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This is a work of fiction. All persons are intended to be age 18 and above.
TOW JOB BLOW JOB
By anonymous.a
Summers here are hot and humid, which means you cannot survive without air-conditioning.
People in other parts of the country who are reading this might tell themselves, "OUR summers are hot and humid." Indeed, I have been to some of those places you typically don't associate with heat, and yes, they were hot, and yes, they could be humid. But not like my neck of the woods.
Here, the heat and humidity are the stuff of legends. Even when the temperature is in the 70s you're sweltering, because the humidity is even higher. Long-sleeve shirts remain in the closet until November, heavy jeans next to them. That sound of waves crashing on the beach? It's air-conditioners running non-stop, because 5 minutes in the unprotected climate of this place and even the fittest man is dripping with sweat.
So you spend a lot of time inside, unless your job forces you outside. You dash from one air-conditioned oasis to another – from the house to the car, the car to the office, the car to the restaurant. You do it quickly before that sheen of perspiration settles on you. Trust me, you don't want that. It will stay with you all day, making everything you touch clammy and sticky.
What was that line from the movie "Alien"? "It's like the goddamn tropics in here." Right. That's where I live.
So it was with a pronounced feeling of dread the other day as I was driving back from a meeting across town that I noticed the car suddenly jerking and hiccupping. The engine sputtered and banged as if it were out of gas, which was impossible. That very morning I had filled up the tank. What the hell could it be? That's when it hit me.
Water in the gas.
It happens sometimes. Water evaporates from the gasoline and collects at the top of the underground tank. Then a gas tanker arrives and deposits a new load of gas into the tank, and all that water mixes back in with the gasoline.
Water in the gas is an expensive fix. They have to flush out your gas tank, flush out the fuel lines, replace the spark plugs, clean out the fuel injectors and run something like STP valve cleaner through the motor. What a mess.
Worse than that, it meant I was stuck out here in this heat. I could already feel my pits becoming clammy, and balls were sticking to my taint. I'd be a fragrant bundle of newly impoverished joy by the time the car was towed and repaired, and I paid a dry cleaner to remove sweat stains from my shirt and pants.
I phoned the office and told them I wouldn't be in. Then I called the insurance company for a tow. The woman was very polite and, after I answered about a hundred questions, hooked me up with a tow truck. She gave me their number and I called them to find out how long it would be before they showed up.
FOUR hours.
"Four hours?" I shouted into the phone. "It's 93 degrees out here! I can't sit in this car for four hours." They apologized and said they'd try to get there sooner, but didn't expect it would be less than three hours.
Oh, God. I shook my head and sighed. I told the guy, "Look, I'm going to call some other companies to see if they can get here sooner. I'll let you know if I find someone."
I Googled tow trucks in my area, found another place and gave them a call. It would be three hours before they could head my way. Sheesh. Then I called a garage that was just down the street from my office. The lady who answered said they could be there in half an hour. My relief was so great I wished I could poke my head through the phone and kiss her ... and I'm not even into the ladies! I hired them on the spot.
And then I waited. Luckily when the car died, I was able to coast off the road and into a copse of trees, so I had decent shade. And there was a breeze blowing. So I was sweating, yes. But I wasn't dying. Had the temperature been 10 degrees lower it would have been pleasant, sitting there in that hot car waiting for the tow truck to arrive.
Which it did after the promised half-hour, and never was there a more welcome sight. The guy went past but seemed to spot me as he did, so he drove down the road a ways, pulled a U-turn and came back. The truck eased in next to my poor, dead car, and the motor went silent. The door opened.
A kid got out.
I could barely contain my surprise. It was a kid, and a pretty damned fine-looking kid at that. He couldn't have been more than 16 or 17, I thought, with a headfull of dark brown, almost black hair that hung over his eyes. He was about 5-8 or 5-9 and weighed about 165 I'm guessing, so he wasn't scrawny and emaciated like so many teenage boys his age. He had an impressive 5 o'clock shadow, which gradually led me to revise my age estimate. Eighteen or 19? Certainly no older than 20.
Oh, and his face. High cheekbones, average jaw, and pretty eyes, the totality shaped by a tendency to smile. I shook his warm, sticky hand.
"Man, am I glad to see you," I enthused. His hand felt like it had just been around his cock, and my eyes darted to his crotch for a second, just to see if maybe a damp stain was visible there. Nope, but that didn't stop my imagination from running wild. "I could almost kiss you!" I laughed, disguising the comment as a joke. In reality, there was no "almost" about it. That friendly face of his had the most kissable lips I'd seen in awhile – fat, juicy and ruby red, like wedges of an exotic fruit oozing a sweetness that made you lick them first.
"You may not feel that way once you see the bill," he joked back. I noticed he didn't react with disgust to my kissing comment. See? I told you my imagination was running wild.
After he got the truck in front of my car and started hooking up the lift and chains, we chatted back and forth about car breakdowns, the life of a tow-truck driver, the mishaps that can occur when a car is being towed and that sort of thing. During the conversation it emerged that he was 18 and had been driving the truck for a year now, as his dad was friends with the man who owned the garage and had gotten him this job. At some point he intended to go to college, but for now he was working and saving money.
He pulled a lever on the back of the truck and my car was slowly raised into the air. Once it reached the proper height he stopped the lift, attached the chains to the back of the truck, and we were good to go. I climbed into the passenger side of the truck and buckled up as he started the engine and cranked up the AC. Pure heaven flowed from those vents.
"So how much is this going to set me back?" I asked.
"About a hundred dollars," he said matter-of-factly.
Wow, I had no idea the price of having a vehicle towed 15 miles was so high. I guess my surprise must have shown.
"It's not just a matter of time and gas," he said. "A lot of it has to do with liability. The insurance you need, not just for the driver but the towing itself, costs a small fortune."
And then he added, almost flippantly, "I guess that kiss is off the table."
I turned his way and gave him what I hoped was a mysterious smile – not a yes, not a no, but something knowing, and maybe a little suggestive. "There are other ways I can express my gratitude," I said, staring blatantly at his crotch.
He saw where I was looking. He didn't say a word, but he seemed to know, and better, he seemed to accept. He was wearing one of those baggy jumpsuits all mechanics seem to wear, with the name embroidered on a patch of white where the shirt pocket would have been. His said "Jeremy." His free hand went to his crotch and unbuttoned the catch there. He was having trouble so I said, "Let me help" and leaned over to get the buttons undone.
I fished around inside the heated interior of his crotch and felt a soft, warm mass there. I pulled down his underwear and brought out his cock and balls. His dick was short but growing longer, protruding from a sheath of the thick brown pubes moistened with sweat. His scrotum was also furry with pubic hairs, though not to the same density as his cock.
A distinct aroma arose from his crotch, a mixture of sweat and funk that was like an aphrodisiac to me. I planted my nose between his legs, right up against his cock and balls, and inhaled deeply. He let out a quietly sensuous moan as I sniffed and huffed in his privates, and his dick grew to a respectable 5 inches, with the promise of more to come.
A drop of clear fluid had gathered at the tip of his dick. Was it sweat, piss, or pre-cum? I allowed my tongue to dab at it and then brought it into my mouth, tasting. It had the rich, hormonal taste of prostate fluid.
His cock was now standing out of that jumpsuit. The truck bounced across rough spots in the road and I had to grab his thigh to steady myself. Good thing the cab was higher than the surrounding traffic. I didn't want prying eyes interrupting my sampling of this boy's wares.
I allowed my mouth to descend over the mushroom cap of his cock. It had a delicious taste, one of salt and spooge and something else, something that smelled like a room where fucking had just taken place. It tasted like sex, and I know that's an inadequate description but I don't know how else to describe it. It tasted like excitement and lust and pheromones gone crazy.
I used my tongue to probe at his piss slit, teasing out more of his precious prostate fluid. And then I licked at the juncture of the glans, allowing my tongue to explore the ridge cap and lick under it, getting every last bit of flavor I could dredge from that spot before descending into the warm nest of his pubic hair, his shaft filling my throat. His hand found the back of my head but he didn't push. He merely held it there as I bobbed on his cock.
I continued doing that, going up and down on his rod while frantically swallowing spit so I didn't drool over his jumpsuit. I would lift off his cock to swallow, then plant my face in his balls, licking at the sticky, smelly flesh of his scrotum, feeling his balls rolling beneath my questing tongue. And then it was back to his cock, which was at full-bone now and flowing anew with fresh pre-cum.
I looked up at him and he had his eyes on the road, thank God. A faint, Mona Lisa smile creased his lips, as if he were concealing his lust from fellow drivers. I went back to work on his fuck pole.
To think an 18-year-old would let me do this to him – it caused a surge of lust to power through me, setting my nerves to tingling. I wished I could raise his thighs and let my tongue and snout probe deeper into his nethers, the sticky-sweaty taint where even stronger scents awaited, and then beyond that, the probable nest of dark pubes surrounding his superheated love socket. In my mind's eye I saw him between the V of my legs, that dark hair streaming over his eyes as he gently wedged his crotch into the valley of my crack, his cock-head finding my pucker as some kind of homing instinct kicked in, and then young Jeremy pushing gently, but firmly, as my ass muscles parted to let him inside and use me for his pleasure. I could see him pounding, pounding, the sweat dripping off that friendly face, as his cock plundered my hole, his balls slapped against my ass, his breath scorched my shoulder and face.
I heard him gasp and without any warning, a huge geyser of sperm erupted into my mouth. At that moment he did push, his hand holding my head in place as he emptied his balls into me with a series of powerful, muscular spasms. He uttered a squeaky declaration of joy as he pumped me full of his batter, and I swallowed as fast as I could, not wanting to let a single drop of this kid's precious juice escape my sucking, grasping maw.
Despite the AC, it was hot as hell inside the cab of this truck. The engine did not change timbre. We bounced along through afternoon traffic as if nothing were going on. But I was wheezing through my nose, still trying to suck in all his pearly spew, and he was breathing heavily, the air hissing out of his nose, not his mouth, as if he were afraid he might let some sound escape that would alert fellow drivers that yes, he was getting his dick sucked, and yes, he had just spewed an epic load of cum down the throat of a man over twice his age.
Finally the steel in his rod began to soften. I licked and sucked at his diminishing cock, then licked his balls, getting hair in my mouth. His hand left the back of my head and began tucking his package back inside that baggy jumpsuit. I sat up and ran my tongue over my lips, pulling the odd pubic hair from my teeth. I took a deep breath and let it out with a satisfied sigh. I loved it when these boys let me do them. You can almost taste their innocence, and I've got to say, once they get a little experience under their belts they really do taste differently. I don't know why that is, but it's true. The cum of a guy who's had his dick sucked 10 times tastes a lot different than a first-timer. There's something richer, and cleaner, about that first time. Jeremy here tasted like a first-timer.
We pulled into the garage, my car bouncing along behind us. I was covered in sticky sweat, but I didn't mind it at all. Jeremy started chuckling.
"What's up?" I asked, smiling at him.
"I cannot tell a lie. I drove around the block three times so you could finish."
I pretended like I was surprised. "Well I think that's worth some kind of a discount, don't you?" I said, joking.
He smiled and answered, "I think you swallowed your discount."
I rubbed my sweaty brow. Dammit. He was right.
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