It was time to pack my things and leave the dorm room that I called home for my freshman year at Hobart, having done very well in the classroom and more surprisingly having survived sharing the cramped quarters with a roommate who was the exact opposite of me in many ways.
It had been a shaky start for us, with him always suspecting that I was gay from the start, and that was something he made clear he was definitely not. He was correct in that assessment of me but I never did anything around the dorm other than study and sleep, so by the end of the year we were getting along well.
As we parted ways Eddie asked me if I had any plans for the summer and to my surprise said if I was anywhere near Buffalo I should give him a call, but I thanked him and told him I was going to be busy all summer at a job I had held last year.
"Construction?" Eddie said with a raised eyebrow, something I understood because at 5'9" and maybe 125 pounds soaking wet I didn't fit the stereotype, but it was true none the less.
"It's mostly just regulating traffic at road sites, that and fetching and hauling stuff for the regular crew," I explained, and after I told him the job paid almost 3 times what summer jobs at fast food and grocery stores paid he said I was lucky and wished me well.
****
During the ride home I reflected on the job I was going back to, and mostly about that last day at work which pretty much changed my life.
I had gotten my "construction job" through a friend of my mother's, and while I don't think many of the actual grunt and groan guys that did the paving and actual butt-busting work cared much for me, it didn't bother me all that much. Besides the foreman seemed to like me a lot. I guess he put up with me because I did what he told me to, showed up on time and sober, and gave him no lip.
To the job foreman Royce Johnson, I was "the kid", while I suspect most of the others saw me as "the fag with the flag", as one guy referred to me. Nevertheless, I took the job seriously because if I screwed up one of them could get run over by a motorist or worse, so I took their occasional abuse and the frequent cursing of drivers wanting me to let them through with a smile.
As for Royce Johnson, he was more than just a hard-ass boss with a short fuse. Nobody called him Royce, instead using his nickname Red, which along with some silver was the color of his thinning scalp along with the fur that peeked up out of the neck hole of his shirt.
I guess that Mr. Johnson was in his early forties but had a body on him that guys half his age would die for. Red's shoulders were massive and his biceps looked like they were as big around as my thighs. As for his neck, I doubted whether he could buy a button down shirt off the shelf of any store, not that he seemed the type to wear one.
Red had a deep crimson tan, and that was something I developed during the last summer, only mine was confined to my elbows down to my fingers, my knees and below, and my face and neck. Red's tan covered his entire upper torso because he often went without a shirt or maybe just a vest, something my frail frame was not ready to do.
Those days when the boss was shirtless were tough for me, trying to concentrate while a crimson version of the Incredible Hulk was working all around the site. Most of the guys had somewhat impressive physiques, and even one of the two women on the crew had bigger biceps than I did, but Red was in a world of his own.
Last year after I got over my initial fear of Red, I began to develop a crush of sorts on him, even though that type of man had never really appealed to me before with me gravitating towards the intellectual types. That wasn't what Red was for sure, although he was very intelligent regarding his job. He was a caveman of sorts, but no dummy.
I guess the thing that saved me was that Red would usually be in the middle of the work zone, sparing me a lot of the close contact that became more and more of a challenge to my attention regarding my own work. Watching those muscles ripple on the guy's broad back was intoxicating enough to me, and when he was facing me it was even worse.
The other flagman on the crew was a girl, and she would work on the opposite end of the site, which is where the port-a-potty was located. That meant I had to time my leaks so I didn't have to run down to the other end and take one of the workers off their duties, but another option was to duck behind a truck parked near my end. I had to be real careful if I did that because if a car whizzed up that I was supposed to be stopping, that would be trouble.
The other men on the crew towards my end had no such problem and would go back there out of sight of motorists, but not out of my view. I made a point not to look so they wouldn't have a real reason to think I was queer but I made an exception when Red went back there once.
I didn't get a good look but it was good enough for me to see that what I expected to see was there, and that Mr. Thompson didn't get cheated there any more than he did with the rest of his 6'2" 220 pound frame. The man was flawless.
As the end of summer came and my nine week employment was to end, I was sad to think I wouldn't be out there anymore with the guys, or should I say Red. Rain or wind or blazing sun, I stood out there stopping and motioning cars on without complaint, because to have to tell Red I was tired or light-headed wouldn't do. I wanted to please him so much.
Of course in my fantasy world when I was showering or laying in bed, I thought about pleasing him in another way. That was harmless fun for me because it was so ridiculous that it wasn't like I was heading for a broken heart. A broken nose would have been more likely had Red ever suspected I had feelings for him, and that's what one fired crew man got after he called Red a faggot early in the summer. One punch sent him over the guardrail, down the embankment and then onto the unemployment line.
The last Friday of my employment came and my imminent departure was hardly noticed as quitting time came around. I took my flags and things and brought them to the trailer as the other guys got in their cars and left, but Red met me and walked up the steps with me, slapping me on the back as he often did.
"Gonna miss you around here kid," Red told me with a wink, and after he ushered me into the trailer he closed and latched the door behind us before going to a mini fridge in the corner of the room and pulled out a couple of Buds.
"Join me?" he asked as he offered me one, and even though it wasn't my brand I accepted it eagerly.
Mine went down in sips while Red needed two swallows, and after crushing the can he watched me nervously trying not to look at him. He had his shirt off and I could feel the heat from his body even though he was about 4 feet away.
The aroma was strong too, a heady mixture of testosterone and sweat that did not offend but actually aroused me as I tried to finish my beer so I could get out of that trailer.
"Want another?" Red asked.
