Hey all! I'm loving the responses I'm getting and may have technical difficulties getting stories up here. Like I said there are lots more in the works and Southern Garage is just a story that's been tugging on me for a while. It's tugged on me for so long that I was forced to go ahead and write the first two installments. I don't know what I'm following up with next, so please don't ask. I'm not always at a computer with the internet so while I'm usually always writing, it takes a while to get them on here. IF you like or don't like email me at iwnt2burb@yahoo.com
This one's just a jerk story, but the next installment and the ones afterward probably won't be.
I was not into manual labor and I made sure Dad knew it. He owned his own garage and insisted that I, his son, worked in it so it'd be Macks and Sons. The first day, oil, grime, and grit dirtied me. My yelling and whining had not ceased. Finally, he relented and gave me another job. I was pulling the interiors out of some of the cars. That didn't work because I got hot and started sweating. My arms got tired and my palms became raw, that just wasn't me!
Finally he put my mind to work. He'd just fired the receptionist / secretary and needed someone to field our calls. Plus, I know how to program, so I could make programs to contain all his disorganized files. Yeah, I know, a 15-year-old programmer, impossible. That's the same thing one of my ex computer friends said before I planted a worm in his computer, stole some personal information, and charged some stuff to his name. I then sent some naughty magazines to his house under his name, so his wife could find them. He never could convince her that a 15 year old did it.
So now, here I was sitting in the receptionist area of the garage, on the floor, with papers and files scattered around, with the second draw of the file cabinet open. I was filing everything in the appropriate areas and getting frustrated. There was only one method to my father's madness; only one consistency, he'd at least stuffed everything that should be filed together in the same drawer. I just had to unscramble and file them.
The bell rang, signaling the door had been opened, causing me to look up from the papers. I was supposed to be expecting the mechanic Dad had hired in my stead. I was expecting some potbellied guy with thick hairy arms, so the guy walking in couldn't be him. The guy walking in seemed to be a model. That rugged type model with a buzz cut and a day old beard. One that was a little rough around the edges. If it were any other time, I'd have stared, not speaking, but I was in business mode, so I stood and went over, behind my desk.
"Hi," I said smiling. I dropped into my swivel chair and pressed space on my keyboard, making the computer whirl to life. He gav4e me a nod and stuck his hands in his pockets,
"Name,"
"Trevor," I looked up from my screen and gave him another smile,
"Your last name," It was a cute mistake,
"Oh, Dinkins, Trevor Dinkins," I nodded and typed it into my newly created program.
"Umm, are you here to bring in a car?" I asked pressing enter on the keyboard. The computer would be doing a query on his name. Nothing came up, as expected.
"No," I looked up, "Actually I'm the new mechanic," I raised my eyebrow, and took him in. He was muscular, and like I said he did have that rough look. It was a rough model look though. Snatching my eyes away from the tight T-shirt, I clicked a couple of buttons on the computer, making it go back to the beginning of my program. I hadn't made an employee component yet, but it was next on my to-do list. I had instructed Dad to enter in a note on the new mechanic's name though, so I wouldn't be completely lost, but he hadn't. I clicked a button on the phone, calling the direct line to the back area. Paul picked it up.
"Hello," he said in a gruff voice,
"Hey, Paul, tell my Dad to come to the front please,"
"DOUG!" He yelled, I snatched up the phone, effectively silencing the speakerphone. I swiveled around putting my back to Trevor, "YOUR SON WANTS YOU UP FRONT!"
"Paul," I whispered, "Make sure he wipes his hands,"
"Oh," his voice lowered, my father must've walked up to him, "wipe your hands he said." I put the phone back on the receiver after turning back around. I flashed another smile, this time a nervous one.
"He'll be here in a minute," I said. "You can sit if you want. Deciding to get a jumpstart on that employee program, I opened up notepad, and began typing in code. Every two seconds, I glanced at Trevor. He'd taken a seat and was reading one of the car magazines we provided. It featured girls, bikes, and bikinis, since it was one from Paul's collection. He flipped through it as if I would a fashion magazine. He was most likely just keeping up on the latest.
It took Dad forever to get up there, and when he did, his hands were greasy. My nose wrinkled in disgust as I reached in the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a towel. I tossed it to him. Catching it, he said,
"Trevor," a smile replaced his frown. He probably thought that someone was here concerning business so he'd gone back to working after I'd called. He'd probably even wiped his hands and forgot to wipe them again after going back to work. Whatever happened, he now stuck out his and to Trevor, who stood and shook it. From what I could tell he had a nice grip. Dad's smiled widened which meant it satisfied him.
"So I see you've met my son, Daren," he said, motioning to me.
"Dad, why don't you ever input information into the system?" I asked, turning on him,
"Cause it takes up time," he said, brushing me off with a flick of his wrist,
"You're pouring water on an already drowning person!"
"What?" His face scrunched up as he tried to understand what I was saying,
"I said," the phone rang, "you're pouring water," it rang again and I picked it up.
"Macks and Son, how may I help you?" I held up a finger and spun around to face the computer. Dad took this opportunity to take Trevor and slip out the door.
I only talked to Trevor twice more that day. When he came to tell me to go out for lunch, and when he told me he was leaving. I saw him a couple of times though. Dad, thank god, had him working in the front area of the garage. That meant I could see him anytime I decided to turn around in my chair and looked out the window which I did continuously. He was always bent at the waist doing something or another under the hood, or in the interior. I don't know what he was doing, but I didn't complain.
When we got home, I made my way to my side of the house having already eaten my McDonalds. As soon as I got in my room, I closed the door and sat on my couch. Anytime I closed my eyes, or even didn't have anything to think about, Trevor snuck into my head. My cock was hard, as I'd been thinking about him and what I wanted to do with him all the way home. I groped my crotch and let out a moan. Taking off my shorts wasn't hard, I just pulled at the belt and they dropped and pooled around my ankles. I stepped out of them , and pulled down my briefs, I was one horny teenager. It didn't help that while waiting at McDonalds a couple of gay guys were having an explicit conversation about what happened to one of them the night before. The conversation was in great detail if I may add.
My cock stuck up, pointing at an angle from my body. My hands were always cold so when I grabbed my cock, the temperature difference caused me to shiver. I grabbed the lotion I always left on my desk and squeezed some onto my dick. It wasn't cold because my room was always warm and I rubbed it onto my cock moaning every time my hands rubbed over the sensitive head. Dropping the lotion to the ground I grabbed my cock with the other hand, pumping now into both of my hands. I began twisting my hands, moaning, at every movement.
My mind turned to Trevor bent over the hood of the car, and then on his back. In my fantasy his body was ripped and his head was thrown back, moaning in ecstasy.
"Fuck me," he cried, "Fuck me good," I gripped my hands tighter around my already rock hard cock, simulating him tightening his hole around me. My glutes tightened as I pounded into my fists. Letting go with one hand, I allowed it to play over my chest, sliding my now one fist up and down my rod. My idle hand now slid down, and played with my balls and I slowed my stroking as I felt myself nearing orgasm.
I squeezed my balls, as I felt them churning with cum. I changed my strokes once again, and began using long slow strokes instead of the short medium speed stroking I'd been doing before. My idle hand moved again and was now on the small of my back propelling me forward into Trevor's waiting hole. Although my strokes were slow, I was still pumping intensely. My body shook at every stroke. I continued to twist my fist as I moved to my couch.
I sat down on it and rested my right foot on the arm of it. Still pumping my cock, I allowed my idle hand to move once again, this time between my legs. I teased my whole, whimpering all the while, and finally pushed my finger in. This finger was joined by a second, and I fucked myself on them while pumping my cock. I moaned more and felt my cum building, and then I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop. I dug my fingers all the way to the hilt and moved them around. I began cumming, and my anus started tightening around my finger. My moans were getting louder, and louder. My cum spilled out and onto my chest, cock, and hand. Slowing, I stopped, breathing heavy. Looking down I smiled, I always did that after I finished