replied.

"I'm always kinda busy with football and wrestling stuff," Archer said, "so I don't really meet many kids who don't go to my high school unless I'm competing against them."

"Well, I guess this'll be a nice opportunity for you to meet someone new," Mr. Evans responded. "I'm going to have B train you. He knows what he's doing. B, I'm sure it'll take a few days to get Archer up to speed, but don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything."

"Okay," I said. "I'll do my best to show Archer how everything runs, Mr. Evans."

"I know you will. Oh, and text first if it's after ten. Me and the missus are both so exhausted with the new baby that we're trying to avoid any noise after a certain hour."

"Got it," I reassured him.

Mr. Evans made a dash for the door. He'd never wanted to stay for longer than a few minutes in the evening; I'd come to expect him to call me with important work updates earlier in the day.

I looked back at the order summary sheet for the shift. I tried to mentally tally up how many we'd be boxing for pick-up and how many would be for delivery. Archer looked at me silently; it felt like he was hovering over me.

"Yes?" I asked, glancing up.

"Oh, sorry," he said with a disarming chuckle. "I wasn't trying to distract you. I... I just wasn't sure what to do next."

"I'm going to have you shadow me today."

"Shadow?"

"Yes, shadow. Like, observing so you can get a general sense of how things are done."

"Ohhhh!" Archer shook his head a bit, like he was communicating to himself. I was already starting to sense that there might be something off about him.

Maybe this is his first job and he's just nervous?

It was odd thinking about a guy who was a facsimile of my childhood bullies being on edge.

"First you need to change though," I told him. "It's company policy that you have to be wearing coveralls when you are handling or packing food. Nobody wants to find a broken button in their granola."

He nodded like I'd said something profound. To be honest, we were supposed to wear hair nets too, but I never bothered since they were so uncomfortable. I knew I could always toss one on quickly if Mr. Evans popped in for a surprise visit - though I was pretty sure he never would.

"Let me go grab one for you." I left him there while I headed to the supply closet. I rummaged through a cardboard box of new coveralls. There were only four sizes; I dug around until I found one that was labeled "Large/XL - Tall." It had always bothered me that they had a tall option, but not one for short people. I had to cuff my pants legs to keep them from dragging on the floor.

When I got back, Archer was reading some of the comic strips that had been taped on the wall behind the desk for so long they were yellowing. He let out a giggle as he scanned one of the Garfield clippings. Realizing that I was watching him, he turned towards me.

"Here you go," I said, holding out the rolled-up coveralls in my hand.

"Thanks, B," he said, then paused for a moment. "Where do I go to change?"

The question made me uncharacteristically annoyed for some reason. It could have been that I was starting to worry that he was going to need a lot more handholding than I wanted to give. I had hoped to get him up to speed as soon as possible so we'd both have downtime - me for my reading, and him for sexting cheerleaders or something.

"I mean, it's not like we have a bathroom," I said in a tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's a shame the locker room is being renovated, too."

"Wow, really?" he asked. "They just upgraded the locker rooms at Winston High. I got to see them when I was there for the state wrestling finals. They were pretty badass."

What the...? Is this kid trying to out-sarcasm me?

"Yeah," I said rolling my eyes. "I'm really excited about the new hot tub."

"Hell yeah! I hope I'm still working here by then."

A huge grin was plastered on Archer's face. I shook my head and looked back at the papers I'd been examining earlier. I had no desire to deal with a smartass jock.

Okay, thirty-three pick-up boxes. Fifteen of them are pre-paid so they need that label on them. Make sure to check the country loaves since they've needed more quality control lately. Two-hundred and thirty delivery orders. Forty of them are express.

"What are you doing?" Archer asked.

"I'm..."

I glanced up. He had already pulled off his skin-tight Polo shirt. His jacked, smooth torso practically shone under the fluorescent lights. I lost my train of thought.

He's a fucking superhero.

He had an eight-pack; I knew it was possible, but I'd never seen one in real life.

"What... what are you doing?" I asked, repeating the same question back at him.

"I'm changing into my uniform." He shook his head like I'd just asked the stupidest thing imaginable. His fingers fiddled with the button on his jeans while he looked at me.

"Why aren't you doing it in the bathroom?"

He let out a loud laugh; he began to push the denim down his massive thighs. The light blond down on them looked like miniature waves of grain in a midwestern field.

"I'm not driving all the way home just to change in my bathroom! I think Mr. Evans wouldn't be too happy if I wasted my time like that."

Huh? I don't...

Archer stepped out of his pants. Then he just stood there. I doubted he felt awkward, since changing around other guys was something jocks did all the time. He was wearing green plaid boxers. My eyes darted to his crotch before rushing back to his face. I didn't look for too long, but I had already gauged that his cup was definitely running over.

"I meant here," I said feeling exasperated. "Why didn't you just change in the bathroom here?"

"You said there wasn't one."

"Of course, there is. What type of business doesn't have a bathroom?"

Archer furrowed his brow. It reminded me of an expression I sometimes made in AP Calculus. Then his face warmed up as he grinned to himself.

"I get it!' he said. "It was a joke. Earlier, when you said there wasn't a bathroom - it was a joke!"

He looked just as pleased as he had been staring at the Garfield panel in which the orange menace declared, "I don't like Mondays." His bright smile lit up the space.

"So, what's that, anyways?" Archer asked again, nodding back at the papers in my hands.

"It's a breakdown of all the orders we need to complete today. It separates them out into different categories."

Archer began to walk towards me. I felt nervous seeing his muscle-bound body approach. It reminded me of the asshole jocks who'd given me wedgies in the locker room before gym class before I'd learned to hide from them. It also made me feel something else, too - a warmth in my stomach that I'd never quite felt around another guy before.

"That sounds complicated. Where does it say all of that?"

He was standing so close to me that his right bicep was brushing against my shoulder. I surreptitiously peered at his abs while pretending to look at the paper in front of me. I wondered what he did to get them; I'd never seen a stomach that defined on a guy who wasn't an action movie star, let alone someone my age.

"Well... the rows that have the letter 'D' next to them are delivery orders that we'll need to ship. The ones with 'P' next to them are for customer pickup. If you see an asterisk next to the letter 'D,' it means a rush order, so we have to make a special shipping label."

"That's the little star, right?"

"What?"

"The 'ask Rick' - that's that little star thing?"

I couldn't help it; I started chuckling. It was just too absurd.

Ask Rick?

Archer nudged me with his elbow. "What're you laughing at?"

"Nothing. Just something silly on the order sheet."

"Oh..."

He can't be this stupid. Nobody is this dumb. Maybe he's high?

I peered up into his eyes; the blue in the irises was so pure. They didn't appear to be bloodshot, and the pupils weren't dilated. I hadn't smelled anything on his clothes earlier.

I was confused. He felt like a puzzle.

How can a high school senior be so obtuse? Maybe he got the athlete grading curve? If he's good enough at football and wrestling, I doubt anyone at his school even cares if he can count to ten.

After I determined he wasn't on any drugs, I realized his gigantic pecs were right at my eye level. The sense of discomfort deep within me started to rise to the surface.

"You wanna get dressed?" I asked it in a way that made the intentions obvious. It was clear that I felt annoyed by the tone of my voice. Well, it should have been clear.

"Nah, I'm fine."

I believed him; he didn't give one crap in the world about standing there in his boxers. He had a perfect body, and it appeared he'd never developed any shame. He probably thought it'd be more of an inconvenience to get dressed in that moment, rather than doing it after I finished showing him what I was doing with the order summary.

I taught him a few more things, but I didn't get too far into the weeds. It was kind of cute watching his face scrunch up while he tried to comprehend what I was saying. His dimples popped whenever things clicked enough for him to smile.

After about five minutes, I made the decision that we should move onto other tasks. They'd certainly take longer with Archer by my side. "How about you put on those coveralls now? After all, I did go through the trouble of digging them out of the supply closet for you."

"Oh, okay. My bad, bud. I didn't mean to make extra work for you."

Archer went back to the middle of the room. He stepped into the navy-blue coveralls. He had to work to pull them over his thighs. The uniform fit him like a glove; it looked so different from my oversized sack of fabric.

The rest of the shift was fairly standard. I showed him how to make labels, package up the orders, and resupply materials. He was more talkative than I'd expected. He asked me about my family, hobbies, and if I had a girlfriend. I told him I was single, but I didn't go any deeper than that.

Archer revealed that he had just turned eighteen three weeks earlier. He said that he was planning to spend some time with extended family after graduation. He talked about his recent break-up with his long-term girlfriend; she'd cheated on him with another football player.

The more we talked, the more I started to like him. Then, when we were silent for longer periods of time, I felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I'd glance over, half-expecting him to bound over and put me into a headlock.

We finished right around midnight. I showed him how to prepare a few things for the bakers coming in in a few hours, and then I demonstrated how to clock out using the time card machine.

"Geeze," he sighed. "That's a lot to remember. I don't know how you do it, B." Archer kicked off his shoes. His fingers were yanking at the zipper on the coveralls; his smooth torso was starting to come into view.

"You..."

You don't need to change. You can wear that home

. That's what I was thinking, but I didn't say it. To be honest, I kind of liked watching the dumb jock change. It felt good to be in a situation with a guy who'd probably have bullied me and finally have the upper hand.

"You can give that to me and I'll put it away for you," I said.

"Thanks, B!"

I tried to busy myself at the desk while I enjoyed my personal strip show. He didn't even notice my eyes mapping out all of the curves and bulges of his fit body. I bit my lower lip; I briefly wondered what it would be like to kiss him before dashing the thought from my mind.

The next day, I tried to reassure myself that nothing had changed. I told myself that I just needed to get Archer up to speed so we could both entertain ourselves with the extra free time.

We don't need to be friends. He wouldn't even want to be friends if this was school. He's just being nice because he needs me to learn how to do the job.

I punched in at my usual time of 7:58 p.m. I watched the door once 8 p.m. arrived. I stared at the time card labeled "Archer Williams" that Mr. Evans had just created earlier that day. As the second hand counted down, I did something I'd never have anticipated. I punched him in right before the clock switched to 8:01 p.m. It wouldn't have mattered, since Mr. Evans granted a five-minute grace period, but I did it anyway.

Archer came bursting through the door a minute later. He looked disoriented and he had clearly been running. His blond hair wasn't styled the same way; it was spiky and wet with dew.

"I'm so sorry, B!" he huffed. "I'm so sorry. I lost track of time playing ball with some friends. I jumped in the shower so I wouldn't smell like ass. I would have just made it, but there was a train at the crossing on Willow Street."

"I clocked you in." I knew I had to sound frosty; I was still feeling conflicted about even doing it. I tried to not look at him while I said it.

"You did! Thank you! I was so worried Mr. Evans would fire me or something. I promise it'll never happen again!"

Archer rushed over and squeezed me tightly into a bear hug. I almost pulled away; I hadn't been expecting it. He lifted me into the air and spun me in a circle while laughing. I couldn't help but smile, too. He planted me down on me feet a second later.

"Okay, okay," I said. "You're welcome. We should probably get started. Mr. Evans sent a message about a couple extra things he needs from us today."

"Oh?" Archer said inquisitively as he started to peel his clothes off. "What's that?"

I lost my train of thought as he pulled his T-shift over his head, revealing his peachy skin. His abs tightened as he leaned to the side to unhook the fabric that was caught on one elbow.

"He just needs us to do some extra inspection and cleaning. The health department could drop by for a surprise visit any day."

"Wow, that sounds serious." Archer kicked off his shoes and fiddled with the button on his cargo shorts. He wasn't really looking at me, so I felt more emboldened to gawk at him.

White fabric came into view as the shorts fell to his ankles.

Is that...? Is he wearing tighty whities?

I'd only ever seen guys from my dad's generation wear them, but Archer's looked different. The fabric pouch was packed with meat; I quickly looked back at his chest when I felt my face suddenly get warm.