REBUILT
by Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
The garage was dark and cool like the sort of hiding place you'd seek out as a kid. I walked in from the heat of the day, and inside the concrete and shade, I felt the weight of my life lift from my shoulders as plainly as if I had removed a heavy overcoat. And like the overcoat, the burden wasn't gone, just set aside, until I was ready to leave.
The engine parts of the red Impala were sitting on the blanket, looking like the many pieces of a complicated three-dimensional jigsaw puzzle or mind-teaser. How all those pieces could possibly fit back inside that little space under the hood was a marvel.
Like a master puzzle-solver, Dinsayer was fitting two of the parts together, his broad hands holding the pipe-looking pieces easily as he slid the crumpled-looking part of one into the uncrumpled part of the other, and wriggled them so that they would slide down tight. He turned it on end and tamped it lightly on the ground and lifted it up, regarded the fit, grunted in satisfaction. He was taking his time working on this car, because the Impala was our only job right now. Business was slow at the shop, enough work came in to cover the bills and make a living but not much more. It's like that in a small town, an easier pace to living. Dinsayer and I may not see anybody the rest of the day, left all alone, just me, him and the car. My idea of paradise; two men in the quiet communion of rebuilding a car engine.
"Hey, boss." I said to him.
"He looked up, his solemn, steady face saw me and nodded sharply. Dinsayer is a big man, with broad shoulders, a long, solemn but clean face, long thin nose, deepset eyes, a mouth that can change expression with the tiniest of movements, like the way that it curved upwards slightly to indicate sympathetic kindness as he asked, "Have a nice lunch?"
"Not really." I said and let it go at that. And he let me. I mean, I could have launched into how my wife had been riding me to take that job in Galveston with her brother. It would mean we'd have to move, but the pay was almost twice what I was getting at the garage. The work was easier, and the hours were shorter. I didn't have a good excuse for not taking the job...except it wasn't what I wanted to do!
Women don't understand what men love about cars. To take those pieces of cold metal and springs and wires, and turn them into a powerful purring engine that would carry you down the road... God, working on cars wasn't dirty! It was clean, it was bright, it was something you could see and understand and make do just what you wanted to. Hell, a good car WAS a puzzle, how could you tweak it so it gave better gas mileage, better pickup, better braking. Before you could get bored with that, there were problems, what was that noise? Bet it's in the manifold, let's open 'er up and see....
Working in a garage was the cleanest life you can imagine. Sure, a little grease and oil got under your nails, but that was just like a badge of honor. Give up this job? I couldn't, it was the very essence of my soul in physical form! But I couldn't explain that worth a damn to Barbara, who only saw the low wages and the cheap apartment we were living in....
So we worked on the Impala in silence. Dinsayer got onto one of the dollies and rolled himself under the Impala, a socket wrench in hand, to tighten some of the bolts. From under there, where I couldn't see his face and he couldn't see mine, came the question. "What did you and Barbara talk about?" Barbara had called and insisted on lunch and he'd overheard my frustrated conversation with her before agreeing.
"She wants me to take that job in the hardware store with her brother in Galveston." I said.
He paused. "You going to do it? Hand me that nine-sixteenths." That was my main job, helping Dinsayer. I wasn't useless, there's a lot you do on a car where you need more than two hands. But my job was mostly hand-me-that, here-hold-this and go-get-that.
I knelt down by him and gave him the wrench and said, "Need my help under there?"
"Not right now." he said. "You going to do it?"
"No." I said. And I paused, then because he deserved to know it, "Barbara said if I didn't take the job, she was going to leave me."
"Oh." he said.
"Yeah." I said. "She said she was tired of living in this hick town and wanted the big city again."
"Why'd she come out here to begin with?" I'd met and married Barbara two years before right here in Stapleton.
"Her aunt was sick and needed to be cared for."
"Oh." Another pause. "You got a problem." He observed.
"Not really." I said. "I say no; Barbara leaves me; I'm alone again. No problem."
"You want some time off from work?" he volunteered.
"You can't spare me." I said. No helper can turn a half-hour job into a two-hour job; I was needed.
"No matter." he said. "If you need it, take it."
"Thanks, but no thanks. Barbara will either come to her senses or she won't. If I take time off of work, she'll think I'm coming around to her side." I patted the top of his thigh, the lower half of his body was all that I could see. "But thanks."
"Sure." he said.
I stayed there, in my half-kneeling position, my hand on Dinsayer's thigh, and thought. "Dinsayer?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you think I should do?"
"Depends." he said. "What do you want to do?"
"I don't know." I admitted.
"Figure out what you want to do and then do it." he advised. "Doing anything else only makes for trouble."
I absent-mindedly stroked the inside of Dinsayer's thigh as I thought to myself. Honest, I didn't think about it, I just had my hand there and was too busy with my own thoughts to notice what I was doing. If I'd put my hand on a table, I would have been drumming. As it was, I was stroking, small, gentle strokes up and down his thigh while I thought furiously. What was I going to do?
As I mused on, my movements became stronger, faster, harder. First time I realized the effect it was having on my boss was when my hand went up higher than usual...and I bumped his cock. It was hard but still sort of down one leg, I felt the stiff nub of the cockhead and a bit of the shaft, before the sensations sorted themselves out and I realized.
"Sorry." I said, taking my hand away. "Didn't realize what I was doing."
"I know." he said. "Don't worry about it."
He reached down with one greasy hand and adjusted his cock, pulled it around to the upright position. Now it was an angled shaft, like the muzzle of a cannon, aiming toward his stomach.
What did I want to do? I wanted to stay here with Dinsayer. I wanted to keep on working on these cars, these beautiful clean cars, with the oil and the grime. A car never presents you with a problem that you can't figure out and solve. That's how cars are different from women, and why some men prefer them over women.
People like Dinsayer.
"I know what I want to do." I said softly as my hand went back up and cupped his turgid rod. My hand felt out its length, gave it a gentle squeeze, held it.
Dinsayer was quiet...no, not quite. He was making soft, comfortable sounds as I massaged his tool there in the quiet, cool interior of the garage. I just could hear him, little almost-breathlike sounds as I rubbed and pressed, squeezed and flexed.
My fingers found his zipper and it made a cool whispering sound as I pulled it down, the rasp riding up over the thick dong lying underneath, the white cloth of his briefs sliding out into view like the interior pale flesh of a banana as you peel it. I could see the whiter line of the flap and my hand slid into that joining of cotton, found his warmth and his desire, it burned and seethed in my hand, and I brought it out into the air and it stood as a dark, proud pole, urging me to take it, more, more!
I grasped it and pulled on it, and Dinsayer still stayed silent, still only little sounds of delight and comfort escaped from his lips. This was all like some understanding that we had, like we wouldn't talk about it, but we would do it, and he wouldn't tell and I wouldn't tell and it could be our secret and bind us together even closer, here in our garage, our domain, our bond growing in this way, the car, the tools, the grease, and the two of us, a totally male environment, not a case of women not allowed as it was women would never share this universe of ours, not even when they stood among us.
My hand was sliding up and down on his long, firm prick, enjoying and reveling in the thickness and the size and the...masculinity of it. Dinsayer's hands came down and I thought that he would push my hand away, but he only undid his belt and fastening at the top of his pants, then his hands slid up in a luxurious caress of his own body, pulling up the shirt to leave this midsection of his bare, freeing it for my attentions. And still, nothing was said between us, nothing needed to be said.
I leaned over and my tongue touched the tip of his glans, and he moaned, now a real sound, just a long "oooooo" that oozed up from his very heart and lingered on his tongue, flowing like molasses out of his mouth into the warmth of our intimacy.
I ran my tongue around the tip in a small circle and his slit rewarded me with a salty clear pearl of precome, I tasted it, and it was concentrated man, it was Dinsayer and his garage and his cars and his tools and his skill, pouring out to me, saying take me, take all of me, it is yours, all yours.
And I did, I lowered my head onto his dong, my lips dressed his cock in warm saliva that poured unbidden from my tastebuds, I was savoring this man, loving the quivering strength that was him, lying there, letting me take what I would from him, not fighting, not helping, not protesting, not begging for more, merely being himself and that was enough and more, for it was all I ever wanted from life, all of it, all!
So I took his power and his strength and his life into my mouth, felt it pulsing there within me and I gripped my lips tightly about the bottom and I pulled up, raising my head slowly, gripping the dong, feeling the rich velvet of his foreskin flowing serenely out of my mouth as I pulled up, releasing its portion of joy into the strong man it belonged to, and again I received that long "oooooooo" from him.
I began to nurse him gently, my mouth making long, slow strokes upon his prong, milking this pillar of manhood and receiving the pungent payment of his flowing passion-seed as it gushed from his depths and out of the slit at the top, there to rest and boil upon my tongue.
There was no rush to this joining of employer and employee, no urgency to the formation of the new bond we now shared, the new closeness we enjoyed, and in silent sharing of our bodies, my mouth and his cock, we forged the new union.
But his passion built ever higher within him, now he was gurgling softly in his rising desire, his chest was rising and falling in undulations of pleasure, he was prostrate before me and he was displayed for my attentions and affections, and now I reached up with my hands to feel this powerful body, my hands snaked under the shirt and felt the strength of the chest now bellowing and blowing in the excitement of intercourse, and his hands, his strong, soft, grease-stained, warm hands, came down to clasp my head, his hips began to thrust his lower body upwards into me, he was getting lost in his passion, wrapped up in his delight, he was forgetting everything now but that he was a man and he was receiving pleasure, and I fell into that delicious delirium, I was a part of him and the part giving him pleasure as much as his cock, I felt his rising need as though it were my own, and his hands, as they began to control my movements, were only proper in their actions, not impetuous or unwelcomed at all, I was freed rather, able to turn all my attentions to gripping this bubbling, surging, straining prick, I could feel how it boiled within, how the ripe seed begged to be free, how they swelled and pushed the balls up against the heavy shaft, how the blood within heated to express its need, declare its necessity and its purpose, to burst out into the space outside the body which had been its universe heretofore, to spread and promulgate itself in the world, duplicate, propagate, procreate and proliferate, until the very world became a part of it, absorbed into this, the ultimate perfection that was man, man and cars, man and metal, man and man, one forever.
And in that rising urgency, in that exultation of ultimate rightness of being, I felt his climax as if it were my own, his ecstatic groans now reverbrated from my own breast, I could not refuse him anything in this moment, though my life may have fled me by doing so, I met his need with my own, I sucked at him with a fury that matched the fire racing through his loins, I felt the electrical orgasm feed into my brain through his fingers upon my skull, by direct conduction, I shared in the delight as his balls relieved themselves of their heavy burden of life, I felt the climactic energy racing through his body as his sperm shot into my mouth and throat with hot ferocity, my life had meaning, my life had purpose, this was it, the service of this man, and through him service of all mankind, of men and only men who dwelled in a world women never would and never could understand.
His body surged and writhed beneath me, like a shark pulled onto a boat thrashed about, powerful even out of its element, strength that lashed about in all direction at once, he was surging upwards, he caught my head afresh and pulled me tightly into his groin, and his sperm pumped the last dregs directly into my gullet for his dong was jammed into me to the very base and he held it there as his breaths poured onto the crown of my head with bursts of liquid expelations of heat and sound, I felt his power wrapped about me, I felt his power churning within me, and his strength spent itself in this explosive way, and he was suddenly silent once more, only hot hisses of breath still caressing my head as his nose bent down to nestle among the fibers of my hair, his lips made a tentative, soft kiss there, a moist explosion of noise it was, and then he released me and laid back, his arms quiescent at his sides upon the concrete, his body resting upon the dolly and soft and pliable as old inner-tube rubber.
I looked into his face and he looked back at me, his face solemn and gentle, open and vulnerable, it spoke to me without words of gratitude and kindness, of joining and acceptance, of commitment and life.
I raised up onto my knees and I said, "Yep, I know what I want to do. And it ain't waiting for me in Galveston." I had rebuilt my life the way it should be, on a firm foundation of what I was and what I wanted, I was ready to face the world again, proud of who I was and what I was doing. Barbara would either accept that or she wouldn't, either way, it was her choice now, not mine.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I'm glad you're going to stay." he said and it was a whisper as intimate as the rustling of sheets in a lover's bed.
"You about done with that exhaust?" I asked him.
"One more bolt and it's done." he said.
I handed him the wrench and he went back to it, and I took the time to pull up and refasten his pants. He pulled himself out from under the car by the heels of his feet upon the concrete, and sat up. "We'll be done with this rebuild job by three o'clock." he said to me.
"Yeah, I'll call the guy and tell him to come get it tonight if he wants to." I agreed.
With the Impala done, we'd be idle for a time until the next job came our way. But in a small town, there's always plenty of old cars to be worked on like this Impala. The days stretched out in a long, peaceful line of cars, that ultimate expression of manhood, needing two pairs of trained hands who loved them for what they were, the perfection of machinery, the power within them waiting to be awakened once more.
THE END
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E-mail me at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM