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Speedway
- Thread starter EasyRory
- Start date
Rory,
Thanks for the installment. Our boys are definitely moving along in their relationship.
And we're all the happier for it.
Thanks for the installment. Our boys are definitely moving along in their relationship.
And we're all the happier for it.
Craiger
JUB Addict
Young love can be so awesome. Particularly when it is so new to both of them. Sometimes I can even drag up some old memory of younger days....
Thanks, Rory.
Craiger
Thanks, Rory.Craiger
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fourteen - Blowout
B. J.'s thought processes are a constant education for me. Just when I think he's knee deep in some rock solid, unchangeable opinion, he changes. Suddenly. No warning. Black becomes white.
“Pozdnychev was insane. That was his problem. Tolstoy was writing about jealousy not sex. Sex doesn't destroy love; it makes everything better. Including you and me. I love you, Racer, I never thought that was possible.”
B. J. said that at 6:13AM, right after I fucked him. I know because I checked my phone to see when the alarm would go off. I had two more minutes to spend with him.
“Did you hear me? I love you. Racer.”
I kissed him and told him I cannot process important ideas in the morning before I've had some grapefruit juice.
“Grapefruit juice? I just shredded the entire story of my life by saying I'm in love with a man and you need fruit juice?”
“Subconsciously, I knew you loved me from that first time – with Vicki – when you kissed me.”
“I accidentally kissed you on the shoulder.”
“It wasn't an accident. You did it with love. Twice. And my neck.”
The shriek of the alarm on my phone shattered our bliss. In the kitchen, half dressed, it was hard pouring the grapefruit juice with B. J.'s arms around my waist, one of his hands in my underwear, and his mouth nibbling my neck.
“Don't you love me?” he asked.
“Do you have to ask?” I gulped a swallow of the semi-bitter juice, instantly feeling at least a third of my brain come to life.
“No, but I really want you to say it. Gotta hear the words.” He was grinding his almost-hard cock into my ass. “I'll make you a promise if you do.”
“What promise?”
“I'll fuck you for your Christmas present. After ...”
Telling him was a no-brainer. “I love you.” He kissed me. “After what?” I followed up.
“After we go to dinner at my folks house and I tell them I love you.”
“B. J.!” Ok, I'm accepting the fact I'm gay and I already knew I loved B. J., but making it all public information! That's burning bridges than don't need to be burned yet. By B. J.'s schedule those bridges were going up in smoke in a week.
“We gotta do it!” Another brief kiss and he went to dress. He called an I-love-you to me and left while I was still standing dumbfounded with my grapefruit juice thinking about what my life was becoming.
“Really?” I asked myself. “REALLY???”
B. J. was in the back of my head all morning. I'd never even met his parents. Did they know anything? Did they suspect? What would happen when MY family found out? A thousand thoughts tumbled around in my head; most of them involved hard words, tears and shotguns.
“Racer, are you still asleep?” my boss asked. “Two-fifty. Try to get him to pay first. Then do the detailing. It's hard as hell negotiating AFTER the work is done.”
I drove up to a huge house at the end of a long drive and was told Mr. Lynne's house was at the end of a left turn out by the barn and please do not park my truck in front of the house again. The lady who said it was polite and friendly but firm about the parking business.
Mr. Lynne's house was smaller and included a large attached garage. I knocked at the front door. “Mr. Lynne, I'm from White Post, here to detail your cars.” My boss has been insistent that I call it detailing and not washing; he was afraid washing wouldn't command the fifty dollars per car he was asking.
“Call me Tommy Lynne,” the man said. “Everybody else does. Come on I'll show you the cars. Have you had much experience at this?” I told him about working at the Speedway in Manassas and with a traveling crew around the region. “Nice. Who'd you crew for?”
“I was with a pick up crew at first, then I worked with Slick Parsons crew.”
“Slick Parsons. No fooling.” He stopped and looked at me more closely, much more closely, the way he'd look at a horse he might buy. “I knew Slick when he was just starting out.”
“I hope he gets better. I'd like to work for that crew again in the spring.” I explained about Slick's accident and Tommy Lynne said he was sorry to hear it.
“So, here they are,” he said as we entered the garage. “You can start with the Chevy, ok? It was my daddy's car. He loved '57 Chevies. Had one when he was young. Then do the T'bird, the Seville, and the Mazda. That was my first car, the Mazda. It's crap, but I'm fond of it.”
“Yes, sir. My boss wants me to ask for payment now. Two-fifty?”
“Two-fifty a car? I guess that's fair, how about half now and half if I'm happy when you're done. I'll be right back with a check for five hundred.” He left before I could correct his understanding of the price.
I started on the Chevy. It was dusty but not really dirty. I used a reversible shop vac to blow it clean and then tried to blot the remaining dust off with a damp rag. No rubbing yet. That would etch the finish with tiny streaks.
I was leaning across the trunk when he came back with the check. I explained the error in the price and he acted as if it didn't matter. “We'll call the extra a tip if you do a good job. There's just one thing ...” He looked at my jeans. “You've got rivets, and buttons, and buckles in those jeans and I'm afraid they'll scratch the car. You know how much seven coats of hand-rubbed lacquer costs? At LOT! So would you mind taking those jeans off? I'll put up the heat in the garage if you're cold.”
It wasn't really a request. He was polite about it, but it was an order and a two-fifty tip was persuasive. Just one problem. I sure did pick the wrong day not to wear underwear. I explained.
“You'll be here alone. Nobody's gonna see a thing. Please take 'em off.”
So for the first time in my life I worked wearing just sox, boots, and a t-shirt. Tommy Lynne did put the heat up and, coupled with that, I was working hard enough to raise a sweat, so I took the t-shirt off, too. Some place in Dumfries used to advertise topless car washes. I don't know how much business they got, but I was going them one better. Nude car washes. A two hundred and fifty tip, I kept telling my self.
Some Frenchman whose name I wasn't sure how to pronounce, it started with 'Mol', said something about how his work was just like prostitution. It was in the intro to the Tolstoy book. He said first you do it for love, then you do it for a few friends, then you do it for money. Man, I was washing cars naked for money. What does that make me? A naked car washer, I told myself. A gay, in love with B. J., naked car washer. It's a slippery fuckin' slope. Some Frenchman probably said that, too.
“You shave your bush.” I jumped up startled. Tommy Lynne was there looking at me.
“That way you won't find any random pubes stuck to the upholstery.”
Why do I say these things? Tommy Lynne laughed so hard he began coughing and left the garage. He returned sucking on a cough drop or something and inspected the Chevy.
“It's beautiful,” he said looking as much at me as at the Chevy. He seemed to get embarrassed and turned away, paying strict attention to the car. “Did you wash the tires, too?”
“Yes, sir ...”
“Tommy Lynne, please.”
“Yes, I did, Tommy Lynne. We use Mother's Classic to clean and then Back-to-Black for the shine. Flitz Paste on the hubcaps.” He was looking at me again; I could feel his eyes. He cleared his throat nervously.
“Ok, it's looking good. I'll be in the house if you need anything.” He left quickly.
Ok, so he's looking at me. I guess I would, too. He was plainly embarrassed by it, which I appreciated. For some reason, maybe the fact that he didn't hang around, he didn't creep me out the way Slick did. Slick wanted something. Tommy Lynne was just enjoying the view.
When I got back to White Post, I explained that half the check was supposed to be my tip. My boss was not pleased. “You didn't do anything you oughtn't? Did you, boy?”
“No, sir.” He gave me the two-fifty.
“I'm living with him and I love him,” B. J. said into the mirror as I got home. He turned to me immediately. “I'm practicing my speech.”
“Why not start out saying you're gay?”
“Can't do that! My brothers are gonna be there. What I said … that was how my brother T. J. explained he was living with a girl he got pregnant.”
“Beej, I'm not pregnant and I'm not a girl.”
“I know, I know …”
“T. J., huh. What are your other brothers called?”
“A. J. and D. J. Don't ask ...”
“Do you want to know what I did today? I washed four cars naked and got a two hundred fifty tip.”
“WHAT?” I told him the story, which he found very sexy, even before I got to the part about taking my t-shirt off. I had to fuck him to calm him down; of course if it hadn't been that story that got us all roused up, we'd have found another reason. On the way to dinner, B. J. suggested, “Maybe I could start out by telling my parents you're a naked car washer. And once you washed my truck. Sort of break the ice … set the mood … you think?”
It sounded like a terrible idea. “Maybe I don't think too good,” I told him.
“If you don't think too good, don't think too much, Race. That's what Ted Williams said.”
B. J.'s thought processes are a constant education for me. Just when I think he's knee deep in some rock solid, unchangeable opinion, he changes. Suddenly. No warning. Black becomes white.
“Pozdnychev was insane. That was his problem. Tolstoy was writing about jealousy not sex. Sex doesn't destroy love; it makes everything better. Including you and me. I love you, Racer, I never thought that was possible.”
B. J. said that at 6:13AM, right after I fucked him. I know because I checked my phone to see when the alarm would go off. I had two more minutes to spend with him.
“Did you hear me? I love you. Racer.”
I kissed him and told him I cannot process important ideas in the morning before I've had some grapefruit juice.
“Grapefruit juice? I just shredded the entire story of my life by saying I'm in love with a man and you need fruit juice?”
“Subconsciously, I knew you loved me from that first time – with Vicki – when you kissed me.”
“I accidentally kissed you on the shoulder.”
“It wasn't an accident. You did it with love. Twice. And my neck.”
The shriek of the alarm on my phone shattered our bliss. In the kitchen, half dressed, it was hard pouring the grapefruit juice with B. J.'s arms around my waist, one of his hands in my underwear, and his mouth nibbling my neck.
“Don't you love me?” he asked.
“Do you have to ask?” I gulped a swallow of the semi-bitter juice, instantly feeling at least a third of my brain come to life.
“No, but I really want you to say it. Gotta hear the words.” He was grinding his almost-hard cock into my ass. “I'll make you a promise if you do.”
“What promise?”
“I'll fuck you for your Christmas present. After ...”
Telling him was a no-brainer. “I love you.” He kissed me. “After what?” I followed up.
“After we go to dinner at my folks house and I tell them I love you.”
“B. J.!” Ok, I'm accepting the fact I'm gay and I already knew I loved B. J., but making it all public information! That's burning bridges than don't need to be burned yet. By B. J.'s schedule those bridges were going up in smoke in a week.
“We gotta do it!” Another brief kiss and he went to dress. He called an I-love-you to me and left while I was still standing dumbfounded with my grapefruit juice thinking about what my life was becoming.
“Really?” I asked myself. “REALLY???”
B. J. was in the back of my head all morning. I'd never even met his parents. Did they know anything? Did they suspect? What would happen when MY family found out? A thousand thoughts tumbled around in my head; most of them involved hard words, tears and shotguns.
“Racer, are you still asleep?” my boss asked. “Two-fifty. Try to get him to pay first. Then do the detailing. It's hard as hell negotiating AFTER the work is done.”
I drove up to a huge house at the end of a long drive and was told Mr. Lynne's house was at the end of a left turn out by the barn and please do not park my truck in front of the house again. The lady who said it was polite and friendly but firm about the parking business.
Mr. Lynne's house was smaller and included a large attached garage. I knocked at the front door. “Mr. Lynne, I'm from White Post, here to detail your cars.” My boss has been insistent that I call it detailing and not washing; he was afraid washing wouldn't command the fifty dollars per car he was asking.
“Call me Tommy Lynne,” the man said. “Everybody else does. Come on I'll show you the cars. Have you had much experience at this?” I told him about working at the Speedway in Manassas and with a traveling crew around the region. “Nice. Who'd you crew for?”
“I was with a pick up crew at first, then I worked with Slick Parsons crew.”
“Slick Parsons. No fooling.” He stopped and looked at me more closely, much more closely, the way he'd look at a horse he might buy. “I knew Slick when he was just starting out.”
“I hope he gets better. I'd like to work for that crew again in the spring.” I explained about Slick's accident and Tommy Lynne said he was sorry to hear it.
“So, here they are,” he said as we entered the garage. “You can start with the Chevy, ok? It was my daddy's car. He loved '57 Chevies. Had one when he was young. Then do the T'bird, the Seville, and the Mazda. That was my first car, the Mazda. It's crap, but I'm fond of it.”
“Yes, sir. My boss wants me to ask for payment now. Two-fifty?”
“Two-fifty a car? I guess that's fair, how about half now and half if I'm happy when you're done. I'll be right back with a check for five hundred.” He left before I could correct his understanding of the price.
I started on the Chevy. It was dusty but not really dirty. I used a reversible shop vac to blow it clean and then tried to blot the remaining dust off with a damp rag. No rubbing yet. That would etch the finish with tiny streaks.
I was leaning across the trunk when he came back with the check. I explained the error in the price and he acted as if it didn't matter. “We'll call the extra a tip if you do a good job. There's just one thing ...” He looked at my jeans. “You've got rivets, and buttons, and buckles in those jeans and I'm afraid they'll scratch the car. You know how much seven coats of hand-rubbed lacquer costs? At LOT! So would you mind taking those jeans off? I'll put up the heat in the garage if you're cold.”
It wasn't really a request. He was polite about it, but it was an order and a two-fifty tip was persuasive. Just one problem. I sure did pick the wrong day not to wear underwear. I explained.
“You'll be here alone. Nobody's gonna see a thing. Please take 'em off.”
So for the first time in my life I worked wearing just sox, boots, and a t-shirt. Tommy Lynne did put the heat up and, coupled with that, I was working hard enough to raise a sweat, so I took the t-shirt off, too. Some place in Dumfries used to advertise topless car washes. I don't know how much business they got, but I was going them one better. Nude car washes. A two hundred and fifty tip, I kept telling my self.
Some Frenchman whose name I wasn't sure how to pronounce, it started with 'Mol', said something about how his work was just like prostitution. It was in the intro to the Tolstoy book. He said first you do it for love, then you do it for a few friends, then you do it for money. Man, I was washing cars naked for money. What does that make me? A naked car washer, I told myself. A gay, in love with B. J., naked car washer. It's a slippery fuckin' slope. Some Frenchman probably said that, too.
“You shave your bush.” I jumped up startled. Tommy Lynne was there looking at me.
“That way you won't find any random pubes stuck to the upholstery.”
Why do I say these things? Tommy Lynne laughed so hard he began coughing and left the garage. He returned sucking on a cough drop or something and inspected the Chevy.
“It's beautiful,” he said looking as much at me as at the Chevy. He seemed to get embarrassed and turned away, paying strict attention to the car. “Did you wash the tires, too?”
“Yes, sir ...”
“Tommy Lynne, please.”
“Yes, I did, Tommy Lynne. We use Mother's Classic to clean and then Back-to-Black for the shine. Flitz Paste on the hubcaps.” He was looking at me again; I could feel his eyes. He cleared his throat nervously.
“Ok, it's looking good. I'll be in the house if you need anything.” He left quickly.
Ok, so he's looking at me. I guess I would, too. He was plainly embarrassed by it, which I appreciated. For some reason, maybe the fact that he didn't hang around, he didn't creep me out the way Slick did. Slick wanted something. Tommy Lynne was just enjoying the view.
When I got back to White Post, I explained that half the check was supposed to be my tip. My boss was not pleased. “You didn't do anything you oughtn't? Did you, boy?”
“No, sir.” He gave me the two-fifty.
“I'm living with him and I love him,” B. J. said into the mirror as I got home. He turned to me immediately. “I'm practicing my speech.”
“Why not start out saying you're gay?”
“Can't do that! My brothers are gonna be there. What I said … that was how my brother T. J. explained he was living with a girl he got pregnant.”
“Beej, I'm not pregnant and I'm not a girl.”
“I know, I know …”
“T. J., huh. What are your other brothers called?”
“A. J. and D. J. Don't ask ...”
“Do you want to know what I did today? I washed four cars naked and got a two hundred fifty tip.”
“WHAT?” I told him the story, which he found very sexy, even before I got to the part about taking my t-shirt off. I had to fuck him to calm him down; of course if it hadn't been that story that got us all roused up, we'd have found another reason. On the way to dinner, B. J. suggested, “Maybe I could start out by telling my parents you're a naked car washer. And once you washed my truck. Sort of break the ice … set the mood … you think?”
It sounded like a terrible idea. “Maybe I don't think too good,” I told him.
“If you don't think too good, don't think too much, Race. That's what Ted Williams said.”
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HA! Tommy Lynne, huh? 
Oh, Heck! If Racer would "detail" my cars Naked (Him, not the cars being naked, which they always are.), I'd give him 500, and I only own two!
(Actually, at 250 per car, since Tommy has 4, it would be a cool grand. Butt ... I'm not nit-picking.
)
Certainly looking forward to what BJ might actually tell his family.
I'm hoping Racer can cope with whatever might come of it!
Great chapter, Buddy!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Oh, Heck! If Racer would "detail" my cars Naked (Him, not the cars being naked, which they always are.), I'd give him 500, and I only own two!
(Actually, at 250 per car, since Tommy has 4, it would be a cool grand. Butt ... I'm not nit-picking.
) Certainly looking forward to what BJ might actually tell his family.
I'm hoping Racer can cope with whatever might come of it!
Great chapter, Buddy!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Craiger
JUB Addict
I'm surprised Tommy Lynne didn't go a little further than ogle... It's good to hear another familiar name. But, as they say, it's a small world. Like Chaz, I would certainly allow Racer to "wash my car."
I'm a bit nervous about B.J.'s plan and speech. I hope they don't throw the two of them out into the cold. However that wouldn't be how a proper Southern family would act. Obviously there will be "pleasant" responses to his speech... Thanks, Rory.
Craiger
I'm a bit nervous about B.J.'s plan and speech. I hope they don't throw the two of them out into the cold. However that wouldn't be how a proper Southern family would act. Obviously there will be "pleasant" responses to his speech...
Thanks, Rory.Craiger
Rory,
I saw the story last night and pulled it up to read - I was so busy responding to real life and posting on the thread I couldn't concentrate to read your story - and crashed and burned. Otherwise I would have posted HOURS ago.
It was a fun read - ah, yes, our Tommy Lynne of the Southern Genteel men - or something like that.
Au Natural, no less! Yes, I would appreciate Racer's many talents, too.
I might even let him ...
BJ wanting to take Racer home for Thanksgiving and tell his parents is great - and scary, both.
Hang in there, Racer, hang in there.
I saw the story last night and pulled it up to read - I was so busy responding to real life and posting on the thread I couldn't concentrate to read your story - and crashed and burned. Otherwise I would have posted HOURS ago.
It was a fun read - ah, yes, our Tommy Lynne of the Southern Genteel men - or something like that.
Au Natural, no less! Yes, I would appreciate Racer's many talents, too.
I might even let him ...
BJ wanting to take Racer home for Thanksgiving and tell his parents is great - and scary, both.
Hang in there, Racer, hang in there.
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Fifteen - Broken Axle
The two days after Christmas each seemed to contain seventy-two hours each. Therefore it felt like sometime in January when I sat on my porch in 50 degree weather and watched Paul and Vince drive into the parking lot. Vince gave a friendly wave and went into his apartment. Paul, however, walked up to my porch with an excited expression.
“How'd it go? How'd it go?
“You want the short version?” I asked him. He shrugged and waited. “It was a disaster.”
“Racer! A disaster! What happened????”
“The long version will take time.”
“New York sucked, too. Come on over in about a half hour. Thirty minutes should give Vince time enough to unpack, shower, fuck me twice, shower again, dress and go to work.”
“You look as shitty as I feel.”
“Wait 'til you hear,” Paul said and walked the two doors to Vince's place.
To kill some time I picked up The Death of Ivan Ilych and tried to follow the plot. If ever there was a prototype for the shallow, grasping bitch, it was Ivan's wife, Praskovya Fedorovna. How did pregnancy change her from a just nice enough, just pretty enough, just rich enough finacée into an ungrateful but fecund shrew of a wife? I thought that would be the story; it wasn't.
While I was interested in this aspect of the story, Tolstoy wasn't. Or at any rate I HAD been interested. Today the words danced in front of my eyes and concentration was impossible. After almost an hour I looked out the window and saw that Vince's truck was still in its usual spot. For someone who “didn't love Paul”, Vince sure fucked him enough. But that's silly, really. How do I know they're fucking? I only hear Paul's side of the story. From every word and action of Vince that I'd ever seen, I'd say he's very much in love with Paul.
I turned on the TV and searched for a specia channel. B. J. had given me a nice TV for Christmas. Both the sound AND the picture came through reliably. B. J. was supposed to be on tonight and I decided to record the show in case of … I don't know, in case some unnamed crisis kept me from watching in real time. I set the show to record and looked out in time to see Vince drive away.
“My disaster first,” Paul insisted. “Yours can't possibly be worse.” Instead off team we sipped something clear and powerful. FIRST of all, Vince insisted on stopping in all the places where we had sex on the first trip, meaning I got blown in Baltimore and fucked in Philadelphia.”
“I think that's kind of sentimental … kind of sweet.”
“Racer, you don't know what it's like to get fucked by someone who doesn't love you. I'm telling you it was torture and I think truck drivers could see. SO MANY HORNS blowing the whole time! There are phone aps that could trace my license plate. Half of the interstate highway system probably KNOWS my name! He shoots! He scores! Schuler in the shithole again! It was all over Twitter before we got to the Trenton exit.”
“It wasn't.”
“THEN … he asked my mother for a room for BOTH of us! She says why and he says because we sleep together! Her cry was enough to curdle yogurt in Yonkers! She threw us out! On the stoop! In Brooklyn, for God's sake, where everybody now knows EVERYTHING!” He hung his head and shook it in despair. Then he rose to his feet and began some weird rocking motion while mumbling to himself. “Of course, she relented and took us back in. She gave us the big front bedroom, but she made us make the bed OURSELVES! She almost THREW the linen at us and not the best linen either! And while she was still standing there, Vince laughs and says I love you. Then my mother in a voice that sounded near death says 'Him or me?' And the fuckhead says BOTH OF YOU! For which … for which … she says, 'I love you, too, Vince.' Then she turns to me and snarls “Fegeleh! Chazerei! Schmendrick! You don't deserve this sweet boy!'” He gestured wildly and asked, “Do you need a translation of any of that?”
I shook my head no; I got the sense of it.
“So top that!” Paul sat down and took a big swallow of whatever was in his glass.
“B. J.'s gone. He left me.”
I hadn't said the words before, not even to myself. Their brutal finality hurt. I took a big swallow of Paul's fire water. Paul's mouth fell open. “Christmas day started out so well. We made love, exchanged presents, made love again, took a box of candy to Mrs. Luckett, walked ...”
“Get to the bad part!” Paul insisted.
We were driving to his parents house and the local TV station offered try-outs to be a high school sports announcer. I said 'You could do that, Beej. You should try out.' He gave me an 'Aw, Shucks' reaction and we drove to his house. Everything was going fine, dinner was over and his mother went to get dessert, when B. J. said 'I have an announcement to make.' I took a deep breath and waited. One of his brothers, D. J. was pretty decent, but the other two, A. J. and T. J. were … let's say, not gay friendly. More like screaming redneck Neanderthals?”
“I get it,” Paul affirmed.
“So before B. J. got a word out, one of 'em said, 'He's gonna tell us he's gay. Like we never figured that out before!' And the other one and the father laughed. And the other one says, “No, he's gonna open a dress shop in Middleburg!' And they all laughed like that was the best joke in the world. 'He's prolly gonna model the dresses,' the father says and they all laugh some more. They kept it up until B. J.'s mom came back with pumpkin pie and ice cream. B. J. never got to say a word. At the end of the meal, B. J.'s daddy said a final grace and ended with prayer with ' … and God save this family from floods, famine, and faggots.' And they all laughed again, even the mom, although she was being more polite than amused I think. So at the end of this, the dad finally says, 'Just what was your announcement, B. J.?' And B. J. said, 'I'm quitting the car business. I'm gonna be a TV sports announcer.' And they all made fun of him again. One brother saying, 'In a dress?' and the other one saying, 'Announcing ladies badminton?' I couldn't wait to leave. All except, D. J. D. J. seemed as disgusted as I was.”
“Oh my god ...” Paul said in a hushed voice. “Poor B. J.”
“He cried in the truck, Paul. Totally broke down. I had to drive. We didn't go to my house. I called and told them dinner didn't agree with me. We went home and both had a big glass of vodka. B. J. wouldn't talk to me. Not a word. He slept on the sofa. And ...” I had trouble saying it. “And in the morning he was gone. Took all his stuff. His phone just goes to voice mail. He won't pick up.”
“You poor baby!” Paul said and he embraced me and kissed my cheek. His thigh was jammed against my cock. Of all times!!! I reacted to the pressure.
“You want to fuck me?” Paul asked. I think it was a serious offer.
“No,” I said. I went back home. I was stupidly proud of myself for not crying. The story tore me up, but I didn't break down. It was later when I was trying to go to sleep. I lay in bed and automatically reached for B. J. He wasn't there. That was when I cried. Painful sobs. My throat hurt. My chest hurt. My heart hurt. I didn't even know where he was and I loved him. I got control of myself, went into the bathroom and washed my face, and turned on the TV. B. J. won the announcing job. I went back to bed with his face and voice fresh in my mind. And then I cried again.
The two days after Christmas each seemed to contain seventy-two hours each. Therefore it felt like sometime in January when I sat on my porch in 50 degree weather and watched Paul and Vince drive into the parking lot. Vince gave a friendly wave and went into his apartment. Paul, however, walked up to my porch with an excited expression.
“How'd it go? How'd it go?
“You want the short version?” I asked him. He shrugged and waited. “It was a disaster.”
“Racer! A disaster! What happened????”
“The long version will take time.”
“New York sucked, too. Come on over in about a half hour. Thirty minutes should give Vince time enough to unpack, shower, fuck me twice, shower again, dress and go to work.”
“You look as shitty as I feel.”
“Wait 'til you hear,” Paul said and walked the two doors to Vince's place.
To kill some time I picked up The Death of Ivan Ilych and tried to follow the plot. If ever there was a prototype for the shallow, grasping bitch, it was Ivan's wife, Praskovya Fedorovna. How did pregnancy change her from a just nice enough, just pretty enough, just rich enough finacée into an ungrateful but fecund shrew of a wife? I thought that would be the story; it wasn't.
While I was interested in this aspect of the story, Tolstoy wasn't. Or at any rate I HAD been interested. Today the words danced in front of my eyes and concentration was impossible. After almost an hour I looked out the window and saw that Vince's truck was still in its usual spot. For someone who “didn't love Paul”, Vince sure fucked him enough. But that's silly, really. How do I know they're fucking? I only hear Paul's side of the story. From every word and action of Vince that I'd ever seen, I'd say he's very much in love with Paul.
I turned on the TV and searched for a specia channel. B. J. had given me a nice TV for Christmas. Both the sound AND the picture came through reliably. B. J. was supposed to be on tonight and I decided to record the show in case of … I don't know, in case some unnamed crisis kept me from watching in real time. I set the show to record and looked out in time to see Vince drive away.
“My disaster first,” Paul insisted. “Yours can't possibly be worse.” Instead off team we sipped something clear and powerful. FIRST of all, Vince insisted on stopping in all the places where we had sex on the first trip, meaning I got blown in Baltimore and fucked in Philadelphia.”
“I think that's kind of sentimental … kind of sweet.”
“Racer, you don't know what it's like to get fucked by someone who doesn't love you. I'm telling you it was torture and I think truck drivers could see. SO MANY HORNS blowing the whole time! There are phone aps that could trace my license plate. Half of the interstate highway system probably KNOWS my name! He shoots! He scores! Schuler in the shithole again! It was all over Twitter before we got to the Trenton exit.”
“It wasn't.”
“THEN … he asked my mother for a room for BOTH of us! She says why and he says because we sleep together! Her cry was enough to curdle yogurt in Yonkers! She threw us out! On the stoop! In Brooklyn, for God's sake, where everybody now knows EVERYTHING!” He hung his head and shook it in despair. Then he rose to his feet and began some weird rocking motion while mumbling to himself. “Of course, she relented and took us back in. She gave us the big front bedroom, but she made us make the bed OURSELVES! She almost THREW the linen at us and not the best linen either! And while she was still standing there, Vince laughs and says I love you. Then my mother in a voice that sounded near death says 'Him or me?' And the fuckhead says BOTH OF YOU! For which … for which … she says, 'I love you, too, Vince.' Then she turns to me and snarls “Fegeleh! Chazerei! Schmendrick! You don't deserve this sweet boy!'” He gestured wildly and asked, “Do you need a translation of any of that?”
I shook my head no; I got the sense of it.
“So top that!” Paul sat down and took a big swallow of whatever was in his glass.
“B. J.'s gone. He left me.”
I hadn't said the words before, not even to myself. Their brutal finality hurt. I took a big swallow of Paul's fire water. Paul's mouth fell open. “Christmas day started out so well. We made love, exchanged presents, made love again, took a box of candy to Mrs. Luckett, walked ...”
“Get to the bad part!” Paul insisted.
We were driving to his parents house and the local TV station offered try-outs to be a high school sports announcer. I said 'You could do that, Beej. You should try out.' He gave me an 'Aw, Shucks' reaction and we drove to his house. Everything was going fine, dinner was over and his mother went to get dessert, when B. J. said 'I have an announcement to make.' I took a deep breath and waited. One of his brothers, D. J. was pretty decent, but the other two, A. J. and T. J. were … let's say, not gay friendly. More like screaming redneck Neanderthals?”
“I get it,” Paul affirmed.
“So before B. J. got a word out, one of 'em said, 'He's gonna tell us he's gay. Like we never figured that out before!' And the other one and the father laughed. And the other one says, “No, he's gonna open a dress shop in Middleburg!' And they all laughed like that was the best joke in the world. 'He's prolly gonna model the dresses,' the father says and they all laugh some more. They kept it up until B. J.'s mom came back with pumpkin pie and ice cream. B. J. never got to say a word. At the end of the meal, B. J.'s daddy said a final grace and ended with prayer with ' … and God save this family from floods, famine, and faggots.' And they all laughed again, even the mom, although she was being more polite than amused I think. So at the end of this, the dad finally says, 'Just what was your announcement, B. J.?' And B. J. said, 'I'm quitting the car business. I'm gonna be a TV sports announcer.' And they all made fun of him again. One brother saying, 'In a dress?' and the other one saying, 'Announcing ladies badminton?' I couldn't wait to leave. All except, D. J. D. J. seemed as disgusted as I was.”
“Oh my god ...” Paul said in a hushed voice. “Poor B. J.”
“He cried in the truck, Paul. Totally broke down. I had to drive. We didn't go to my house. I called and told them dinner didn't agree with me. We went home and both had a big glass of vodka. B. J. wouldn't talk to me. Not a word. He slept on the sofa. And ...” I had trouble saying it. “And in the morning he was gone. Took all his stuff. His phone just goes to voice mail. He won't pick up.”
“You poor baby!” Paul said and he embraced me and kissed my cheek. His thigh was jammed against my cock. Of all times!!! I reacted to the pressure.
“You want to fuck me?” Paul asked. I think it was a serious offer.
“No,” I said. I went back home. I was stupidly proud of myself for not crying. The story tore me up, but I didn't break down. It was later when I was trying to go to sleep. I lay in bed and automatically reached for B. J. He wasn't there. That was when I cried. Painful sobs. My throat hurt. My chest hurt. My heart hurt. I didn't even know where he was and I loved him. I got control of myself, went into the bathroom and washed my face, and turned on the TV. B. J. won the announcing job. I went back to bed with his face and voice fresh in my mind. And then I cried again.
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Rory,
I'm thunderstruck. I'm back in Alameda with Eric and (Vince?!) at the "school crash during the week house -
It's like a punch to the gut.
I'm thunderstruck. I'm back in Alameda with Eric and (Vince?!) at the "school crash during the week house -
It's like a punch to the gut.
Craiger
JUB Addict
All I can do is reiterate what has been said above. I'm devastated. I have to sleep now and try to push this completely out of my mind....
Craiger
Craiger
Rory,
You know you've done well when your readers simultaneously love your writing and hate you for what you wrote at the same time!
You know you've done well when your readers simultaneously love your writing and hate you for what you wrote at the same time!
EasyRory
JUB Addict
Chapter Sixteen - New Engine
White Post had decided to close between Christmas and New Years, which was fine with me when I first heard it, when I thought that would be time I could spend with B. J. Now, however, I was spending it alone. Consequently, I was happy to see who was calling me when my phone buzzed.
“Merry Christmas, Bossman Jeb.”
“Racer … I know we were giving you the week off, but some work has come up and I wonder if you could do a little scouting for me. Mr. Lynne took the Chevy out for a drive and went into a pothole 'big enough to swallow a circus wagon' as he put it. Could you go have a look and let me know what to order?”
“Be glad to. I was looking for something to do today.”
“Thanks. You have a nice Christmas?”
“I've had better.”
“It's really a holiday for the kids, isn't it?”
Or kids at heart, maybe, which is what B. J. and I had been until a couple of days ago. I was glad for a reason to get out before I got snowed in. A snow was forecast. The weather had been crisp but sunny, making me wonder how Tommy Lynne managed to mess up his car. Pot holes in the country are not invisible without rain or snow. They don't surprise you the way they can in traffic.
“It happened on Route 7, near Tysons,” he explained
“I'd never take a car like this to Tysons. Parking lot dings, theft, and everything else that can go wrong.”
“I didn't go to the mall; I was just driving around.”
“Mmmm,” I said as I shimmied under the front end. All I could see was a lot of mud splashed all over everything. “I can't really tell much. I'll need to wash off a bunch of mud to see the suspension. How'd you get this much mud from a pothole?”
“Long story,” Tommy Lynne said. “How are you going to wash it off?”
“By hand with a hose. I don't know any other way.”
“You'll get soaked.”
“I wore pants without rivets or buttons. Never thought about needing water-proof,” I chuckled.
“What if I gave you a bathing suit … and a scuba mask?”
It actually sounded like a good idea. The water and mud would splash everywhere. I wouldn't get my clothes wet and the mask would let me see what I was doing. The garage was warm. I didn't want to go home soaked in thirty degree weather. I say it sounded like a good idea, but when I tried to put on the bathing suit, it didn't fit. At all. I don't think it would have fit a ten year-old.
“Is this part of your plan to get me naked again?” I asked Tommy Lynne.
“You look nice naked,” he answered with a smile and tucked some money in my shirt pocket.
“Ok, naked it is.” While I undressed I could see the numeral 100 on one of the bills and there was more than one of those bills in my pocket.
I was soon muddy enough that nobody could tell what I was wearing anyway, except
I knew he was looking at me. He was standing at my feet and, without being able to see him, I knew he was staring at me. Well, let him.I was half under the car and half not. The half-not part was the part of me Tommy Lynne admired. I kept thinking about him thinking about me. If the water hadn't been so cold, I would have got hard for sure; but the spray was almost as cold as the outside temperature.
“Ok … I can see the wishbones. They look straight. The control arms look good. Can't tell about the spindle. How did it drive after you hit the pothole?”
“It drove fine. I couldn't tell the difference.”
“Then why am I making an emergency call? I could have cleaned it up any time.”
“It was Jeb at White Post who suggested it. He wanted to get it looked at right away, in case he needed to order parts. I tried to talk him out of it, but he said you were close by and could probably use the money.”
“So I might as well finish cleaning it up, as long as I'm here.”
“Sure … I'll leave you alone.”
“Stay if you want. You're paying for it.” That came out sounding kind of mean. “And you can tell me what really happened while I finish the job.”
“Not buying the pothole story, huh? I don't think Jeb did either.”
“It's your car. You can do what you want with it. All I do is keep it clean.” I hosed off myself before starting waxing the front of the car.
“Ok … it's a long story. And it gets a little kinky. You sure you want to hear?”
“Tommy Lynne, I'm guessing you're gay, so I guess also you won't mind me saying my boy friend just walked out on me two days ago. I can use a good story right about now.”
“Sorry, Racer. I had no idea ...”
“Well, now you do. Let's hear your story.”
“I bought this car because it's an exact duplicate of my daddy's car. When I got my first job, at a store in Tysons, he gave it to me and bought himself a new one. I was driving home from work one late afternoon in June, windows open, radio playing, and nothing to do. I spotted a hitchhiker. He looked me right in the eye as I drove passed him. Something said to me 'Stop'. He got in and said he was going out past Leesburg. I said I was going most of the way.
“We started driving west and he complimented me on the car. I glanced over at him and said thanks. I noticed his hand was on his pants, giving himself a little squeeze. I didn't mean to look, but I did and I probably looked to long. He was squeezing with a definite rhythm, like in time with the music on the radio. The next time I looked he took his hand away and I could see the shape of his cock, outlined by his cotton chinos.
“ 'A nice day like this, nice music, and all … sure makes me horny,' he said looking me in the eyes as he ran his fingers along his cock. He watched me steadily as I looked at his cock, looked at the road, looked in his eyes, and looked at his cock again. 'You like what you see?' he asked me. He spread his legs, pulling the cloth tighter. 'You can touch it if you want ...' he suggested. 'Go ahead, touch it,' he encouraged me.
“I wanted to, but at the same time I was petrified. My mouth went dry. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Touch the guy's dick? I'd never done anything with a guy before. I'd thought about it, but I didn't know what to do. I was paralyzed with indecision. He made up my mind for me.
“ 'Come on ...' he said and took my hand off the steering wheel and put it right on his cock. 'That's right … feel me. He slid his hips a little closer to me. I felt the heat of his cock under my hand but I didn't know what to do. I just sort of rubbed it. 'Want to see it?' he asked and began unzipping before I could answer.
“I … I ...” I didn't know what to say.
“ 'That's ok,' he said, excusing my paralysis. He lifted his ass off the seat and pushed his pants down to mid-thigh. His unlimbered dick stood up straight. He wasn't circumcised and his foreskin was only half pulled back, still covering part of his head. His balls were deep red and drawn up. His pubic hair was sparse and light brown, same color as the hair on his head. I thought it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. He took my hand again and placed it on his cock. My fingers automatically closed around his shaft and I jacked him gently. I had to keep watching the road, but, grabbing every chance I could, I loved the sight of his foreskin alternately revealing and then covering his cockhead and kept watching the show I was creating jacking him.
“ 'Why don't you pull off the road? Find some place to park.'
“What a great idea! Of course! I pulled off the road and nosed the car halfway into a field of hay. I shut off the engine and tentatively reached for his cock. He turned sideways in the seat, moving his midsection closer to me. I stroked him a little and he said, 'Wait ...' He pushed his confining trousers and underwear down to his ankles and then spread his legs wider. “Use both hands if you want. You can jack me and play with my balls at the same time.” I couldn't wait; I did. 'Ohhh, that's nice,' he sighed. 'You want to suck me a little?'
At this point, I was still applying wax to the fenders of the Chevy and working up a little sweat. I felt my dick responding to the story. Not erect or anything, but heavy and swinging each time I spread on the wax. I was liking Tommy Lynne's story.
“Honest, Racer, I didn't want to suck his cock. The thought had never occurred to me. I had known I wanted to do something with guys for a couple of years, but it was never a concrete plan to do this or that. But there it was, right in my hands. I hestiated and again, he made up my mind for me. He put his hand behind my head and pulled me forward. 'Go ahead … do it.' I can still hear his voice. He didn't force me, but he didn't let go of my head either. I licked at the head. 'No, take it in your mouth, and suck on it,' he urged. I did. He thrust more of it in than I was ready for and I gagged. 'That's ok; you'll get the hang of it.' He pushed my head back down onto his cock and I tried again, taking a couple of inches. 'Oh yeah, that's nice,' he moaned. 'You can suck on my balls a little if you want.' I did; sucking on his balls was easier. 'Stroke me with your hand,' he suggested. 'Nice … keep doing it ...'
“He didn't give me any warning which was a good thing. If I'd known he was about to shoot, I don't know what I'd have done. Instead, he suddenly let out a big groan and filled my mouth with his come. I recoiled, opened the door, and spent probably five minutes spitting on the ground. Finally I sat up again. He hadn't moved. He was slumped back with his half hard dick lying across a thigh and a sly smile on his face. He was the picture of sex. I'll never forget the way he looked, the total satisfaction on his face. 'Nice,' he said when he eventually pulled up his pants.
“We had a little trouble getting the car out of the field. I had driven into a puddle without knowing it. He pushed and I rocked the car free. 'See, I paid you for the blowjob, pushing your car out of the mud,' he said. 'Now you get to drive me home.' And I did. All the way past Leesburg to a turnoff almost in West Virginia. He sat closer to me and I played with his cock all the way. He got hard again, but we didn't do anything else. As I was letting him out, he put his hand on me for the first time. 'You want to do this again? I'll be at the same place two days from now.”
“So, to make a long story short, I picked him up three times a week for the rest of June and July and sucked his dick. He said I got to be good at it. He offered to suck mine but he wanted money. I could have paid him. He only wanted ten bucks. But I didn't. So he jacked me off a couple times for free. He wasn't a bad guy at all. I think I loved him a little. The last time was in early August and then I never saw him again.”
Tommy Lynne was done with his story and I was done with the Chevy. “So is that how you got the car muddy? Revisiting that hay field?” Tommy Lynne nodded. “You like what you see now?” I asked him, standing naked in front of him. Something about the circumstances made me daring. “Go ahead, touch it,” I teased.
He didn't just touch me. He sank to his knees in front of me and gave me a fantastic blow job. He had learned a thing or two since that first time in the hay field. For one thing, he swallowed. Was he as good as B. J.? Technically, on points, he was much better, but I didn't love him. That makes all the difference.
“Racer, it's starting to snow. Would you want to spend the night here?”
White Post had decided to close between Christmas and New Years, which was fine with me when I first heard it, when I thought that would be time I could spend with B. J. Now, however, I was spending it alone. Consequently, I was happy to see who was calling me when my phone buzzed.
“Merry Christmas, Bossman Jeb.”
“Racer … I know we were giving you the week off, but some work has come up and I wonder if you could do a little scouting for me. Mr. Lynne took the Chevy out for a drive and went into a pothole 'big enough to swallow a circus wagon' as he put it. Could you go have a look and let me know what to order?”
“Be glad to. I was looking for something to do today.”
“Thanks. You have a nice Christmas?”
“I've had better.”
“It's really a holiday for the kids, isn't it?”
Or kids at heart, maybe, which is what B. J. and I had been until a couple of days ago. I was glad for a reason to get out before I got snowed in. A snow was forecast. The weather had been crisp but sunny, making me wonder how Tommy Lynne managed to mess up his car. Pot holes in the country are not invisible without rain or snow. They don't surprise you the way they can in traffic.
“It happened on Route 7, near Tysons,” he explained
“I'd never take a car like this to Tysons. Parking lot dings, theft, and everything else that can go wrong.”
“I didn't go to the mall; I was just driving around.”
“Mmmm,” I said as I shimmied under the front end. All I could see was a lot of mud splashed all over everything. “I can't really tell much. I'll need to wash off a bunch of mud to see the suspension. How'd you get this much mud from a pothole?”
“Long story,” Tommy Lynne said. “How are you going to wash it off?”
“By hand with a hose. I don't know any other way.”
“You'll get soaked.”
“I wore pants without rivets or buttons. Never thought about needing water-proof,” I chuckled.
“What if I gave you a bathing suit … and a scuba mask?”
It actually sounded like a good idea. The water and mud would splash everywhere. I wouldn't get my clothes wet and the mask would let me see what I was doing. The garage was warm. I didn't want to go home soaked in thirty degree weather. I say it sounded like a good idea, but when I tried to put on the bathing suit, it didn't fit. At all. I don't think it would have fit a ten year-old.
“Is this part of your plan to get me naked again?” I asked Tommy Lynne.
“You look nice naked,” he answered with a smile and tucked some money in my shirt pocket.
“Ok, naked it is.” While I undressed I could see the numeral 100 on one of the bills and there was more than one of those bills in my pocket.
I was soon muddy enough that nobody could tell what I was wearing anyway, except
I knew he was looking at me. He was standing at my feet and, without being able to see him, I knew he was staring at me. Well, let him.I was half under the car and half not. The half-not part was the part of me Tommy Lynne admired. I kept thinking about him thinking about me. If the water hadn't been so cold, I would have got hard for sure; but the spray was almost as cold as the outside temperature.
“Ok … I can see the wishbones. They look straight. The control arms look good. Can't tell about the spindle. How did it drive after you hit the pothole?”
“It drove fine. I couldn't tell the difference.”
“Then why am I making an emergency call? I could have cleaned it up any time.”
“It was Jeb at White Post who suggested it. He wanted to get it looked at right away, in case he needed to order parts. I tried to talk him out of it, but he said you were close by and could probably use the money.”
“So I might as well finish cleaning it up, as long as I'm here.”
“Sure … I'll leave you alone.”
“Stay if you want. You're paying for it.” That came out sounding kind of mean. “And you can tell me what really happened while I finish the job.”
“Not buying the pothole story, huh? I don't think Jeb did either.”
“It's your car. You can do what you want with it. All I do is keep it clean.” I hosed off myself before starting waxing the front of the car.
“Ok … it's a long story. And it gets a little kinky. You sure you want to hear?”
“Tommy Lynne, I'm guessing you're gay, so I guess also you won't mind me saying my boy friend just walked out on me two days ago. I can use a good story right about now.”
“Sorry, Racer. I had no idea ...”
“Well, now you do. Let's hear your story.”
“I bought this car because it's an exact duplicate of my daddy's car. When I got my first job, at a store in Tysons, he gave it to me and bought himself a new one. I was driving home from work one late afternoon in June, windows open, radio playing, and nothing to do. I spotted a hitchhiker. He looked me right in the eye as I drove passed him. Something said to me 'Stop'. He got in and said he was going out past Leesburg. I said I was going most of the way.
“We started driving west and he complimented me on the car. I glanced over at him and said thanks. I noticed his hand was on his pants, giving himself a little squeeze. I didn't mean to look, but I did and I probably looked to long. He was squeezing with a definite rhythm, like in time with the music on the radio. The next time I looked he took his hand away and I could see the shape of his cock, outlined by his cotton chinos.
“ 'A nice day like this, nice music, and all … sure makes me horny,' he said looking me in the eyes as he ran his fingers along his cock. He watched me steadily as I looked at his cock, looked at the road, looked in his eyes, and looked at his cock again. 'You like what you see?' he asked me. He spread his legs, pulling the cloth tighter. 'You can touch it if you want ...' he suggested. 'Go ahead, touch it,' he encouraged me.
“I wanted to, but at the same time I was petrified. My mouth went dry. My hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Touch the guy's dick? I'd never done anything with a guy before. I'd thought about it, but I didn't know what to do. I was paralyzed with indecision. He made up my mind for me.
“ 'Come on ...' he said and took my hand off the steering wheel and put it right on his cock. 'That's right … feel me. He slid his hips a little closer to me. I felt the heat of his cock under my hand but I didn't know what to do. I just sort of rubbed it. 'Want to see it?' he asked and began unzipping before I could answer.
“I … I ...” I didn't know what to say.
“ 'That's ok,' he said, excusing my paralysis. He lifted his ass off the seat and pushed his pants down to mid-thigh. His unlimbered dick stood up straight. He wasn't circumcised and his foreskin was only half pulled back, still covering part of his head. His balls were deep red and drawn up. His pubic hair was sparse and light brown, same color as the hair on his head. I thought it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen. He took my hand again and placed it on his cock. My fingers automatically closed around his shaft and I jacked him gently. I had to keep watching the road, but, grabbing every chance I could, I loved the sight of his foreskin alternately revealing and then covering his cockhead and kept watching the show I was creating jacking him.
“ 'Why don't you pull off the road? Find some place to park.'
“What a great idea! Of course! I pulled off the road and nosed the car halfway into a field of hay. I shut off the engine and tentatively reached for his cock. He turned sideways in the seat, moving his midsection closer to me. I stroked him a little and he said, 'Wait ...' He pushed his confining trousers and underwear down to his ankles and then spread his legs wider. “Use both hands if you want. You can jack me and play with my balls at the same time.” I couldn't wait; I did. 'Ohhh, that's nice,' he sighed. 'You want to suck me a little?'
At this point, I was still applying wax to the fenders of the Chevy and working up a little sweat. I felt my dick responding to the story. Not erect or anything, but heavy and swinging each time I spread on the wax. I was liking Tommy Lynne's story.
“Honest, Racer, I didn't want to suck his cock. The thought had never occurred to me. I had known I wanted to do something with guys for a couple of years, but it was never a concrete plan to do this or that. But there it was, right in my hands. I hestiated and again, he made up my mind for me. He put his hand behind my head and pulled me forward. 'Go ahead … do it.' I can still hear his voice. He didn't force me, but he didn't let go of my head either. I licked at the head. 'No, take it in your mouth, and suck on it,' he urged. I did. He thrust more of it in than I was ready for and I gagged. 'That's ok; you'll get the hang of it.' He pushed my head back down onto his cock and I tried again, taking a couple of inches. 'Oh yeah, that's nice,' he moaned. 'You can suck on my balls a little if you want.' I did; sucking on his balls was easier. 'Stroke me with your hand,' he suggested. 'Nice … keep doing it ...'
“He didn't give me any warning which was a good thing. If I'd known he was about to shoot, I don't know what I'd have done. Instead, he suddenly let out a big groan and filled my mouth with his come. I recoiled, opened the door, and spent probably five minutes spitting on the ground. Finally I sat up again. He hadn't moved. He was slumped back with his half hard dick lying across a thigh and a sly smile on his face. He was the picture of sex. I'll never forget the way he looked, the total satisfaction on his face. 'Nice,' he said when he eventually pulled up his pants.
“We had a little trouble getting the car out of the field. I had driven into a puddle without knowing it. He pushed and I rocked the car free. 'See, I paid you for the blowjob, pushing your car out of the mud,' he said. 'Now you get to drive me home.' And I did. All the way past Leesburg to a turnoff almost in West Virginia. He sat closer to me and I played with his cock all the way. He got hard again, but we didn't do anything else. As I was letting him out, he put his hand on me for the first time. 'You want to do this again? I'll be at the same place two days from now.”
“So, to make a long story short, I picked him up three times a week for the rest of June and July and sucked his dick. He said I got to be good at it. He offered to suck mine but he wanted money. I could have paid him. He only wanted ten bucks. But I didn't. So he jacked me off a couple times for free. He wasn't a bad guy at all. I think I loved him a little. The last time was in early August and then I never saw him again.”
Tommy Lynne was done with his story and I was done with the Chevy. “So is that how you got the car muddy? Revisiting that hay field?” Tommy Lynne nodded. “You like what you see now?” I asked him, standing naked in front of him. Something about the circumstances made me daring. “Go ahead, touch it,” I teased.
He didn't just touch me. He sank to his knees in front of me and gave me a fantastic blow job. He had learned a thing or two since that first time in the hay field. For one thing, he swallowed. Was he as good as B. J.? Technically, on points, he was much better, but I didn't love him. That makes all the difference.
“Racer, it's starting to snow. Would you want to spend the night here?”
FastOne
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Heck of an installment. The summer flashback was hot, and hotter still to think about a naked Racer waxing the car while listening.
The ending: a bittersweet mix of sad and sexy.
I am hoping BJ turns up before Racer's daring side makes him get into something he ends up regretting... maybe BJ gets into a tight spot with something (as I think he tends to do from time to time) and decides he has no choice but to turn to the one friend he really knows he can count in through thick or thin. But that might just be me waxing all romantic. ;-)
The ending: a bittersweet mix of sad and sexy.
I am hoping BJ turns up before Racer's daring side makes him get into something he ends up regretting... maybe BJ gets into a tight spot with something (as I think he tends to do from time to time) and decides he has no choice but to turn to the one friend he really knows he can count in through thick or thin. But that might just be me waxing all romantic. ;-)
- Joined
- Oct 9, 2004
- Posts
- 60,899
- Reaction score
- 114,617
- Points
- 113
Oh, Wow! "New Engine" indeed! 
Sounds like Racer has found a warm, welcoming, port in a snow storm.
And, Tommy Lynne has won a lottery that pays out more than mere money.
Still ... wondering about BJ.
MORE, Please, Buddy!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Sounds like Racer has found a warm, welcoming, port in a snow storm.
And, Tommy Lynne has won a lottery that pays out more than mere money.
Still ... wondering about BJ.
MORE, Please, Buddy!
Keep Smilin'!!
Chaz
Rory,
I have to agree with Fastone and Chaz.
A great installment - Tommy Lynne's coming of age story, as it were.
Something for Racer to ponder, since he is coming of age in a different era.
I'm glad Racer was UP for helping Tommy Lynne relive that moment a bit.
I hope he doesn't wind up feeling empty and used in the long run.
And, yeah, I REALLY hope BJ gets his head out of his ass and comes back.
I have to agree with Fastone and Chaz.
A great installment - Tommy Lynne's coming of age story, as it were.
Something for Racer to ponder, since he is coming of age in a different era.
I'm glad Racer was UP for helping Tommy Lynne relive that moment a bit.
I hope he doesn't wind up feeling empty and used in the long run.
And, yeah, I REALLY hope BJ gets his head out of his ass and comes back.