Date: Thu, 1 Jan 2004 00:18:39 EST
From: KNJB856@aol.com
Subject: Body Shop

The following story is the sole property of the writer. The writer grants
license to Nifty.org and all Mirror Sites to publish on their sites.  No
other entities are licensed to reproduce or republish this work with out
the express permission of the writer.

This work is entirely fictional any resemblances to another person, people
or situation are entirely coincidental.

The work will most defiantly contain hot man on man sex involving cute
twinks and hot muscle boys.  If this type of thing offends you or is
illegal where you are currently jerking off while reading this then zip up
you drawers and leave, now, no questions asked, no if's, and's or butt's
about it.


Body Shop
Chapter One


	I'm Jamie, not James, not Jim.  I tried when I was 5 to change my
name.  I was now a big boy and Jamie was for babies.  It didn't work.  No
one got the memo I guess.  I am the baby of the family, the youngest of 3
boys, and I guess everyone wanted to hold onto that.  The only person who
even tried was my uncle, he called me James till the day he died, no one
else.
	To add insult to injury, when I was 9 I had to have chemo-therapy
and that has stunted my growth slightly, almost everywhere.  I am 16 years
old, 5'6" and 120 pounds without so much as ripple anywhere that would
suggest a muscle under my smooth outer shell.  I was miserable about my
stature for years and I would constantly brood about my size.  I wanted to
look like my idols.
	You see, when I was hospitalized the children's ward was frequently
visited by local athletes.  Many of the boys were astonished and excited
when we were visited by famous football and baseball players.  The
brightest point for me was being visited by the current men's Olympic
soccer AND swim teams. I showed such enthusiasm that on day passes I was
routinely taken to watch their practices and games.  I secretly marveled at
the beautifully hairless bodies of the swimmers.  On the pool deck I could
not take my eyes off the broad chests, rock hard abs and tight asses on
these guys, God I hated that I would never look like these men. The soccer
players and their legs that seemed to constantly be in motion on the field
were enough to make my 8 year old penis swell.  I loved the way their
calves rippled as they ran. I always returned to my lonely hospital bed
with a strange un-explainable ache in my neater regions and lump in my
throat. The athletes were marvelous to my recovery.  They never made me
feel like a sick child or charity case, they made it a point to make me
feel like a member of the team when I was there. They often went too far,
the ever present nurse would have to remind them I was sick or, I am sure,
I would have been expected to practice with them. Not that I would have
cared in the least.  My hero worship by day turned into a clandestine
romance at night, but only in my little head.  Every night I fell asleep
with dreams of being held by those strong arms. My fantasies were, by
current day terms, non sexual. Mostly they were visions of legs, arms, and
butts. I was held, care for, loved, but there were no faces, no nudity, no
kissing, no sex.
	My dreams of developing a body like the ones I idolized vanished as
I aged and failed to develop like my peers, but that did not stop me from
developing crushes on guys who DID. By the time I was 15 I had numerous
crushes on guys that resembled those pre-teen idols.  As I aged and became
more knowledgeable about sex, so did my thoughts. Nightly those crushes
were a constant titillation as I learned what it meant to masturbate. The
innocent apparitions I had before slowly morphed in my head to more
sexually explicit encounters. They now had faces, faces of crushes.  Arms,
that before just held me developed hands that stroked my skin and massaged
my body.  I no longer just look at but now kissed and tongued across those
abs. The legs I had just ogled at before now were wrapped around me,
holding me in a strong sensual way.  What was once just a mass confusion of
body parts turned into feelings for the men they were attached to. It
wasn't long before I deduced that what I was feeling was not hero worship,
but that I was gay. I only fought those feeling for a few days before I
accepted it and started to explore gay literature and art, a euphemism for
porn.
  	I still disliked my BODY, but those feelings were vanquished when I
bought my first gay magazine and realized that I was a Twinkie.  I had
spent years worrying that, looking like I did, no one would find me
attractive.  Little did I know that the world is full of guys that look
like me and that the world is even fuller of men that love them. It was an
eye opening experience to see some of these couples, looking so in love. I
knew these couples were all fake, but the real thing must exist out there.
My self esteem boosted, dealing with my issues got easier.
	I missed a lot of school and had to be held back in the 3rd grade.
So I am only a sophomore, frequently mistaken for a freshman.  Yet, after
accepting my sexuality and realizing that I was not a freak, it was so much
easier to keep a positive attitude about my setbacks. I became much happier
and gained quite an amiable personality compared to before.
	Life as a 120 pound weakling can lead to harassment and abuse.  I
guess I somehow escape that. My brother looked out for me before, now his
friends looked out for me. Mix that with my new personality; sure I field
the names, runt, squirt, squirrel, but since I take them with a smile and
my sarcastic wit, they are never more than an enduring term for the little
brother I have become. I got some new nick names in gym class as
well. Well, the locker room, I suck at sports; but, I am a year older than
most, and, seems while the rest of my body languished, I kept pace and
surpassed most in one area. When people comment on it, 5 inches limp (It is
SO hard to keep it that way in there) and uncut, like with the name
calling, I just throw them a smiled punctuated by my icy blue eyes and a
sarcastic comment.
	My parents are still married.  Dad was a high school teacher for
two years before going back for his masters in social work and taking a job
as a school social worker.  Mom taught special-ed before quitting to have
kids.  She subbed a bit when I was younger, but finally took a job as a
bookkeeper at a body shop in town.  Mom's boss doesn't pay her nearly what
she is worth, especially since she is the first bookkeeper to not rob him
blind, but she sets her own hours and likes the work so she stays there.
We live in a nice neighborhood north of town in a nice, but cozy, house.
My brothers are away at college, so they don't know I am gay.  Mom and Dad
do know; for just over a year now.  They took it hard. They figured it was
a phase. Pissed me off, that did.  No phase here; I only get gayer by the
day. Mom and Dad get that now.  They try harder everyday to understand the
way I feel and we have made some great progress. We are even able to talk
in normal voices about it instead if yells of anger or whispers to keep it
from the neighbors. Really, you think they are hanging out in there yards
trying to listen in for the juicy gossip? Can't say we have drag queens
over for dinner, but my mother did ask me the other day of one of my
friends was "A special someone?"  No, no one at school knows, let alone am
I dating anyone.
	Ever since Mom took the job at the body shop, I have been a fixture
there.  At 8 years old I was constantly underfoot but I started learning
about cars and how to fix them.  When I got sick, the guys came to see me
all the time.  When I started to lose my hair, they shaved there heads
along with me.  I always was and still am their little brother, and a
feisty on might I say.  I am there as often as I can.  I do drama at
school, but nothing else.  I have never been the sports kind.  So, I make
my way to the shop a few days a week.  The boss says that I am more
reliable than some of his paid staff, but he can't pay me, because child
labor law restricts it, I don't care.  I do it because it's fun, and it
pays in other ways.  My first car had none of the dings or dents that
usually come from your first months of driving.  Not to say the car NEVER
had any.  My brother Dan drove like an idiot, He had put enough damage on
that thing to keep me busy for the first 3 months I had it.  After doing
months of work on it, I was able to sell it for more than my parents paid 5
years ago for it and I bought myself a rag top Jeep that needed to be shot
and put out of it's misery. What was once a throw-away junker, I and the
guys at the shop, turned into a hell of a nice machine.  Figure I do look
kinda funny, my small frame behind the wheel of my Jeep with it's big tires
and lift kit, I got the top down, blaring dance music as I cruise along.
	A few months ago, it was a Sunday, I was on my way home from a book
store; I had just picked up a few books on gay teens and grabbed two nudie
magazines.  As a passed through a green light I was hit on the rear
passenger wheel by another driver. Dildo... I drove my car away, but
shortly I was driving crooked, the rear wheel was bent.  I dropped it at
the shop and got a ride home.  I had to take the bus to school in the
morning, God I hate the cheese wagon. I walked the few blocks to the shop
after school.
	When I walked in, it got very quiet.  Tools were shut off; there
was a roar of applause.  I gave the whole shop my trademark grin, told them
to get their asses back to work, they balked but did.  When I walked in the
office, John the owner hastily left and my mother was beside herself with
the giggles.  There was nothing funny about my accident; it wasn't my
fault, what was up with this.  After a kiss and short visit, I made my way
over to see how the guys were getting along with a Mercedes that was
trashed in a roll-over.  Everyone's small talk seemed to be stressed today
and the whole damn place was giggling like girls.  An hour passed and I
started to feel kinda strange.  I felt like I was the butt of a joke, and
didn't even know it. I kinda got pissed; I was already in a bad mood about
my Jeep and having to ride the bus. The walk over here from school was a
bear with the heat. I was not in the mood for any shit today. John asked me
to check the calendar on the tool wall to see when we could fit in a new
job that the claims adjuster just called on.  That's when I caught it.  In
place of the normal bikini clad model on the calendar was a centerfold of a
naked man.  I spun around and took stock of all the photos in the joint.
Every picture in the place had been replaced by erotic shots from the new
magazine I had forgotten in my Jeep.  A look of horror crossed my face when
I realized the levity of this situation.  How could they.  I ran for the
door, narrowly dodging John's arm, I set out down the street. On my way out
I noticed someone even had the balls to leave the other magazine on top of
a stack in the waiting area. I would call my mother from a pay phone and
have her pick me up.  I could never go back there.  Surly they never WANTED
me there again.
	I didn't make it far before I heard the tell tale sound of Ricky's
POS dragging it's muffler behind me.  He pulled to the side of the street
and called me over.  I was pissed but willing to listen.  A short talk
revealed the truth.
	The day after I came out, mom came to work a basket case.  She
brooded all day but refused to discuss anything.  It was only after much
prying did the guys get the story out of her.  They were not too shocked
and surprisingly very helpful.  They had gotten her in touch with friends
and family they had that helped mom get through some of the difficult times
and answer so many of her questions.  Un-benonced to me, they had become a
support team that she needed right then and continued to be there for the
past year.  Without them I think back that times may have been much rougher
for both of us.  Yet, we still had the issue that they had known about me
for a year and failed to discuss it with me.  It was time to go back to
work.
	Upon returning, I thanked everyone for taking care of mom, but
informed them, From this day forward if there was one more staff meeting,
about my lack of heterosexuality, without me being present there would be
hell to pay.  Well the whole crew stayed late that night to get my Jeep
back on the road. Our work was slower than usual because be kept stopping
to talk about how I knew I was gay, how it had developed in my head, what I
thought of Cher's appearance in Will and Grace, what I saw in the future,
and if I felt let down by the second season of "Queer as Folk".  Luckily
the only damage to my ride was on the rear wheel and I was back in pristine
shape with just a new tire and rim. MMMM, rim....