Volume 01 - Dirty Shorts

DIRTY BOYS
    By Kyle Adams

    “You’ve got it bad, Devon,” Mark said, loud enough that I could hear him over the engine noise emitting from the garbage truck.
    I shrugged off his comment and only responded with a casual, “Whatever.”
    Mark is my best friend and coworker. We are waste collectors, more commonly known as garbage men. We have been lucky enough to be on the same route for almost seven years now, since I started with the company at eighteen, right after graduating high school. Mark was a few years older than I was, but we became fast friends. Working with Mark made the monotonous job almost enjoyable. It wasn’t all bad, but it would have been very repetitive without Mark’s companionship. I won’t lie, sometimes there are nasty surprises waiting inside the trashcans, but mostly it isn’t too bad. Dale, the driver for our route, wasn’t bad either, but I didn’t know him that well, as we did not have as many opportunities to talk like Mark and I did. Mark and I spent a lot of time hanging onto the back of the truck and chatting with each other, which helped distract us from the worst of the horrors lurking inside barrels with poorly-bagged garbage.
    I finished returning the now-empty trashcan to the sidewalk in front of our current stop— Connor’s well-landscaped home. Connor is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. I learned his name when he moved in last summer and the recycling container I delivered had his name on the paperwork.
    I took my time, wanting to get one last glimpse of him. He was mowing his lawn and not paying attention to the people picking up his trash. Why would he? I couldn’t help but admire his taut ass as he pushed the mower in the opposite direction of me. His back muscles stretched the fabric of his red T-shirt. His jeans hugged every inch of his muscular legs all the way up to that stunning ass.
    I’d give anything to bury my cock in his ass. I knew that one fuck would leave me wanting more, but I’d settle for just once. I was really looking for a relationship, but I wasn’t so delusional that I didn’t realize it was less likely to happen than winning the lottery. I’ve never even spoken to him, and I knew I was dreaming when I thought about trying to start something with him. He lived in a nice house, in a nice quiet neighborhood. I was only the garbage man who lived in a small apartment too close to the train tracks. It was clean and affordable though, and while the trains were loud at first, I got used to the noise after a couple months.
    If only I could somehow find the nerve to approach him. All last summer I watched him work in his yard. It was the highlight of my Saturday mornings, seeing him tending his lawn, often only half-dressed. In the fall, I’d wait all week just to get a glimpse of him raking leaves or bundling sticks. And winter! Not only was it the worst season for a man in my business, weather-wise, but it was also the time of year when most people disappeared indoors. And stayed there. Unfortunately for me, Connor was no different. Those few occasions when I caught glimpses of him getting in his car over the long cold months were like rays of sunshine.
    But, who was I kidding? If, by some miracle, he was even gay, he would most certainly never want the trash man. At least it was now spring again, and I’d get to see more of him. I’m not sure what it says about me that my attraction to him has lasted through all the seasons. I’m starting to think I’ll never get over it.
    “You have it even worse than I thought.” I heard Mark speak, and it drew me back into the present. I turned away from Connor just as he was getting ready to loop around pushing his mower in my direction.
    Looking up to meet Mark’s eyes, I replied casually but loud enough to be heard, “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “Please, you’re totally smitten.” I gave him my best “you’re crazy” stare.
    He was, of course, unfazed and continued with his explanation, “Look at the previous guy’s can.” Mark pointed towards the house whose trash we’d just emptied. “It’s fucking rolling down the sidewalk and is almost in the street. While” —he stopped to point at Connor’s waste bin— “Pretty boy’s container, you’ve all but put it away for him.”
    I figured that if Connor saw Mark waving his hands, he would assume Mark was yelling at me about something. I was relieved that he wouldn’t hear what Mark actually said over the truck and