Date: Sat, 1 Nov 2003 11:14:31 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Rebuilt

				  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