*typetypetype*

Standard

I own one notebook, filled with ideas and characters of both my Bull universe and other universes. I might have a few stories with them, my life is still young.

I’m writing still. No worries. In fact, here’s one of my rough drafts that I’ve been writing off and on for the past month. It includes my ‘sona, though. Feel free to critique so I can polish this up.

===

The voice on the other end of the line was cool and calm. “Welcome to Barjocks. Where can I direct your call?”

“Uhm, I’m responding for the ad in the newspaper,” Joe said.

“Give me a moment to direct the call, sir,” the receptionist said. A small click was heard, then David Bowie’s “Golden Years” was blaring out of the phone.

Joe sat down and waited for the call to be answered.

* * *

“Sir, there is a call waiting for you on line eight,” the receptionist said through the intercom.

Mr. Huxley sighed out of frustration. “Another person about the job, Cindy?”

“Yes sir.”

The bison sighed once more, his left hand lightly massaging his temples. Another damned twink calling, he thought as he shuffled through the papers on his desk. “Did he do any kind of application? No, scratch that,” he corrected when he saw Mike come in. “Give him an appointment, maybe in an hour, hour and a half.”

“Yes sir.”

Mike sat down and grinned at the manager. “Another skinny?”

“I guess.” Mr. Huxley tapped his fingers on the desk in thought. “Why don’t you deal with him. I have dozens of applications I need to sift through for this job, and I rather not have to deal with another wannabe. You know what to do.”

Mike nodded in agreement. “Alright, sir.”

* * *

Joe parked in his bike near a white-washed warehouse and chained it securely to a lamp-post. After making sure it was alright, he turned around and nearly collided with a thickly built white leopard.

“E-e-excuse me, sir,” Joe stammered out as the feline bared his fangs. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.”

The leopard sneered and walked away towards his car.

“Geeze, what’s his problem,” Joe muttered under his breath as he walked into the building.

The interior was soft lights and gleaming chrome. Overstuffed booths collided skillfully with dark wood furnishings. The carpet was a plush blue-green. And opposite from him stood the largest bear he ever seen, behind a fully-stocked bar and polishing glasses.

* * *

Carl was not having a good day. Frank was still angry at him from the previous night’s accident. It wasn’t Carl’s fault that the customer thought the leopard would look better with the drink all over him. But Frank thought it was. The boss got rather pissed at that. The forth time someone got into a fight with the leopard.

The bear shook his head and started wiping down glasses. Everyone seems on edge, he thought. It’s all because of that damned leopard, thinking he was above everyone else, thinking he could actually get away with verbally abusing the customers. The boss has been threatening him with a replacement, but with all of the lousy applicants coming in, it looks like the jerk will be with us some more.

The door opened and in stepped this huge moose – muscle bulging everywhere and, judging from the pants, another big bulge down there. Carl didn’t show any outward signs of shock as he smoothly said, “Welcome to Barjocks. Make yaself at home.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, coming up to the bar and sitting down on a leather stool.

Carl noticed that the striped button-down did nothing to hide the contours of the moose’s build, and he swallowed slowly. Ye gods and fishes, he thought, is this just a customer or a new applicant? He continued to polish the glass he was holding, his eyes roaming across the moose’s lines like a starving man at a banquet.

“So, um, what can I help ya with, sir?” Carl asked.

“Hmm…?” Joe looked up at the bear. “I am to be meeting someone today for an interview.” He looked at his watch and sighed a bit, stretching the fabric slightly. The buttons tried to pop out, with very little success. “I hope I didn’t come too late.”

Oh ye gods and fishes, Carl thought, his mind wandering towards thoughts of Frank’s replacement. “Did anyone say who was supposed to meet you?”

“Oye, dude!”

Joe turned around to see a gray kangaroo dressed only in loose beach shorts walk out of a door at the far side of the bar. Like the bear he was also largely built; a shock of white-blonde hair spiked up between his ears. He noticed Joe and came up to him, a bright smile on his face. He extended his hand forward. “Welcome to Barjocks, dude! What can Carl get you?”

Joe grasped hands and gave the ‘roo a firm handshake. “Thanks, but I don’t really want a drink right now…”

“He’s here for an interview,” Carl rumbled out, stressing the last word slightly. He was still polishing the same glass.

The ‘roo raised an eyebrow and innocently looked at the moose up and down. “I’m sure the boss would accept him in a heartbeat, but we have things to do first.” He lightly swatted Joe’s shoulder and mock-winced, shaking his hand in a lame attempt at soreness. “Dude! That hurt! What are you made out of, bricks?”

Joe smiled at the compliment. “Nah, just solid muscle.” He couldn’t resist and flexed an arm, distorting the sleeve and stretching it to the point of tearing.

The sound of breaking glass turned Joe’s and the roo’s head towards Carl, who looked extremely contrite. “Sorry, Mike, it must’ve slipped out ‘f my hands while I was putting it away.” He went off to find a broom and dustpan.

The roo shook his head in slight frustration. Damned Frank, blaming him for yesterday. He shoved the thought out of his mind and gave the moose another sunshine grin. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Micheal Guilotti, your interviewer, but you can call me Mike. And you are?

“Uhm…Jonathan Joseph Moose,” Joe answered back, slightly surprised. His interviewer? “But everyone calls me Joe.”

“Alright, Joe, let me ask you a few questions.” Mike sat down on a stool, facing the moose. “Do you know what we do here?”

Joe shook his head.

“Okay, Barjocks is a stripper bar. We serve drinks in our skivvies and let the customers tip us for the occasional posing and grope. Sometimes it gets more extreme than that; I remember once when Dave had that girl in the dressing room for most of the night.” Mike paused in thought. “But that is very rare. Most of the folks here just want to cop a feel. Are you comfortable with that?”

Joe nodded slowly.

“Good! Now, we’re a gay-friendly establishment, meaning that guys will want to have a grab at you as well as the girls. That’s alright with you?”

Another slow nod.

“Now, some of us, me included, are gay. Will you be comfortable working aside us?”

“I’m gay myself,” the moose said. “But, uhm, why did you ask that?”

The roo scowled for a moment. “Mister Huxley – that’s the boss man – he’s very keen on making any applicant for this job to know exactly what he’s getting into. I remember one guy raising hell when I mentioned that this was a gay-friendly place. He thought this was a woman only gig.” He chuckled as Carl came back with the broom and dustpan. “I think that concludes the questions I am allowed to ask, so I say the boss needs to look you over. I approve, but that doesn’t mean he does.” He hooked a thumb to the bear. “This is Carl, the bartender. One of the best in the city. If you get hired, I’ll treat you to a drink. That’s cool?”

“You think I’ll get hired?”

“Dude, with your build, I’m sure you will. Now let’s go.”

Mike warned him before he was ushered into the office, “What will happen is that you’ll probably be asked to strip. He wants to make sure you’re comfortable with it. He’ll ask for stats. He might even hire you on the spot, but I haven’t seen that happen.” He patted Joe on the shoulder before opening the door. “Good luck!”

Joe went into a somewhat shabby room with an equally shabby oak desk. And behind the desk was a monster of a bison, could be as big as Carl, but something told him he was bigger, He was dressed in a blue pinstripe suit and green paisley tie. A riot stripe of black hair clove between a graying mop of brown. A pair of half-moon spectacles was perched on his muzzle. At his side was a half-finished cigar.

“You must be Jonathan Moose,” he said in a deep tenor, shaking hands with Joe. “I am Travis Huxley, owner and manager of Barjocks. Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured towards a worn green leather wing-back chair. “You must excuse my get-up,” he said, brushing a thick paw of a hand across his suit, “but I have found that to impress the yokels one must dress to the nines.”

“Now,” he said, adjusting his glasses, “I assume that since you are here, Guilotti has told you about what this place is? And that you’re comfortable with it? Good!” he said at Joe’s nodding. “And you’ll be alright if one of the customers asks for a good hard fucking, hm?” He laughed loudly at Joe’s expression of shock. “No, no, I kid. I don’t allow that sort of thing here in the bar. If you wish to take a customer home after your shift, I will not mind. But any sex acts are not allowed here. Only flexing and groping.” His eyes rambled innocently over the massive form opposite him. “Well? What are you waiting for? Strip, son.”

Joe took a deep breath to calm his nerves and started to unbutton, then slip off the shirt.

Mr. Huxley whistled appreciatively under his breath as Joe struggled out of his shirt. Rich chocolate fur was speckled with lighter brown spots, but they didn’t hide the moose’s build. Everything was so big and thick: massive shoulders and traps, huge arms competed with a equally huge overhanging shelf of chest. And he had what he called a linebacker’s gut – solid, thick, and somewhat defined, a nice musclegut.

Joe leaned back and was about to ask is he should continue when there was a slight knock at the door.

Mr. Huxley started slightly at the knock. “Come in,” he ordered.

A fluffy tigress head poked into the room, complete with a pair of jeweled glasses and a slight air of absentmindedness. “I am so sorry, sir, but Mister Milhouse is here–” She didn’t get to finish due to someone pushing her aside and a white leopard entering.

“Milhouse,” Mr. Huxley growled out as the feline strutted to the desk, “allow me to introduce you to your replacement.” And he motioned to Joe.

The leopard barely glanced at the moose. “This fucker’s getting my job?,” he scoffed. “Not a fucking chance, you.” He dismissed him out of his mind and glared back to Huxley. “Now, about that fucker Carl. What–”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me properly, Milhouse.” Huxley stood up, looming horribly, his suit only adding to the intimidation factor. “You are not needed here anymore, nor are you wanted. Your antics have only tightened the noose, as it goes. You will not be getting any kind of unemployment benefits, nor any references from me. Now leave.”

Milhouse’s tail twitched in indignation, and his face was cast in fury. “You don’t know what you just did, you fucker.”

“I think I do,” Huxley said, “but let me make it clearer.” His left fist flew in an arc that violently connected with the leopard’s jaw and sent him collapsing to the floor.

“That was for my sister,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his hand slightly, then he focused on his new employee. “I’m sorry you had to see that, Moose. He wasn’t a very good choice for the job, and he only gotten worse in the interim. I do not know why I hired him in the first place.” He moved around the desk to help Joe up and out of the room. “Are you alright?”

Joe nodded. “We’ve met earlier, when I was coming in. Almost bumped into him.”

“He got on everyone’s nerves, even started to insult the customers. Been looking for a replacement, and it looks like I got one.” He grinned widely and led Joe to a modern computer desk, where a tigress dressed severely in yellow and brown plaid was in typing out a letter.

“Are you alright Cindy?” Mr. Huxley asked.

“Quite alright,” she said, rising her voice slightly over the sound of her work. “I have taken the liberty to ask Mister Guilotti and Samson to remove the predecessor out of the building.” She looked at Joe’s shirtless form with a keen air of interest, not even missing a single keystroke. “My, ain’t you a hunky one.”

Joe blushed as Huxley coughed slightly. “Thank you for asking, Cindy. I’ll be giving Moose a small tour of the building. Please inform the duo of their new co-worker.” He grinned at Joe. “No doubt Micheal will be excited over this.”

* * *

“I am to be wearing this?!” Joe explained, looking down at a deep blue jockstrap that was in hands.

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” the boss said primly.

They were in the changing room. Mirrors covered most of the place while a set of lockers sat on the remaining wall. Joe sat down on a wooden bench, looking at the piece of clothing.

“This is my uniform?”

“On the most part,” Huxley said, sitting on the opposite bench. “Sometimes I’ll have you wear leather harnesses and chaps, along with boots.”

Joe’s eyes widened as he thought of himself out in public dressed in the leathers, then he imagined Mike dressed the same way. “Gah…”

Huxley chuckled at Joe’s expression. “Now, to work.” He motioned to the jeans. “What are you waiting for? Change.”

The moose gulped audibly and stood. He rested his hands on his belt buckle and looked at the bison, who nodded encouragingly. Joe stepped away a bit from him and turned around, undoing his belt and pulling down his pants to show off a pair of tight, green boxer-briefs. Those also came down as he replaced those with the jockstrap. After a few well-placed tugs, he turned around towards the bison.

Huxley whistled lewdly at the heavy bulge that fit skin-tight against the fabric. He stood up and walked around the blushing moose. “Yes, I think I made a nice choice hiring you.”

At that moment, the door opened, and Mike stepped in. He spied the scantily clad moose and also whistled. “Dayam, dude! Wait ’til the other folks get a sight of you!” He went up to Joe and lightly stroked a calloused hand across the massive chest, then went downward to lightly cup the jock pouch.

“Now, Guilotti, you know the rules,” Huxley chided. “Let us not get Moose too uncomfortable.”

The ‘roo let go of the pouch. “Sorry, boss. And sorry to you also, Joe.” He gave Joe an embarrassed grin and turned to Huxley. “Just letting you know that Frank was escorted out of the building.”

“Is that all you here for?” the bison asked, smirking at the roo.

“Yes,” he said innocently. “But I also wanted to get a peek of a moose in uniform.” He winked at Joe, who blushed once more.

Huxley coughed quietly, then turned to Joe. “I think that concludes everything. When you’re done wearing that, put that in the green hamper for the cleaners.” And he pulled the moose into a crushing hug. “Do good, alright?” He let go and walked towards the door. “Come on, Guilotti, tell Carl the good news.” Mike reluctantly followed his boss. “You start tonight at nine. Be here a good hour before hand.”

Joe nodded as the door shut, sighed, then got back to his clothing.

* * *

“There you are!” Mike called out as Joe entered the lobby. He was seated at the bar, where the bartender was polishing the last of the glasses. “Come on and sit down.”

After Joe did so, Mike said, “Well, congratulations for getting the job. As promised, let me get you a drink.” He turned to Carl. “My usual, and whatever he wants.” He turned back to the moose. “You do drink, right?”

Joe nodded as Carl started to pour assorted liquors into a mixer then pour in a scoop of crushed ice. The duo watched him top it, shake it vigorously, then pour the resulting mix into an old-fashioned glass.

“One Jersey Lightning, Mike,” Carl said as he placed the clear cocktail next to the ‘roo. “An’ what will the moosie want, hm?”

Joe thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you want, sir.”

Mike and Carl chuckled. “No need t’ call me that,” he said, then he reached over to lightly rub an antler pad with a thumb. “Carl will do just fine.” He gave a cheek a light pat. “Now, I take pride ‘n knowin’ what a drink’r wants. Just give me a moment…” And he gave Joe a hard stare, then grinned. “I would have’ta say a whiskey sour will do ya nicely.”

And with that, he poured and mixed and serve. Joe was about to sip the concoction when Mike extended his own glass.

“A toast to our newest co-worker.” Carl extended an glass filled with ice water and softly clinked it against the other two glasses. Joe and Mike returned the favor.

“May ye see a brighter future,” the bear rumbled out.

Joe grinned. “Thanks guys.”

EDIT: For part two, click here.

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