Date: Tue, 22 May 2007 11:01:00 -0500 (CDT)
From: k s <iwnt2burb@yahoo.com>
Subject: Southern Garage 1

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