Spare parts 1
\I was kinda pissed off, to say the least. I was used to better service than this. Call me pretty particular about my car. I drove a Mini Countryman, which was my pride and joy. To me it represented every accomplishment that deserved display: my perfect life as a sharp trader on Wall Street, my perfect wardrobe that branded me as a bona-fide catch – bachelor of the month in an office where the girls drooled over my perfectly sculpted pecs and juicy, Ben Sherman-sheathed buns.
Something wasn't right. I'd had my baby in for a service, this being the first one after I'd dropped an obscene amount for a custom fitted Mini 4 x 4. The Shop had collected and delivered to save me the trouble of wasting my expensive minutes on the time it took to drive her over and fetch her once she was ready for the next round of carting long-legged beauties to the invite-only cocktail party or red carpet event. I didn't even know where the shop was but it had come highly recommended by a colleague that knew his way around New York.
I was making my way to the gym for a quick break from my high stress career when the unthinkable happened. My baby had a breakdown. So there I was, a high powered trader who calculated my net worth in six figures, stuck next to the road like a common wage earner.
I called my assistant to get her to phone the shop and demand they send somebody to come and sort out the problem then and there so I could carry on with my perfect day, tending to the things that made me the icon of jet-set perfection. I decided to ignore the faint trace of irony in her voice when she drawled out the words "stuck by the roadside". I would deal with her later. I knew just how to make her wish she had more self control.
I was feeling poorer by the minute as I wasted precious time leaning against the gleaming racing green exterior of my beautiful car. Whoever the fuck she'd spoken to on the phone clearly didn't grasp the gravity of the situation as others on the floor snatched hot deals that I would have otherwise clinched with the flair and élan that was my trademark. I would have to see if I could get them to compensate me for the inconvenience and loss of income, although I couldn't imagine that they'd be able to match what every idle minute cost me in dollars and dignity.
Finally, as was hauling out my iPhone to lambast my assistant, a battered pickup truck appeared in a cloud of dust. A scruffy face with impertinent blue eyes peered out above the elbow that stuck out of the front window through the sandy billows his skidding stop had created. I opened my mouth to protest at the waste of my time and promptly choked on the mouthful of sand that I inhaled.
The apparition that greeted my watering eyes as I recovered set me off anew. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his jeans, which already hung well below the waist line, were open to the eruption of pubic hair that threatened to escape the confines of the already undone jeans. His gaudy belt jangled insolently as he bent over me to administer a solid slap to the back.
"You OK there pardner?" he guffawed jovially.
"Here, take a swig of this," he commanded and shoved a can of beer in my hand and helped me lift it to my face before I could protest. The frothy liquid filled my mouth and gratefully it was ice cold, which didn't prevent me from choking again and spewing the froth out of my nose in what must have been quite an entertaining spectacle. I, however, was less than amused.
My splutters of indignation were clearly lost on the muscular mechanic who was already popping my hood, or at least the hood of my baby and I swallowed my protestations at his dusty paws on the gleaming paintwork. I treasured the secret hope that he would solve my dilemma and enable me to leave post haste and resume my valuable lifestyle without any further delay and inconvenience.
Painfully aware of the sweat that trickled from my perfectly shaped hairline down my fashionably stubbled cheek into my formerly crisp collar and down my chest where an alarming patch of damp was now blossoming under my armpit, I stumbled after him in my Louis Vuittons to hear the verdict.
I was hard pressed to focus on what the man was trying to explain to me on account of the fact that his ass was hanging out. A healthy crack was visible above the low-hanging fruit of his jeans and it spite of myself I couldn't take my eyes off it. You'd think that his pants would slide right off his butt but the butt in question was sufficiently impressive to provide an impediment to gravity to keep his pants hanging on the shelf of succulent muscle that protruded backwards like a juicy melon. Not that it mattered. I am straight.
My mechanic must have noticed the lack of an answer to his question as he looked back at me from under the hood. He caught me staring and just grinned devilishly through the scruff of his beard.
"I'm gonna have to tow her in. Ya wanna lift?"
Visions of what would happen to my perfect clothes were swept away as Mr Mechanic rapidly reversed his pick up and hooked my baby up. I had two choices: stay in the sun to call a taxi which might take a while or risk contamination in the vehicle of my criminally near-naked rescuer.
I chose the latter. Time was a-wasting as it was and I didn't want to catch sunstroke besides.
"Name's Steve. Pleasure to meet you."
He threw open the door from his side and as I hesitated, looking at the dubious stains on the seat, hauled out a towel, with equally dubious stains and draped it to "protect" my wardrobe, which cost more than his car.
I gingerly lowered myself onto what passed for a seat and barely had the opportunity to settle mand fasten my seatbelt before my 'rescuer' put his pedal to the metal and took off in a further cloud of dust.
"So you from around here," 'Steve' asked, a polite and impertinent smile on his lips.
"Uh, I suppose you could say so," I ground out, grabbing for the handle above the door to stabilise myself against his efforts to kill us. God only knows what was happening to my baby behind us.
"So what you do for a living? You a model?"
I squashed the blush of pleasure that he should think that of me and answered coolly.
"Nope, I'm a stockbroker. That means – "
"Yeah I know what that is. I got shares in Apple and they doing quite well. So you got any hot tips?"
"Well, that's unethical and would be – "
" – insider trading, I know. I was just kidding. You're cute, you know?"
To my deep, deep dismay I felt a blush of pleasure make its way to my cheeks and turned away to 'look at the countryside'. I felt his eyes on me and I resisted the temptation to look back.
"You should keep your eyes on the road, 'Steve'. My car is valuable and I would rather have it in one piece. Not to mention my life."
"No worries, your life is safe in my hands... you never did tell me your name."
To my horror I felt his hand on my thigh. I pulled my legs together towards the door and had the mental picture of myself as a vestal virgin trying to escape the ministrations of the high priest.
He stroked it firmly once and returned it to the wheel.
"So Louis –" He volunteered.
"My name isn't Louis," I corrected him.
"I know, I'm talking to your shoes, cos you still haven't introduced yourself."
"You know I'm wearing Louis Vuittons?" I gasped, incredulous.
"Duh," he chuckled and returned his hand to my knee and gave it a manly rub. This time I tried to remove his hairy paw from my expensive trousers but he was quick as a flash and snagged my hand and transferred it to his beefy thigh.
“Listen, bud, I’m not sure what you think is happening here,” I protested in an effort to regain my composure and control. Even to myself I sounded like a petulant queen.
“Hey, nothing, man, I think you’re hot, and I’m trying my luck. If you’re not interested, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
He transferred the hand in question to his pubic hair which was still clambering spectacularly out of his open jeans. He scratched luxuriously and adjusted his ass forward on the seat so he could scratch his testicles. I tried not to allow my eyes to be drawn to the obscene sight but failed.
“Nothing like a good scratch. Yours must be kinda stifled in those expensive slacks. Just saying” he giggled. There was nothing malicious in his voice, or in his eyes as I glanced up at the sparkling blue peepers that managed to radiate through the dirty blonde fringe that hung over his forehead and down to his nose. He brought his hand to his nose and sniffed appreciatively.
“Pure man-smell,” he murmured and pushed the same hand through his hair. I was fascinated by that hand as it returned to his crotch and lay there, lovingly combing his pubes out.
A traitorous itch started in my own crotch and I struggled to ignore it. I tried to subtly wriggle on the spot but to no avail. My balls were itchy and there was only one way to alleviate it. My hand snuck down to my expensive crotch and I pulled at the spot where my ball bag was biting me. Relief flooded me as I managed to hit exactly the right spot.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Fuck! I didn’t manage to escape my mechanic’s attention. Red flooded up from my neckline until I knew I glowed like a bulb in a red-light shop window.
I decided to change the subject to something a bit more useful and closer to the point of our meeting.
“Do you think it will take long to fix my car? If not, I will have to leave it with you and catch a taxi back to work.”
“Losing money every minute right?”
“You have no idea,” I breathed, mostly to myself.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I dunno, man, until I take a decent look I can’t say for sure. But I should know soon after getting it to the shop. He laid his hand on my thigh again and kneaded gently.
“Don’t worry, Louis, your baby will be all better soon,” He made a point of speaking to my shoes. I felt a smile force its way to my cheeks.
“The name’s Jonty. Jonty Cravin.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance ‘Jonty Cravin’. Even his name’s hot, Louis!”
This time the smile broke through and a chuckle escaped my lips. I decided not to fight the pleasure that his compliment caused.
“Your hand is still on my leg, Steve.” I made no move to remove it.
“Yeah, it seems to like that spot. Do ya mind?”
“I’m straight, Steve – I have a beautiful girlfriend and a whole line of others waiting for me to tire of her.”
"You know what I love the most about fucking a woman?" The sudden change in direction almost gave me whiplash. Fuck me if I didn’t want to hear.
“Uh, no, what?”
"Eating pussy. I love eating pussy. Getting that pussy butter all over my face, sucking on that little oyster until she clamps my head between her knees and has a small seizure. Hot." His voice was hot also, and his arousal seemed to transfer itself to my own body.
I felt my dick start to uncoil in my pants and suddenly his hand on my thigh started to burn. I quickly pulled my leg towards the door, out of his reach.
“Your pants seem to be filling up nicely, Jonty Cravin. Looks like we have a similar problem.”
The base of his cock, where it appeared from his bush, was getting thicker and it was clear that it wanted out.
"How far until we get to the Shop?" My voice sounded hoarse and a little desperate.
"It's not far, Jonty Cravin. You should be rid of me soon.”
I didn’t even acknowledge to myself that I wasn’t as keen to be rid of him as it would appear.
We drove along in silence for a while. Occasionally I felt Steve’s eyes on me and when I looked he gave me a dazzling smile or a wink. Unbidden, a picture of him eating a juicy pussy pushed its way to the front of my mind and I looked away very quickly, feeling the blood rush to my face. My balls, couched as they were in my obscenely expensive underwear, contracted and I imagined what it would feel like to have him suck one into his stubbly mouth.
He lifted his hand to his furry chest, and lay his paw over one meaty pec. His nipple peeked out from between his fingers like a tiny eraser and it was clear he was stimulating it.
“Fucking scorcher of a day, gotta take a cold shower soon,” he said, huskily, as he pulled into what was obviously our destination.
I bolted from the passenger door as soon as it was safe to do so. I made sure that I was facing away from the pickup so as to avoid a clear view of my bulging crotch.
Steve the mechanic ignored me and got my car pulled into the garage and set up on a lift so he could see underneath. Once he had done so he waved me over. I hovered on the perimeter but he beckoned me closer. He stood slightly behind me and his hips were pressed against my butt on the one side, while his hand cupped my ass on the other side. With his other hand he pointed upwards.
“See that? You got a hole in your sump.” As he said that his one finger strayed into the cleft between my buns and downwards and I could feel the warmth and pressure through my slacks. His head nudged in against mine and he whispered into my ear.
“There’s no way you’re going to drive your baby out of here today, Jonty Cravin.”
I stood rooted to the spot and felt my cocks strain against the confines of its expensive prison.
“Shit man, Steve, I told you I’m straight! What the fuck are you doing?” I turned and shoved him away from me in an effort to put as much distance between us.
“Just let me call a cab and you start fixing her and let me know when it’s done so I can send somebody to collect her.
“And I want to talk to your boss. This has gone too far.”
“You’re looking at him,” he said, presenting himself, shirtless and with his dick just about climbing out of his jeans. “This is my Shop. And I provide a full service as a part of the package.”
“Just stay the fuck away from me you sex-crazed maniac,” I hissed, while I dialed my assistant.
“I’m sending you my location, get me a cab and I want to be back in the office in less than thirty minutes. If I’m not, I will fire you so quickly your head will spin.”
I ignored the babbling on the other end of the line and killed the call.
“Do you have somewhere cool I can wait?” I asked Steve, and I didn’t bother to hide my irritation.
“Yeah, sure, my office has aircon. Follow me. I have to make a call anyway.”
I did as I was told and I couldn’t help staring at the luscious piece of man-ass that led the way, the hairy crack still as evident as ever. A rag hung out of the back pocket and it flapped idly with the lazy movement of his man-buns like a flag in a lazy breeze – a flag that proclaimed ‘Just pretend you don’t find this sexy, I dare you!’
“After you,” he said, as we reached the little hole in the wall that was obviously his office.
“No, after you,” I said, determined to never let him get behind me again. You never knew when he was going to try and nail me when I wasn’t looking.
The “office” was mercifully cool. The aircon in the confined space turned the tiny pigsty into an oasis of relief from the infernal heat outside. There was barely space for the both of us in the room so I backed in behind the door. He immediately picked up the phone and started speaking animatedly about sumps and shit so I knew he was ordering a part for my Mini. As he spoke he moved out from behind the desk and closed the office door. That left me with about 1 square foot in which to avoid brushing up against his hairy chest and cascading pubes. He pretended not to notice and as much as I tried to avoid him, he strutted up and down in the tiny space, effectively cornering me. When he finally ended the call he was standing so close to me I could smell his breath and his rampant pubes threatened to brush against my zipper. The aircon couldn’t do anything to cool me down any more. He didn’t seem to pick up the awkwardness of the situation.
“It looks like they will have to order the part in. It’s out of stock.”
“How long will it take?” I asked hoarsely, looking into his clear blue eyes, my heart beating in my chest like a tap-dancer on acid.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s going to be anytime soon.”
He suddenly seemed to pick up on the awkwardness of the position I was in and leaned in.
“Are you ok there? You seem … fidgety.”
He looked me up and down as much as it was possible at such close quarters and his gaze fixed on my chest. He lifted his hand and gently thumbed my nipple.
“Seems like the aircon is having an effect on you. Or is it me?”
We were almost exactly the same height and my breath, which was rushing in and out as if I’d run a 100 yards, stirred his long blonde hair.
“Jonty Cravin, you have a mighty sexy mouth.”
He put his hand up and cupped my chin and his thumb rubbed across my lower lip.
“You can deck me if you like but I think I’m gonna hafta kiss you now, rich boy.”
His other hand snaked up behind my head and pulled me in gently. I looked into his eyes and noticed for the first time that he had very long black eyelashes and that his eyebrows, similarly, were black. When we almost touched mouths, he paused and leaned his forehead against mine. Then he stuck his tongue out and licked my lower lip, sucking it onto his soft, soft mouth. Up to this moment I‘d had my hips as far as possible away from him lest he discover the effect he was having on me but I figured it was a little late for that now. Besides, behind me the wall would allow me to go no further away.
“Mmmmm, you taste good, Jonty Cravin, and I’m a-cravin’ your sweet lips something fierce.”
The coarse chest hair between us scraped on my designer shirt and reminded me that the guy I was kissing was all man. I slid my hand up his chest and revelled in the feeling of steel under the fur of his abdomen and pecs. By this time we were beginning to pick up speed in the kissing department and boy, could this grease monkey kiss!