Trace and I had our first fuck after a group of us went out for drinks when we were off tower.
That's the great thing about working days- when you're off, the bars are open and there's more than one opportunity to grab a couple of guys from the crew and knock a few back. Well, let's be honest here- when you're working 12-hour shifts a day doing a job where dismemberment or death is almost commonplace, you do more than drink a few when you're off location...
Needless to say, though, as the six of us drank and joked in a small local bar on the skirts of town, Trace and I spent much of the night eye-fucking each other.
No one brings their nice clothing out on location, but even much of our "nicer" clothing was still smeared with dope and caked with mud. Dope is a sort of sealant applied between joints of pipe to ensure the seal is waterproof, but it contains copper and will stain anything it touches- even your skin. That was what I loved- the smell of the earth and dope caked on everything I wore.
Even my nicest company shirt- a red polo- had seen better days... but it was tight and accented my chest nicely, while my blue jeans and black boots took care of the "Yes, I work in the field, but I still have a nice body," look I was going for.
That was another thing I loved about the roughnecks our here... Their hands were always rough and dirty, but never so filthy that the dirt would rub off on anything. You could tell that all of these men worked for a living and were proud of the work they did.
As we left, Trace was the perfect roughneck gentlemen (and I've yet to meet one that wasn't a gentleman off the rig site!). Trace opened the door for me as we all piled in to the motorman's truck- driving off to location heavily intoxicated and well over the speed limit.
Arriving on location again, we all stumbled back to our respective trailers- but I grabbed ahold of Trace before he could walk away behind his floor hands.
"You know, Trace," I said. "We could always grab another drink..."
Trace grinned. "We've got beer in our trailer."
I grinned and found myself biting my lip again. I think he saw, because he gave an evil smirk that came alive in the corner of his eye and made me pain with sexual want.
We joined the stumbling parade of men back to the day crew bunkhouse trailer- doubling over with laughter as the motorman tripped on the stairs and collapsed onto the floor inside the front door.
Finding the first seat I could in the living room, I sat on the couch and looked at the tv for a few moments as Trace grabbed me another beer. Football again- Love it! I read the scores at the bottom of the ESPN screen- too drunk to pick up any scores in particular- just watching the ticker roll.
Cold beer in hand, Trace sat down next to me as everyone else started getting ready for bed.
"How long did you say you've been a field engineer?" Trace asked.
I smiled and took another swing of my beer. "About a year now," I replied. "It's the look of every hand when I walk on the floor sure makes the job the most worthwhile," I joke.
Trace laughed- he knew what I was talking about. Nearly every rig called it the same thing- the Prison Effect. It was the moment when a woman came on location and every man on the rig floor (which is about 25 feet up) went to the railings to watch her as she walked around. She could be meeting with the Company man, collecting mud samples, or just there to drop off a part- but from the moment she arrived, every man gave her their undivided attention.
I loved the prison effect, for obvious reasons. It's that little voice inside of you that tells you to zip your coveralls a little bit lower and wear a shirt that's a little more fitting... My voice was a sea of bad ideas and desires. Just the thought of these men staring at me made me wet with excitement.
I set my empty beer bottle on the floor- as did Trace, while we joked about the Prison Effect a bit more.
As the last door shut down the hall and Trace and I looked at each other and I shot him my best 'come fuck me' look -- biting my bottom lip.
Fuck it. The voice in my head was shouting to take him now- right here, on his couch with his bunkmates asleep nearby. "Go on, Slut. You know you want him. I bet Trace has a huge, hard cock just waiting for you to bounce on... Tits bouncing.... Go on....."
A wave of lust ran through me and I made my move, pushing him backwards on the couch and climbing on top of him. Our lips met and my hands tugged at his shirt- tongues dancing with sloppy drunk kisses as I slowly inched one of my hands down to his cock.
I could feel him getting harder against my jeans- and the occasional bounce I made didn't help him any, either. We were both moaning- trying not to wake the guys in the other side of the trailer, but the sound he made as I traced my fingers in the outline of his hard cock were enough to startle any light sleeper.
Kissing his neck, I moved to his ear and played with his ear lobe- tugging on it with my teeth and running my tongue along the edges of the lobe. He let out another moan and I teased his cock more; rubbing him with a free hand as the other played with his hair.
"You want to fuck me, don't you?" I whispered in his ear.
I slid off his lap and repositioned myself on the couch- my legs underneath me. Moving to kiss his lips again, he sat up and pushed me flat on the couch in one move. Biting, sucking, and kissing my neck- he would definitely be leaving marks for everyone to see- and with that thought, it was me who let out a loud moan.
My coveralls sat low enough on my neck that I know it wouldn't cover a hicky... let alone ten of them. Yes, come tomorrow, everyone would know that I got some tonight.
The lust consumed me and I started begging for his cock. "Please, Trace. Please fuck me. I want you inside of me. I want you to fuck me. Oh God, please. Please fucking fuck me..."
He grunted and kissed my lips- tongues pressing harder and kissing faster. I could sense an almost animalistic quality in him as his tongue ran down my neck to the edge of the v-neck cut on my shirt.
"Get up," Trace said. "I have an idea. We can't fuck here, but I know where we can."
My cunt was already soaked and begging for attention- but I stood up and followed him out of the trailer. The cool evening air was wonderful as I walked beside Trace, trying to figure out where he was thinking of going.
Trace stopped at the steps to the night crew bunkhouse and let me go up the stairs first. Of course! They are all working up on the rig floor now- in the middle of their shift! "Oh, you sly dog..." I joke.
The trailer door closes and Trace leads me to a bedroom in the back- there were two sets of bunkbeds inside, but one of the bottom bunks was not made. Before I say anything, I'm led to the bed and laid down on it- within seconds, Trace is grinding on me.
