Throw a Rod
A month.
A whole month of waking up with Ivan’s 270-pound weight pinning me to the mattress. A month of shared coffee, barefoot, in his quiet kitchen. A month of insatiable sex, from frantic poundings at his front door, to slow passionate love making in his bed, to quick pounces in the morning before we left for work. An entire month of working side-by-side in overalls in the garage with a secret so sweet it made the grease and grime feel like glitter on us. A month of ten-minute delays until I was at his house, his lips on mine, his dick sliding into me. A month of learning each other’s soft spots, discovering that spot on his neck and on his lower back, his fascination with my feet – I was sorry I told him about my feet as he seemed to be obsessed with them.
A month of unbelievable passionate fucking, of making me hard as a rock with just one look, of making me explode by just fucking me.
A month of breathing in his smell, of swallowing the taste of him, of making him laugh and grunt and groan.
A month of building something real and feeling like I was alive for the first time in my life.
His shop was thriving. We were thriving! My easy rapport with customers and knack for diagnosing tricky electrical problems had brought in a wave of new business, including some sweet classic car restoration jobs. Ivan never said much, but I saw pride in his eyes when a client would specifically ask for me. It was becoming our kingdom, something we were building together. Ours.
The only occasional moments of fear came from Smitty and Big Ray. The better the shop did, the more their chatter seemed to sharpen. The jokes about "pretty boys" on TV got more frequent, the comments about things being "gay" more pointed. The more successful I did the more jokes about me offering special services. It was a low-grade hum of homophobic hostility I tried to ignore, but it was becoming more than annoying, as if they were both trying to shove me back into a closet I was trying so hard to escape from at last. I never admitted anything to them, but I never stopped them either. I was respecting Ivan and his business too much to let it be known that I was finally comfortable with being who I was, but I wasn’t going to out Ivan before he was ready. So I kept my mouth shut and swallowed down all the jokes, trying my best to ignore it all, knowing nothing mattered when I drove to Ivan’s house at the end of the day.
We never compromised the garage or us, and since my apartment was one over my parents’ garage, we only messed around at his house. Except for that one time, just yesterday, when we couldn’t wait any longer and we made Big Ray and Smitty cover for us as we went to “grab lunch.”
Grabbing lunch involved hopping into Ivan’s truck and driving two minutes to a secluded parking lot. Grabbing lunch was me sucking on his meat for a solid five minutes, savouring the taste and smell of my new man, wanting to drink his load right from the tap. But he was so turned on, our past encounters of quick, secret meetings with no-named nobodies overwhelming us, feeling the need to bring our two worlds together and have satisfying naughty sex in clandestine locations with each other.
So, I climbed over him, my work pants off, my ass finding his shaft easily. Ivan slicked it up and inserted himself into me as our shirts rubbed together. His eyes stared at me as I sunk down on him. His big hands clapped my ass hard as I started to ride.
“You’re such a dirty little fucker aren’t you?” He had growled at me when I slid down on his shaft.
It was the best lunch I ever had.
He came with a roar, hugging me so tight in the driver’s seat of his truck that I lost my breath. I leaned back when he relaxed, keeping his big cock stuffed in my ass and pushed his shirt up over his meaty pecs and grabbed my cock.
“Yeah baby. Do it.” He grumbled, pulling his work shirt with the name IVAN over his thick neck, his pecs pushed together as his hands caressed my ass. I didn’t care if anyone saw us. I just felt his dick still thick and throbbing in me, his cum leaking from me, as I fisted my own cock and aimed for the cavern between his pecs.
He grabbed my neck to steady me as he saw it rising, and urged me on as I shot my load straight out onto his chest, watching the pool of white liquid dump between those hard pecs. He bucked me as I shuddered, making more spill out of me in surprise, before he scooped up the gobs of my cum and licked it off his fingers, before he pulled me in for a kiss.
I licked up the rest from his chest while he moaned, telling me not to wipe it up with anything else. He said he wanted to smell like me for the rest of the day. And if anyone noticed, well then so what.
We ended up back at the shop, still hungry, forgetting to grab lunch. And neither Smitty nor Big Ray said anything, or noticed anything. I couldn’t help but think we needed to have more lunches like that, but his house was better. More room to move. And I liked Ivan naked, twitching and shuddering as I kissed his neck and made him squirm.
But today found me under the hood of a '68 Firebird near the front of the garage, deep in the zone, my new zone that mimicked my football days when I was super focused when the bell on the door chimed. I didn't look up. I usually don’t. But for some reason this time, I heard Ivan’s footsteps stop and the whole shop got quiet in that way it does when a stranger walks in. You know, like the wrong kind of stranger. And I made the mistake of looking up from under the hood and I locked eyes with the not-so-stranger at the door.
"Troy? Troy Jenkins? Holy hell, it is you."
My blood ran cold. That voice. I’d recognize it instantly anywhere. Smug, confident, laced with a fake, booming heartiness. It was a voice from a different life, from locker room showers and dark car interiors and motel rooms that smelled of bleach and regret, and of sharp commands in my face contrasted to whispered promises and secrets in my ear.
I straightened up too fast, banging my head on the hood. "Coach Davis," I said too loudly, my mouth suddenly dry. I tried to swallow, but found very little saliva suddenly.
Bill Davis looked the same as he did more than half a year ago, when I watched him zip up his khakis after he told me this could never happen again. My cock swelled involuntarily at the sight of his beefy muscular outline, as if the linger of his fat cock punching into me was just yesterday. A bull of a man, a former linebacker who’d traded his pads for a polo shirt stretched tight over a still-powerful chest to coach. A former closeted player himself, who got married like he was supposed to while seeking out young guys to mold.
And he molded me alright. Right down to telling me how perfect I was, how much he loved me, and how he had whispered those words into me that last night, only to tell me an hour later this couldn’t happen again.
He smiled at me with that wide, possessive grin of his that didn't reach his eyes, and looked me up and down. "Still looking good, I see. Even covered in… all that."
I could feel Ivan’s gaze from across the shop like a physical pressure I knew all too well by now. I didn't dare look at him.
"Coach. Uh…Bill. This…is a surprise," I managed, wiping my hands on a rag to cover the shaking that had started, buying time, still trying to wet my whistle with my tongue and swallowing hard to activate some saliva as my heart thumped rapidly in my chest.
"Found you through your folks. They said you were working at some auto shop." He said "auto shop" the way someone might say "sewer." He stepped closer, right up to the Firebird, into my space, shutting off the onlookers’ gaze in an instant, his voice dropping. "Look, I've got an offer for you, Troy. A real one. I’m going to be head coach at Northwood College. And I thought immediately of you as my Offensive Coordinator. We could go there together! What do you think? I want you with me. At my side."
The air left my lungs. He said all the things I had longed for him to say for 12 years. At my side. I want you. It was the dream after my professional career, Offensive Coordinator, the one I always thought I’d do when football finished and I turned my eyes to coaching, just like Bill Davis did. That dream had died with my Achilles, when I was far too young and too inexperienced to take on coaching so soon. The words I want you still lingering in my head as I looked at those lips of his, and remembered them on mine. My brain was screaming at me, telling me something I tried to quiet for many years. He wants you.
He saw the shock on my face and his smile widened. "I know right? It's a new start for me, too. A lot of things are… changing." He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper, his hand coming up to grip my bicep, hinting at what I could only believe was an upcoming divorce at last, like he always promised me. "Could be a fresh start for us. A great cover, don't you think? All those late nights watching game film…practices that get us all worked up…hotel rooms…no one to run home to. No more excuses about us hanging out together. Even staying over at hotels."
My stomach twisted. The same old song was playing again. The same hidden rooms, the same lies, just with a fancier title and an easier cover. But a part of me, the remnants of that groomed quarterback I used to be, the one who believed that he really did love me, and that I was in love with him, stirred at the offer. The roar of the crowd again, the playbook I knew so well, the glory could be all mine again. Plus, the hot man I knew so well standing in front of me again, the man I could make cum by sucking his fat dick, the man who scrunched his face tight when he exploded his hot load inside me, the man that loved to watch me ride his dick, with his arms bent showing off his biceps as he clasped his hands behind his head and told me how beautiful I was, the man I thought I loved so intensely, the man who knew me so well, like the father I thought I needed, now more available, all mine, by his side.
He was pulling me in again.
My eyes flickered to Ivan finally. He was frozen by the workbench, a torque wrench held loosely in his hand, watching our conversation. His face was a granite mask, but his eyes were burning, tracking Bill’s hand on my arm.
I needed Ivan’s strength. I couldn’t do this without him, I couldn’t seem to speak without Ivan right here by my side.
But Ivan wasn’t moving. He was just staring, his jaw clenched, his eyes on fire.
I took a step back, breaking the contact a bit, hoping Ivan would step to my side. "Bill, I… I have a life here." I managed to choke out quietly.
"This?" He laughed. A short, dismissive sound. "C'mon, Troy. This is a pit stop. This isn't you. Think about it. The opportunity is real. The money is great!" He took a conspiratorial step closer to me, closing the gap I had made. “I know you! I know you miss it.” He moved in closer, so his voice was only a whisper. “I know you miss me. Us.” He gave his crotch a quick grab in between us so only I would see. Then his sexy grin widened and he licked his lips with his thick tongue. “C’mon. We had it good. What a team we’d be. Coach and Assistant Coach. Perfect cover for us. FINALLY!” He gave me one more lingering, significant look. "I can keep you satisfied. Unlike this place." His grin was rather lecherous and even though my body was responding the way it shouldn’t, all my blood running to my dick, my mind was struggling with what to say, to tell him I was behind the wheel this time and I wanted to steer my car the right way at last.
I shook my head, not even daring to turn towards Ivan, afraid what he was thinking watching this scene unfold. “I can’t.” I whispered back to Bill.
Bill’s hand went up to my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. The automatic memory made me shiver slightly and my cock swelled harder at just his touch. So reflexive and instinctive. “Yes, you can. You know it’s what you want. I know it’s what you want. We can go back to us.”
He smiled again at me, and for a moment, I wanted to kiss him, like old times, to feel him next to me, to believe him, to finish the picture my mind fantasized so much about him: cuddling after sex, him making me breakfast, him listening to me talk as we sat around naked and in….
But then I stopped, realizing that had never happened with him, in the 12 years he owned my ass. And my head turned and my eyes found Ivan’s still staring at me.
I already had all that. The cuddling, the breakfast, the laughter, the talking, the sitting around naked, and kissing and fucking…I knew I already had it. With Ivan.
“Think about it.” Bill’s whispered voice made me turn back, seeing the wink from him that used to make butterflies soar in my stomach. Now I felt my stomach turn.
Before I could say anything, he backed up holding my gaze with that winning smile, and then he slowly turned and walked out, his hand in the air with a wave like he expected to hear from me, misreading my silence, the bell chiming his exit like a funeral toll.
The garage was utterly silent. Smitty and Big Ray were staring discreetly, trying not to look but doing it anyway, their curiosity palpable. But I only had eyes for Ivan.
He was still staring at the door, his jaw so tight I thought it might snap. The look on his face wasn't anger. It was a deep, gut-wrenching fear.
“Who the hell was that Country Club prick?” Big Ray let out after we all watched Bill drive away in his Hummer.
“Was that your dad pretty boy?” Smitty asked, coming up to me and slapping my shoulder.
It shocked me out of my trance and I turned on him.
“That was NOT MY DAD!” I practically spit it out, adding an even louder “Just FUCK OFF Smitty!” And I threw my rag down into the hood of the Firebird and stormed off to the employee washroom at the back of the shop, catching a glimpse of Smitty’s big hands up in shocked defence.
How was I supposed to tell Ivan here in the garage with Smitty and Big Ray so involved with this already? I know Ivan heard Bill’s offer. I was suddenly scared that Ivan thought I was actually considering Bill’s offer. But why was I shaking? Why couldn’t I speak?
“FUCK!” I slapped my hands against the bathroom wall, leaning over the sink, staring into the mirror. I was shivering, uncontrollably, trying to calm myself down, from the outburst to Smitty, to the reaction of seeing Bill, and of all that came flooding back with his offer. All because of Bill.
There was a soft knock on the door and a voice came clear and concerned. “You okay?”
It was Ivan, thank God.
I breathed in deep but couldn’t find my voice. I went to say something again, but couldn’t answer, gripping the sides of the sink, holding back uncontrollable emotions.
He tried the door and thankfully I hadn’t locked it. I saw the door open slightly and Ivan’s big head peeked in. “Troy…?”
But I still couldn’t speak. I saw him in the mirror, and he must have seen I was shaking, because he gave me an apologetic look, as if he interrupted me awkwardly, then lifted a hand and said, “Sorry.”
Then he stepped back out, closing the door quietly behind him as I gripped the sides of the sink and felt my body breaking.
I started to shake more, uncontrollably, feeling the tears pooling in my eyes, on the verge of spilling out. And all I could think about was how much I needed to feel Ivan’s big arms around me.
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