rear. I pulled over to the shoulder to see what had happened. Just my luck — of all nights, I had a blow-out. The rear driver side tire committed suicide with just eight miles to my apartment.
This was a new truck and I had no idea where the spare tire was, and I’d never changed a tire in my life. Come to think of it, I’d never had a flat tire in all my 21 years on this earth. How hard could it be to change a tire? I’d seen it done many times on TV, but this was real life. I ran back up to the front and grabbed my phone to call roadside assistance.
Forty minutes had passed, and still no sign of the tow truck. I didn't like the idea of owning a gun. My dad insisted I carry some kind of equalizer, as he called it. It’s made out of a shortened 4x4, wrapped in thick, heavy chains and topped off with copious amounts of barb wire. I was ready to handle anyone or anything that decided they wanted to pop off.
Bright lights blinked ahead; that was the signal I was told to look for by the dispatcher. Just in case, I had my hand firmly wrapped around my equalizer, ready to pounce if need be.
The truck made a U-turn and pulled up behind my Tahoe.
'Mr. Saturday? I’m Anthony Ashley with Ashley Towing,” he said with a deep, velvet voice. His southern accent was a complete turn on. I couldn't help but check out his package through my window. Those jeans fitted him well, snug in all the right places.
“Can I see your ID Mr. Ashley? As he reached for his wallet I noticed his bulge. His shirt was slightly ruffled in the front giving me a sneak peak of his undies, he was a briefs man. 'Thanks, just wanted to make sure. Can't be too cautious these days,' I said, handing his ID back.
'Totally understand no worries. Tonight’s my night off from murdering and robbing,' he said jokingly.
'Okay, a little awkward.”
“Of course I’m kidding. It's my horrible attempt at trying to be funny. My momma always told me to stick to fixing stuff and leave the jokes to someone else,” he said as the color in his cheeks turned.
“You’d be wise to take her advice.”
He made his way to the rear of the car to check to see what exactly had happened; it gave me a perfect view of his ass as I spied through the side window. I could feel my jeans tighten as he surveyed the damage, bending, stooping, and lying on the ground getting dirty.
He shot a look in my direction; I diverted my eyes to the front, hoping he didn't spot me checking out his assets. I glanced up in the rearview mirror for a second helping. He dusted himself off and made a quick sprint to the driver’s side. Folding his arm on the door, he tipped his fitted cap up showing off his beautiful gray-hazel eyes.
'I'm going to have to jack ya,' he said with a smirk.
'Do you want me to get off-I mean get out- of the car?” I said, burying my head in my steering wheel, I was embarrassed.
Anthony sprinted to his truck to grab his gear. I wouldn’t mind if he did get me off, I’d give it freely. All he had to do it was just take it. I was horny. Maybe I drank too much. I hadn’t done anything in months. I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white, trying to fight the urges. Anthony's bulky equipment didn’t seem to present a challenge. His muscles flexed underneath his gray athletic shirt as he schlepped his gear over to my truck. His jeans were stained from lying on the ground, and dirt lingered on his forearms. His scent was arousing, a woodsy/spice smell. I found myself standing close to him just to get a whiff.
I felt helpless with Anthony doing all the work. 'Something I can help with, I feel like an idiot just standing here watching you,” I said, kneeling down beside him.
'No worries, let me do all the work, you just sit back and relax,” he said, attaching the jack underneath the truck.
With each pump of the jack the truck inched higher. He grunted as he pushed and pulled the jack lever, oozing sex. The top half of Anthony’s shirt was covered in sweat. Even at night, when the temperature meshed with the humidity, it could be unbearable. He ruffled the bottom of his shirt and lifted it over his head. Anthony was definitely a product of meat and potatoes. He wiped the excess sweat from his chest and back. I pictured myself toweling him off with my tongue. I'd be careful not to miss a spot. I had a perfect view from the back.
I sat on a nearby patch of grass and watched Anthony perform for me, silently giving directions. My hormones were raging; I could feel myself becoming intoxicated by the mere presence of Anthony. No matter how hard I tried, the guy downstairs was eager to get out and play. I wasn’t thinking with my big head anymore. I needed a release.
I decided to make my move.
“You must work out?” I said, closing my eyes and thinking what a cheesy way that was to start. But it worked. A large clink sounded as he pitched his wrench in his tool bag.
'Not really, doing this a couple times a day seven days a week is a workout,' he said, searching in his tool bag.
'I bet your girlfriend hates it when you have to go out on calls in the middle of the night.”
'Well, maybe, if I had one,' he said, shifting his gaze.
'You know, you're terrible at flirting,” he said, walking towards me, his hands covered in soot.
'I wasn't flirting,' I protested.
'Well your dick seems to think otherwise,' he said, pointing down to my bulge.
I instantly grabbed my cock, trying to shield what evidence I could. He moved closer and I retreated backwards. He’d been sucking on a piece of hard candy, I could smell it. He stood there with his hazel gray eyes looking into mine intensely, waiting for a response. I had nothing. I was thunderstruck. He rolled the candy around in his mouth. “You know, you need to let go of all this sexual frustration you have pent up inside,” he said, reaching for my shoulders.
His hands were soft yet the touch was firm. As he massaged my shoulders I could feel the tension leave my body. He moved behind me, massaging deeper as he made his way down the center of my back.
'You like that,' he said, nibbling on the back of my neck. I closed my eyes and as I rolled my neck he massaged me.
“I think I-,” I stuttered not able to find my words.
'You don't remember me do you?' he asked, moving to my earlobe, biting tenderly.
'P. E second period. You were a sophomore.'
'Sophomore P. E, second period?' I said to myself, trying to remember. 'Mr. Tony! You’re Mr. Tony?”
He nodded.
Yeah, you were one of the aides for Coach King,' I said, as the memories began rushing back. “Yep, that was a while ago. It's OK, I was wondering if you'd remember me on your own,' he said, turning me towards him.
“You look different, in a good way.”
Anthony had come to my rescue a few times. Though we never had long conversations, he was always kind to me.
'Wow, small world, it's good to see another person from Butler,' I said, playfully fist bumping his shoulder.
'Do you still have those P. E shorts,' he mused. My eyes bulged. I thought I misheard him, but no, he said what I thought he said.
'I wouldn't call them shorts, they were more like underwear,' I said, thinking back. “But yeah, I have them.'
'That's not a bad thing,” he said, as he propped his leg on an old tree stump resting his arms on his leg. I wanted him to come over and touch me again. I rotated my shoulders hoping he'd get the hint. He adjusted his crotch as he looked on.
'I always wondered what it'd be like to fuck you,' he said, still propped up on the log. This time a mischievous smiled appeared on his face.
As blunt as those words were they were music to my ears. “Oh, okay.” I said, nodding my head quickly.
'We're adults,' he said, as he sauntered over, placing his hand on my crotch, looking me dead square in the eyes.
'You're pretty forward,' I said, as his grip tightened. My cock began to harden and throb and I could feel the pre-cum leaking out.
