Spinning my Wheels
Monday morning, the garage felt different somehow. The memory of Pink-Shirt-Big-Boob-Girl was still drifting in my mind, like the overpowering perfume from her visit still lingered. We all seemed to avoid the topic on Saturday, and Ivan was in no mood to talk about anything that day. I decided to tackle it head-on today. A little reconnaissance.
Ivan was in his office, a glorified glass-walled cube, frowning at a computer screen. I leaned against the doorframe, my best easy-going smile in place.
“Morning, boss. Have a good weekend?”
He didn’t look up. “It was fine.”
“Do anything fun?” I heard the word fun, and flinched, remembering the way Big Ray had said it, and tried to switch tactics. “Did you catch a movie with…?” I let the question hang, a perfect, innocent fishing line. I had jerked off to the idea of him plowing little miss big-boobed Barbie, picturing his huge body, those massive muscles, that intensive stare, and then replacing her with my own smooth muscular frame, taking his fun out on me any way we could, as Big Ray had suggested.
He finally lifted his head. His grey eyes were flat. “No. We broke up.”
The words were a dismissal.
“Oh. Sorry to hear that,” I said, and I was, a little. For her.
“Don’t be.” He went back to his screen. The conversation was over. “She’s really not my type.”
And that was it. No sadness. No frustration. Nothing. I couldn’t figure him out. He was like a closed door.
But who was I to talk. I certainly wasn’t opening up to anyone here in the shop, not with their homophobic comments and leers at Miss Big Boobs.
Ivan continued to work, ignoring me, a frowned look of feigned concentration. I could get lost just looking at his handsome face, and wondered what he was like as a teammate, if he’d be that guy that would look out for guys like me. I wondered if he was the one who would use his size and strength to stop the Smittys and Big Rays from making gay jokes and beating up people that bothered me.
If only.
I grew up to be silent, and not let anyone know what was bothering me. Or what I was interested in. Or WHO I was interested in.
I waited for the guys to show an interest in me. It was safer that way. And it was usually the ones that were married that came on to me: the supposed straight dads who watched me play, who fantasized about my ass in those football pants, fucking me harder than they can fuck their wives. Those men couldn’t hurt you, not with their own little secret to protect themselves. Never flirt with the straight guys you aren’t sure about. They’d beat you up so fast just to protect the very IDEA that you were interested in them.
So I learned to focus on those married dads that weren’t getting enough at home. That was my specialty I guess: chasing the already-taken, the sexually frustrated, the emotionally unavailable. It was definitely safer. The married football coach had taught me that. Plus if they can’t fully be yours, you never have to risk them actually leaving their wives and get caught up in a real relationship. Right?
Which is why my gaze, with Ivan now officially a silent fortress of quiet concentration and obviously straight, drifted across the shop and landed on Big Ray: married and currently unavailable.
Smitty was already a no go, so it seemed with his quick assessment of me as a pretty boy, even though he too was married and off the market. Ray was a different kind of mountain than Ivan: a little softer around the edges, with a laugh that boomed, and a quiet masculinity with a wedding ring that shined brighter than a gold bar on his left finger. A safe, impossible target. Right up my alley.
Ray reminded me of the bear from the bar I met, after Bill ended things. Big brute, 40 he said. Said I looked like that former quarterback that he loved to watch, whatever happened to him? Jenkins? I pretended I didn’t know who he was talking about. He bought me a beer, said I looked sad, and maybe needed some cheering up. He offered to help. It was a week after Bill told me it was over. I saw this big man for what he could be to me: a slab of meat to fill the hurt, with his muscled arms coming out of his tight polo top, the solid look of his hard gut, and the tentative looks he gave me, telling me everything I needed to know without any words that he was looking to fuck someone hard.
No names. Just me following him out behind the bar to where his pick-up truck was parked, tailgate facing the back woods. He simply flipped it down, whipped his dick out for me, an impressive sized one looking just as meaty and thick as the rest of him. I knelt in front of him and sucked it hungrily, till he asked me if I liked getting my muscled ass fucked. Without a word, I stood up and turned around, leaned over that opened tailgate, slid my jeans over my perfect ass and glanced back at him and said, “Why don’t you slide in and see?” He didn’t hesitate and I took that beer can sized cock like the pro I was by then. I loved the feel of his hands on my back and waist, the hot breath of his open mouth on my neck as he fucked me like an animal harder than anyone, like he had been saving up his power for a guy like me. But I had wanted more from that big bear. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to flip me over, rip my clothes off and mount me right there in the back of his truck. I wanted to feel that big, strong body on top of mine. I wanted him to fuck me hard, and deep, and tell me he loved my ass so much he would fuck me forever. I wanted to lay with him completely naked under the moonlight wrapped up in his big arms talking about the next time he’d fuck me.
I had wanted more.
What I didn’t want was for him to hike up his black dress pants, give me that look of shame and aversion, pat my ass like he just fucked some prize steer, and leave without so much as a name.
But he got what he wanted. And I guess I did too: a memory to replay in my jerk off fantasies. And Big Ray was bringing back a lot of hope of having another go at a man like that.
I sauntered over to his bay where he was wrestling with a tire, letting my closet open just a smidge to see if Big Ray wanted to take a peek inside.
“Need a hand with that, big guy?” I asked, leaning against a tool chest.
He grinned, sweat beading on his forehead. “Nah, Troy, I got it. Just needs a little persuasion.” He gave the lug nut a final, brutal crank with the impact wrench, his forearms bulging with the motion.
“Looks like you’re persuading it just fine,” I said, letting my voice drop an octave. “It’s impressive.” I let my eyes trail upwards to the roundness of his biceps. For a married dad, he had big arms. Sure he was all beer gut and sweat, but there was something rather attractive to him behind his big brown eyes and masculine energy.
He chuckled, a low rumble. “Just part of the job.”
“Not everyone can manhandle a tire that size.” I picked up a stray socket and handed it to him, making sure our fingers brushed. “You make it look easy.”
He took the socket, his eyes meeting mine for a second. There was a flicker there. Something ambiguous. Maybe just friendly camaraderie. Maybe a hint of curiosity. With big, straight, married guys, you could never tell. It was all part of the frustrating, addictive game I found myself playing lately. It was all I knew.
“Well, you know. Years of practice,” he said, turning back to the tire.
I was about to lay it on a little thicker, ask him if he needed help lifting it, or putting it in, telling him I knew how to handle big things myself, and could take a good persuading, when I felt it: a shift in the air it seemed in the garage.
I glanced toward the glassed office.
Ivan was standing there, not looking at a computer screen anymore. He was looking directly at us. At me. His arms were crossed; his expression wasn't the flat dismissive one from before. It was sharp. Disapproving. And worse than that, it was… disappointed. He heard me. He saw me.
It was the look a teacher gives a kid who’s cheating on a test. The look a father gives a son who’s just been caught in a stupid lie.
My face went hot. The flirty smile disappeared off my face, replaced by a wave of shame. He’d seen right through me. He knew I was flirting with Ray.
He knows I’m gay.
I looked away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the concrete floor. The thrill of the married man game vanished, leaving me feeling cheap and under a spotlight.
I’d wanted Ivan to look at me and see me. Just not like that: catching me flirting with one of his guys.
Never like I was something he was ashamed to have in his shop
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