[yellow_fever_01]

Most of my early jobs were working on the farms of my neighbors. My first non-agricultural job was working at a gas station/convenience store/boat shop a few miles from our farm. My main job was manning the gas pumps, though I also worked as a stock clerk in the convenience store. The enterprise was owned by a elderly couple, whose adult son did the books for them on an antique roll-top desk near the cash register. That desk was the designated area for my lunch breaks as I could keep an eye on the gas pumps if a customer should drive up. I was expected to pump the gas, clean the windshield and offer to check the oil and air pressure. Cleaning the windshields offered me some interesting views as this was during the miniskirt era.

Anyway, buried in the roll-top desk I found a couple of adult magazines. They were several steps below the quality of Playboy or Penthouse. They did have erotic stories and letters which made for interesting reading. I had to be careful not to get caught and to always put the magazines back exactly where I found them. And, of course, there was no way I could stroke myself while I was reading the stories on the job. I had to wait until bedtime and remember what I had read.