Every rig up started the same- wait for the trucks to come with your tools and then set up your computers. I have always been the sole female on location and, even as an engineer, the stigma of being a woman on an oil rig in Texas took precedence over any title or degree I had with my company.
Even my first rig was exciting- walk out on to the floor in your coveralls to pick up tools and have everyone from a floor hand to the company man eye-fuck you. It was at that moment I discovered the intoxicating power I had over the men whom I worked with on the rig- and it was also the moment I discovered my side-hobby while on the job.
I was the embodiment of good and kindness back home- but that I was out in Texas, I wanted to be a slut. An overly educated engineer; a woman with far too much education for her own good out in the field- and a slut. Slut's don't need a formal education in engineering. Slut's need an education in sucking dick, enjoying a good fuck and taking it up the ass.
Each crew was about 8 men- but by including the day and night crews and the different companies you had out there, it brought the total to about 18 men on location at a time- and it was in these 18 men, that I found my desire to sexually please as many of them as I could.
I am a young, brown-haired, brown-eyed southerner with a college education and almost nothing tying her to her alma mater or the life I left behind in the southeast United States. Upon graduation, the job I had lined up for me didn't work out as planned and I found myself applying to an engineering job in the Texas desert on an oil rig.
"You're the first woman this company has every hired for a field position," I was later told; but I was always up for a good challenge. Being a woman out here was physically demanding enough- so what would stop me from using my sex to help?
I'd climb the stairs up to the rig floor and the doghouse and feel the eyes of every man on tower follow me as I ran cable across the floor. Purposefully bending over every chance I could. Unnecessarily asking for help while latching lines or setting up sensors to talk to the hands on the floor and let them catch a glance at my cleavage peaking out from under my fireproof jumpsuit. Was it almost playing cheap shots? Yes. But nothing compared to the almost Herculean pride these roughnecks had when they could help a damsel in distress drop a line to the ground.
The lead driller was a true example of a West Texas roughneck- someone who had been in the oil drilling business since he was old enough to work out in the fields. In his experiences, 2 years as a derrick hand, pulling pipe, had made him a specimen to be admired- and he hadn't lost any strength in the three years since he had started drilling. Several times a day, I caught myself staring at Trace- the way his coveralls stuck to his glistening and worked body in the bright Texas sun. Mmmm- just watching him walk across the location made me excited and had my mind racing of what I'd love to do to him.
Asking where he wanted the equipment set up one morning, he joked about never having seen a woman out here before- asking if I was married or not, the works. I grinned- looked up to him from where I was installing a remote computer and said "Hun, If I was married, I wouldn't be out here..." before trailing off, southern drawl and all. Looking up, I gave a snarky grin and continued installing the system- pulling my hair out of the elastic holding it in a tight bun and letting the hair cascade to my shoulders.
"Finished. You're all set and ready to drill," I said, leaning against the wall of the Doghouse.
"Don't be a stranger...," Trace said- meeting my eyes and holding my gaze- grinning. Fuck.
He was a looker, I'll give him that. His arms; the way the coveralls sat on his muscular build; his rough, dirty hands- fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If it weren't for the wall I was leaning on, I wouldn't have been able to stand.
