tagNonConsent/ReluctanceFoxy – Industrial Complex

Foxy – Industrial Complex


I know who I am. I have lived 25 years. Every morning, I wake up, and I am the same. I am an asshole. I still go to a community college to finish my business administration degree. There are no illusions about hard work earning me the presidency or a mega-CEO position. One of the school boards in the hallway had a flier for an internship in China. The board was completely overfilled for tutoring and study abroad opportunities. Cute girls with rosy cheeks smiled at me from all of them.

Last night, a newspaper article had described working conditions in Chinese factories for consumer electronics. Young girls from poor rural areas would travel for days to reach oppressive working conditions. Bosses would often use them for personal services like hair washing and sex. Having a slave army sounded good. I would never have a position, where a dark history could haunt me anyway.

The Chinese have a habit of holding long silences. Due to their crowded conditions, there is little physical privacy, like an office. So, they keep mental privacy. They keep the insides of their heads to themselves. I was sitting in a hall in China. We had a long banquet table. The American intern candidates were on one side. The Chinese factory management was on the other side. They had carefully arranged us by our test scores. The big wig plant manager sat at the top of the table. He was a large man in an Armani suit. His son, a skinny tall fella with hard eyes, sat next to him.

The students on my side of the table had pale faces and clothing from Target. None of the heavy hitters from ivy league schools had applied to the program. While an internship in China seemed glamorous. It yells of international business expertise. The actual jobs were unpaid. We'd have to supervise a team stacking phones into boxes or something menial like that.

The girl at the head of the table, the only girl, was holding a business card from the factory manager in both hands -- yep, both hands. That's how our teacher at home had taught us to receive business cards. It's been five minutes. She is still staring at the business card. Even the big wig's face displayed a frown on the forehead, while he kept trying to patiently smile. We were all waiting for her to put the card away, so that the meeting could progress. Christ, the whole morning pissed away with getting to know each other.

Dear god, I just hope that she won't put the business card into her back pocket, because that's the social equivalent of sitting on someone's face. Though, it would be funny to imagine the frail girl with her gray pencil skirt sitting on top of the face of the self-important big wig. She'd be yapping, "Am I doing it right? Am I doing it right? Do you want me to move a little left? Oh, your big flat nose feels good there."

In front of me sat a city official. His face was round. He was about my age. I had seen plenty of those kids in my community college. They dressed nicely and didn't know what to do. He didn't seem to know either. He'd been eating the whole time without saying anything. In best Chinese custom, he was belching like a pig. That's how they express pleasure with the food. He was also eating with an open mouth. He had a small nose. He brought the bile up in me. Back in America, I would have just grabbed him behind his neck, slammed his face in the plate, and with the tone of an elegant British gentleman told him, "Oh, hickley, you eat like a pig. Where are your manners?"

The city official let out one more belch. I couldn't hold back. I let out a burp. It was one of those roaring things from deep in the belly that make the vocal chords vibrate like weddings bells. I could see his face melting as the force of my gully air gushed into his face. The sound of my belch echoed in the room, as if a buck was roaring during mating season. And, it just kept coming and coming. Even the Chinese hosts started looking worried and terrified. Those cocksuckers, I was going to let it have them. I found another pocket of air in my belly to let out. "Love your food, guys."

Everyone at the table hurried to pass me more dumplings and rice. It was like a mad panic. This was the first time I smiled with happiness since leaving the airport in Bejing in a white communist bus.

Another fifteen minutes past. The hosts let us out onto a field. The dab sky was filled with smog. The grass was green, yet weak. A few bare trees surrounded the field. There was a notable absence of things like buildings in the background or a tool shed. This was going to be our final test. We had ten finalists. Two internships were open. The consolation prize was a weekend of factory tours. They made us line up like soldiers on the side of the field. We had to scream "I love Foxy," the name of the industrial complex. We had to wave in some eerie cheery manner for a photographer. I told myself, just let it wash over. Once I'm out of the limelight, I'll get to have a lot of fun with my slave army.

The son of the factory boss let a German shepherd dog onto the field. He had long hair. The snout was pointed. He reminded of a wolf. The face was absolutely black with a browner back. The paws bounced at ease over the field. The eyes darted nervously all over the field.

The factory boss announced, "Here is your final test. All theory is worth nothing, if you can't lead. The workers in this factory are very primitive. They are simple farmers. If you can lead a dog, you can lead a factory worker. Your task is to lead the dog through an agility course. The two best times win the internship."

See this is where the factory lords and I differ. Dog training is a good leadership exercise. They think of their workers as beneath dogs with disgust. I think of training a dog as proving your worth before you are allowed to lead a human.

The Chinese brought out plastic tunnels, benches, and hurdles. We politely waited. The half of the Chinese that wasn't building the course was busy smoking. That's another hardship of being in this country. They constantly smoke without apology. And, their teeth are stained yellow from the smoking and tea drinking. They call it culture shock. I felt irritable. I hadn't punched anyone in two days. I was trying to keep it together until they'd leave me in a windowless room with my army of slaves.

The girl with the pencil skirt and pink blouse was up first. The high heels sunk backward into the grass. She wobbled walking toward the dog. The dog was held by a handler. The dog paced nervously in circles. It was a young dog, untrained. The moment the girl took the leash, the big dog leapt up on the little girl. The big bushy dog was leaning against her chest trying to lick her face. The girl's eyes were closed. Her lips pushed out into a round circle of deep red lipstick. Her hand with the fingers stretched out tried to push the dog's face away. She pushed like a paper weight. The dog's face moved around her hand with agility. She screeched like a little girl.

The dog got confused. The dog wrapped its front paws around her hip hard. The dog started humping her knee. The girl screamed for help. The factory leadership laughed unabashedly with black hate written on their faces. They were all male. They hated women. Seeing her struggle let them live out their disgust.

That's the second difference between them and me. I loved seeing that girl struggle, because it was so sexy. It was so much emotion, so much rawness. I loved seeing her blouse disheveling. I loved getting glimpses of her belly skin and her bra. There is something in her girly screams that resonated in my heart that turned me on so much and made me want her.

The girl fell over under the pushing of the dog. She got on her knees and started crawling away. The dog was running all around her with the tail wagging high. The wet nose poked her all over as the dog was sniffing her. When the dog prodded her sex from behind, she let out an especially breathy and squeaky yelp. The dog simply tried smelling her ass as dogs do.

She made it behind the line of men. She crawled between the pant suit legs. The dog did not dare step closer to the men. The factory boss called out the next candidate. The next candidate was a blond tall guy with clothes that fit too loosely. He was a slouch. He seemed unsure. His face was fired up with intensity. He wrapped the leash five times around his wrist and started dragging the dog to the first hoop. Immediately, the dog tugged its tail beneath the leg. The head drooped down. The whole body compacted and cowered.

The first obstacle was a ring that required the dog to go through the ring. The dog dug all four paws in and was terrified of the ring. The blond slouch reached with one hand through the ring to feed the leash through it. He was going to muscle the dog through the ring. He unleashed a barrage of insults at the dog, "I'll tell you who is boss. That's all you need to know, ugly ass dog." To amp the pressure on the dog, he reached one leg out and kicked the dog in the side. The dog yelped in pain and started whining. "You dumb dog, need some training. I'll train you with my kicks."

From the intense pulling, the collar slipped over the head of the dog. The dog took off running. The blond slouch went after it. "You fucking dog stand between me and the internship. I won't let you mess it up, you cursed dog." The factory leadership applauded the lads trying. The dog got itself trapped in an outside corner, where two walls joined.

The blond slouch walked up to the dog with a menacing look on its face. He was swinging the leash in a circle like a cowboy. "You can run, but you can't hide," said he was a menacing look on its face. The poor dog was curled up into a tiny ball in the corner. Its body was shivering with fear. The blond slouch reached for its head without hesitation. The dog leapt forward, bit his hand, released and ran off. Fresh red blood streamed over the hand of the guy. He was holding up his hand with a questioning face, "Why did you do that?"

An ambulance arrived with blaring sirens. Funny, how they are colored similar to American ambulances, yet look like cheap knockoffs. I used the commotion to disappear back into the dining hall. The banquet table still had the food leftovers. Chinese custom frowns upon taking the last item from a plate. So, there was still plenty of meat left. I was wearing a suit. I stuff the pockets with meat. The suit would be ruined from the grease. However, I had no more purpose for wearing a suit after this shindig.

I arrived back with the crowd, when the ambulance left. One of my American co-candidates explained to me that the guy had never handled a dog before and was deeply afraid of them. He had tried to overcompensate his fear and ignorance. The factory leaders looked actually very pleasing at him for his iron fist. Yet, he was declared disqualified like the girl.

From all the other candidates, Bernd was the most skilled. He had grown up with dogs. He had a firm, relaxed demeanor that the dogs immediately recognized. His comments were clear and short. It was amazing to watch him direct the dog and see the respect in the eyes of the dog.

I was the last candidate. I had barely made it into the top ten finalists. The dog paced nervously as I approached it. The other guys had stressed the dog. I squatted down. I told it, "I'm going to take good care of you. You are safe." I realize that a Chinese dog is as likely to understand English as an English dog. However, even though, it kept pacing around, it somewhere registered my sentiment.

With my front hidden from the sight of management behind me, I slipped my hand into my pocket and broke off a piece of pig. I put it between my index and middle finger to hide it. I reached out. The dog cautiously came close and licked my hand. I let it have the peace of pork. I heard one of the factory managers exclaim in surprise. I let out a sly smile, because I had gotten through my whole life by cheating. I pretended to adjust my jacket to get more pieces of pork. The dog became docile like a lamb as it took the pork pieces from me.

I got up and walked the dog through the course. We did the ring easily. It walked on a high beam. It jumped over an obstacle. I petted it occasionally with praise and dropped more secret meat pieces. At this point, only Bernd had finished the course. So, time was not an issue. The others had all disqualified themselves in one way or another.

Darkness had fallen over the field by the time I finished. The Chinese awarded Bernd and me awards. Bernd was tall and well built. He dressed very neatly with a handkerchief poking out of his jacket and a time piece attached to his suit. My suit pockets had leaked grease out by now. Though, it was dark enough that nobody noticed that dark spots. The girl had recovered her composure. She was throwing Bernd and I warm hugs as a display that she was a good sport.

The factory boss took us in his 7-series BMW to the company dormitories. The leather felt rich on the skin. The seats were wide. There was so much leg space that I felt like in first class. Outside, the street lights were few in between. Throngs of workers in company standard pants and blue shirts walked down the sidewalk. Buildings were broken or partially constructed. Garbage was floating in the streets and collected as drifts against the walls. The place had the feel of the forsaken city in Half Life 2, the computer game. The words of the beginning of the game went through my head: "The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference." The suggestion is that a bad ass in a place, where he crosses evil master plans, can kick some serious ass. I certainly wasn't a right man by any means. This felt like a very wrong place regardless.

My room was of small square size without any window. There was a small bed frame with an old foam mattress. There was a bare table with a chair. Both were scratched by former users. A few hooks on the wall were to hold my wardrobe. A broom was in a corner to help the place clean. I opened up my suit case and went to sleep.

The next morning, a young man came into my room without knocking. He was wearing a hat like a uniform. He looked like one of my buddies from college. However, this guy had a serious air about him. He watched me getting dressed. Then, he walked me outside. There was a long line of people with big bags on the sidewalk. They were dressed rather colorful compared to the factory uniforms. They were young twenty year old. Some of the girls had fashion haircuts. There was yelling at the front of the line.

"What are they yelling about?"

"Back in their rural villages, they are told about fantastic salaries and benefits. They rid a train for a day or two. Once they come here, they find out the real pay. They don't have the means to go back. They don't want to lose face to their family. So, they stay."

A bus pulled up next to us. There was no line. People just started pushing and shoving to get in. They were mostly young people. By now I recognized the little flair, the little logos, and the little embellishments that they were wearing. There was definitely some kind of fashion culture going on. Most of the faces were ghostly tired and emotionless. However, in between, I could see a spark in an eye or two. Some men and some women were holding hands. There was some life after all.

We walked up to a huge two story high factory building. It was plain on the outside. There was a dirt hill in front of it. Workers were pushing and shoving over it. Apparently, the timecard reader was mounted against the wall. They had neither finished the sidewalk to walk up to it or installed enough readers for all the workers. Even shy girls had to learn to push themselves to the front to clock-in and clock-out.

We entered the factory. The noise was intense. Work teams were squeezed close together. There were tables with cheap small chairs around them. One foreman had a man do pushups as punishment. Some of the workers wobbled, because their legs had become so fluid filled from standing twelve hours that they could barely walk. There were a lot of young women. They were pretty flat chested though, for the most part. Fingers were unbelievable fast. I couldn't even make out the individual motions of fingers as they manipulated objects.

My team was in the back of the factory. They stopped to form a four by five row like in the military. They greeted me in unison. Each one had been given an English name for me. I couldn't remember the names. There were four guys and sixteen girls. I smiled as I scanned their faces, chests, and hips. All the things that I was going to do to them! And, they would have no recourse. I told them to get back to work and stop wasting time. Their faces looked so hurried, as they ran for their chairs and sat down. Above our station was a banner that said, "Work hard to today or work hard finding a new job tomorrow." They seemed a bit traumatized.

I sat down and watched them. Their job was pretty simple. They take cell phones out of a box, insert the battery and turn them on. They'd set up a whole line of cellphones that were booting up. Once it booted, they clicked a few functions and turned it off again. They'd grab cables and a manual from the middle of the table and package the cellphone for the consumer. Every once in a while, a small electric truck came by to bring more material and pick up packed boxes.

There wasn't anything to do for me. I could have rallied the workers or randomly punished someone with exercises to keep them in a constant state of terror. Though, I don't like following orders. So, I watched them work their little Chinese asses off.

Some of the girls had big moon faces. Some looked so exotic that they seemed like masks. There was one particularly cute girl. She had more Caucasian proportions. She had blue eyes. She had a cute stubby nose. Her breasts were pretty small. However, they were nice round mounds. I wondered what she would be like in bed. Would she be a nymphomaniac like the girl in the movie "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon?"

I know that I told you that I am an asshole. However, I have my hesitations. I'm in a foreign culture. Maybe, what I read in the papers was wrong. Maybe, they'd publically beat me up for this. My heart was beating hard, when I walked up to her chair.

"Your name is Rose, isn't it?"

"Sir, I will work faster. I am so sorry. I was slow last hour. I will make it up."

Her head was craned around to look at me, while her fingers were still flying over the cell phones. She was typing in two cellphones at the same time. I couldn't tell that any of them slacked off.

"Why don't you take a walk with me."

I could feel everyone's head at the table lower with tension. They were working even faster. I could barely breathe with the tension that I had caused. I put my hands behind the small of the back to pretend to be relaxed and walked off. Rose tripled with small fast steps behind me. I walked into one of the shower stalls adjacent to the factory floor.

"I want you to wash my hair."

I paused. I wasn't quite sure what would happen now. I mean, I wouldn't follow such an order. Nobody back in America would.

"Oh, yes," she smiled and bowed her shoulders. Her slender fingers took off my shirt. She popped off each button with ease and speed. She slipped her hands under my shoulders. The shirt was folded neatly like at a Gucci store. She pulled my undershirt over my head. She took me gingerly by my hand to lead me into the shower. Feeling her cool and smooth fingers gave me an instant hard on. Her touch was so intimate. She gently made me bow forward.

She adjusted the water, scrubbed my head, and washed off the soap. She was done so quickly. It took her sixty seconds. Her expedient factory hands had given me the fastest wash ever.

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bycowboy109© 3 comments/ 34512 views/ 8 favorites

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