Here we go again...The following story is the sole property of the writer. The writer grants license to 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 3

Monday morning comes way too early. I am jolted awake by my alarm clock. I reach for the snooze bar and, in my hast to get just another nine minutes of slumber, shut it off. Thirty minutes later my mother returns from her morning walk with the neighborhood ladies. Seeing my car in the driveway she comes storming in with the grace of a bull. I can hear her as she comes up the stairs, she doesn't have to say a word. I am already out of bed and dressing when she barges into my room calling my name, catching me with my underwear at my knees and a raging morning wood. I quickly spin to conceal my boner and embarrassment. Slightly embarrassed herself, she leaves the room without a word. I descend the stairs two at a time. Mom has already put together a sandwich and has my morning ritual Diet Coke waiting for me. She smiles at me, trying to cover her frustration and embarrassment. I do the same and try to will my beet red face to go away. With a final kiss I am out the door and gone. The exact time from bed to Jeep, two minutes and forty two seconds.

I slide into my seat in English class as the final bell is ringing. This has almost become a Monday morning routine for me, the teacher just chuckles as he takes roll.

Six class hours later, I am standing by my Jeep watching the various teams assemble for practice. Why can't every day be like today, I ruminate? I have no homework in any classes and the day is beautiful. I am so tempted to go the park for another walk but I haven't seen the body shop in days. So I make the decision to head there.

As I enter, I'm assailed by everyone at once. I haven't been here since Tuesday, John informs me that I was about to loose my status as lackey. Grabbing my crotch, I retort with "I got what you all are lacking right here" producing a barrage of hoots and hollers.

Somewhere from the back I hear someone ask if that explains my absence. "Have you been sharing that around town?" He asks.

"Can't say I have Rick, but you're kinda cute, you got a brother my age?"

We all know that's a joke, considering Rick's ugly ass. No one would want to be within a hundred yard of anyone with his genes.

We get down to business, I wanted to be here when they painted the Mercedes and it is just being pulled into the booth. I put on a paint suit, consisting of Tyvec coveralls that have attached booties and a hood. At 5'6" slipping into an all white suit like this makes me look just like an UmpaLoompa from "Charley and the Chocolate Factory." An image that everyone makes sure to point out to me every time. I slip on my full-face mask before going in.

For years I always had to stand outside the paint booth, they didn't have the right size mask and if I tried to go in with an adult mask I always had leaks and came out coughing from the paint fumes and a slightly darker face from the paint. My parents took mercy on me and spent well over $200.00 to buy a special made mask that fit my face.

The three of us in there make short work of the painting. I do most of the work, but I'm too short to get the top most portions, someone else has to get those. Inside the suit is hot and moist, these things don't offer any ventilation and I always sweat like hell. Today is no different, however with the constant bumping into the car I have a huge hardon that I am trying like hell to conceal. I have taken to wearing bikini briefs on occasion because I love the feel of when they start to ride up in my crack, but it makes it impossible to keep my hardon from spilling out up front and forming a tent. By the time we are done, I am leaking pre-cum but can hardly tell because everything is soaked anyway. With the work done, I tell the other two painters that I will kill a few minuets and do any touch-ups if they appear while drying. Given their expertise in this work I am more than aware there won't be any spots that need touchup, but the real truth is I want the booth to myself.

With them gone I go to the corner of the booth where no one can see from the window, sitting down on a bucket in the corner, my hand reaches for my crotch. I start to vigorously stroke my cock through the plastic material. My hornyness is only heightened by the inappropriateness of the locale, and only takes me a couple of strokes before I am spouting a load in my shorts, my cock long having popped from my briefs.

I make one walk around the car, just like I expected, not a single touchup needed. I leave the booth, remove my respirator and drop the suit. No surprise, I am soaked from head to toe, my shirt and shorts cling to me and I have to step outside to cool off. I look down just to make sure nothing incriminating has soaked through my shorts and it hasn't. About that time John strolls out.

"You know, you can just go in there in your boxers, it is a lot cooler and you don't dirty up a pair of shorts each time you go in that far corner"

My eyes must have given me away long before I bow my head and blush like crazy.

"Listen kid, twenty two years in this business, eighteen of them here; there isn't a paint guy in the business that hasn't roughed up the suspect in a paint booth once or twice."

I want to tell him it was my first time and promise I would never do it again, but I can tell he is not angry. Still I am floored and embarrassed.

"John" I say "I can't and won't have a conversation about this with a man old enough to be my father"

I started to walk away but I'm stopped by John's tight grasp on my wet shirt collar, pulling the shirt tight across my chest and tweaking my nipples in the process. If I could just bottle my hormones, I would put Phizer and their drug Viagra out of business. John caught me in a tight grip; his eyes looked franticly at me.

"Jamie, I am sorry if I embarrassed you, that was not my intent. I want to let you know that you are more a part of the family here than half the guys I have working for me."

I soften considerably and smile. "Thanks, I really love the way you all treat me. But I do feel a bit weird, so I am gonna take off." I slowly walk to my Jeep, making it a point to go slow enough that John can see I'm not running away sacred.

Aimlessly driving, I listen to some music and just enjoy the sun beating down on my body as the wind dries my shirt and shorts. I pass by the park where the Cross Country team runs, but I don't see any sign of the team. I loop around past the railroad depot, long since abandon, and take a short drive down some backcountry roads. Heading back into town, I decide to head back to the school to see if anyone in particular is around. Feeling like a stalker I pull in just as the doors to the gym open and out strolls Robert. I park in an instant and start to approach. I can't think of a thing to say and I almost chicken out when he sees me first and I know I am caught.

He brushes past me mumbling, "Fuck you" as he passes.

I start to follow him, "Hey, Stop for a minute, what the hell did I do to you?"

He heads across the parking lot weaving in and out of cars trying to avoid me, I am in pursuit on his heals but he is undeterred and keeps moving. At the far end of the lot, he gets into an older model, 1975 or so, Ford Bronco and starts it up, backing out of his space, he barely misses my toes, eliciting a yell from me. With a final 1-finger salute, he is gone.

Totally lost for words or what to do, I slowly walk to my Jeep and get in. I drive home the least direct route and mull the encounter over again and again in my head. From what I could see, I was so far the only person in this school to be nice to this guy, and he is treating me like a hunchback leper with AIDS.

Getting home I drag my pitiful hunchback self inside, making sure to not drop any body parts on the lawn. Sorry, I can be a real bitch when I'm depressed. I make a sandwich, grab my 10th or 11th Diet Coke of the day, let the dogs out and go to my room. It is always a mess, but in my rush out this morning, I left the bed un-made and a few dirty pairs of underwear on the floor. The dogs both pick a pair of underwear, Twinky picks boxers, Chunky picks some bikini briefs and they run through the house playing keep away with me. After catching them, I give them each a treat and head back up-stairs to clean. I pick up the few stray items, make the bed and sit down in front of my computer. I start to jump around the net looking at different things but nothing seems to interest me, I'm to upset. I know I should let it go, but the first time I reach out to someone, and I am treated so badly. I decide to check my e-mail and then take a shower.

My mailbox only has one new message. That new Spam filter must be working I think to myself. But it only makes me more depressed. I am so pitiful I have to rely on Spam to fill my inbox. I don't recognize the name, but I open it anyway. I don't care if it is a mistake, whoever it is that sent me this E-mail is getting a reply. Even if it is Osama himself, he has a new online pen pal.

It is address to me, so that is a good start.


Hi, hope you remember me, Michelle, from Saturday. I had a great time talking to you, and you're so cute. I told all my friends about you and they all want to meet you. Maybe we could go out sometime. Like a date if you like or just as friends. The party I went to on Saturday was fun; this one girl drank to much beer and got sick on her boyfriend. My cousins were so drunk I had to drive home. Like ohmygod I don't even have a learners permit. My Mom says she is going to make it to my next race, I really don't want my parents to ever come, but I guess I will let them. I hope you are doing well, you have my phone number and my e-mail so, don't be a stranger.



Okay, so she is not just a drama queen in person, that girl can find drama in the least dramatic places. And what's with the love part...Someone's got to slow this girl down. Then I am hit with a moment of inspiration...I start writing.


Of course I could never forget you. I am so glad you had, what sounds to be, a very busy and exciting weekend. Getting vomited on is not a fun prospect, can't say I have gone 16 years without one or two people getting sick around me. As for your driving, that was a risky move, but I guess if you had been caught they may have taken it easy on you considering the fact you were the sober one. But I wouldn't do it a lot.

I would like to go out and meet your friends sometime, but like I said on Saturday, I am not really looking for a girlfriend. Speaking of us dating, I think you need to tell your friend Robert that we are not dating, I was cheering him on on Saturday and then tried talking to him today and both times he was less than pleasant with me. I was just trying to be nice when he almost ripped my head off today. I think someone is a bit jealous and you may need to let him know we are not dating or anything.

That's all for now, I will call or write soon.


With that done, I shuck my cloths. The cool air on my ass brings goose bumps as I pad across the room to the bathroom. I adjust the temperature just right, I don't want it too hot since I've been hot all day. I step in and begin to lather my body. In my bedroom, I can hear my phone start ringing. I ignore it, there is nothing that could get me out of the shower right now. If it is important they will leave a message or call back. The phone stops ringing after a few rings when it goes to voice mail, but starts right back up with little pause. I am annoyed, but not alarmed, if there were an emergency, the call won't be coming to my room phone, but the main line downstairs. I keep showering for a few minutes but when the phone won't stop, I rinse off and jump out to get it.

I catch the phone on the 3rd or 4th ring of its 4th cycle of calling back. Angrily, I almost bark "Hello" the other end of the line silent for a second then I hear a girl's voice.

"Jamie, its Michelle! I am so glad I caught you."

I can't help but think that this is going to be a treat. What kind of drama has Michelle drum up this time? I start to fear that I may have made a big mistake getting involved in this girl's life if it was going to be like this all the time.

Deciding to give her a chance to redeem herself, I try to sound as interested as possible when I ask her "What's up"

"Did you call my friend Robert?'

Slightly annoyed I answer, "YESSS, AND?"

"His name is Rodger, not Robert you goof. You made a big mistake"

My head is spinning by this point. Here I am wet, naked and cold and some girl is having a fit because I called someone by the wrong name. If the world fell apart every time someone was called the wrong name then this world would have collapsed on its self many centuries ago. I thought I stifled my groan, but must have not done well enough because she hears me.

"Jamie" she continues "Don't give me an attitude, it is a big deal"

I roll my eyes, I know my newly crowned drama queen friend can't see that. I collapse in on my bed and lightly jiggle my nuts as she goes on with her story.

"Jamie, you see, Robert was his father's name. Rodger's dad was killed 6 months back in a car wreck. It was up north he fell asleep driving."

My hand leaves my balls and shoots to my forehead. I feel a chill fill my whole body and on cue my ball sack shrivels up and I sense a strange tingle at the top of my head as I let the levity of this revelation cover me in guilt.

"You see" She continues, "Rodger's middle name is Robert and he swore that he would never use that name again, he went so far as to have it legally removed from all his records."

I can't not help but think I have just waked a sleeping dragon by my careless mistake. How could I, the person who was trying to help, make matters worse without even trying to?

Michelle rambles on, telling me details of the accident. How it has to be a closed casket, how bad the car looked, how they had to identify the father by dental records. I can't help but feel relieved that I'm not paying attention anymore; I am lost in my own thoughts.

I snap out of my self imposed punishment just as Michelle stops for a split second to take a breath. Sensing my only chance to speak, I butt in.

"Michelle, what can I do?" I am desperate, I need to fix what I did, and she knows best how I can do that.

Pleading, I say "Let me fix this, please tell me how."

"Well" She says, "I will make a call and try to straighten things out. Are you going to be home?

"Until this thing is solved, I will stay right here, I won't move" I almost scream

"Good, Call you in a little while" and she hangs up.

I lied, I do move. I almost dive for my computer, logging onto a search engine I start my searching for info on the crash. It only takes me a few minutes to find what I am looking for. Remember, I am very good and persistent at Internet stalking. In no time I have all the details about the crash, about the father and much to my dismay, even a few shots of the car that leaves me with an upset stomach and dizzy. I have tears in my eyes when I finish reading. I look at the clock and that is when I realize I have been at it for over an hour and I'm still naked and cold. Shivering, both from the cold and the emotions, I get up and dress in a t-shirt and shorts turn on a bedroom light since it's getting dark and rush back to read more.

Robert Alexander Thompson was thirty six when he died in a fiery car wreck crossing the Mackinac Bridge in northern Michigan. Reports say he apparently fell asleep, crossed the yellow line and hit a large truck head-on. It is believed he was killed instantly. A merciful death, considering his Ford Explorer caught fire and burnt to just a metal shell before the fire crews from two different towns were able to get to the accident scene through heavy traffic.

Mr. Thompson left behind a wife, Margo, and three sons Rodger, Sean and James, ages fifteen, thirteen and ten respectively. Funeral services were held at the Olstac Funeral home in Saline, Michigan.

The telephone jolts me out of my trance and I reach for it without hesitation. Breathlessly, trying to hide my emotion I answer with a "Michelle?"

"Yeh, it's me, you sound strange."

"I feel Strange." Then swallowing my pride I say, "I am in shock, I was just reading some stuff on the Internet about the crash. I feel comfortable enough with you to tell you I have been bawling my eyes out over here."

I think she's touched, or she thinks I'm lying, but I don't care.

"Did you talk to him?" I ask

"Yes" She says, "You stirred up some shit over at their house. Margo, His mother was coming to school tomorrow to light up the principle and the athletic director. It seems that the school was none too happy to have to accept a home-schooled kid onto their teams. Rodger has been getting some serious teasing from his team and from other students. Seems that your little stunt was the last straw, they were getting ready to sue"

I think I wet myself. I had called someone the wrong name and in the process almost started an all out war at the school.

I sigh, "After you talked to them, how are things now?" I can't bear to think that I could be the cause of such problems.

"Well" Michelle says "Margo said that the school has one more chance, if things get any worse, she is going to make this a federal case and I believe her." Michelle continued, "She was one of the loudest voices in Lansing when they were debating the law in the House and Senate."

As Michelle is talking, visions of Rodger pissing from the other day are running through my head, then they are replaced by the picture I have in my head from the other day at the meet. When he came out of the bathroom crying. Finally everything goes blank and I have a picture on my father in my head, My dick goes limp and I get a queasy belly, but I'm struck my inspiration. Funny how my mind works sometimes. It must have been the Chemo from when I was younger.

I cut Michelle off in mid sentence. "I need his phone number!"

The line goes quiet.

Then she speaks "Aren't you going to let me finish?" She asks?

I quickly apologize, "Sorry sweetie, But I have an idea that may help, and I want to get it started as soon as possible. I will fill you in soon, but right now I need their number so I can call him. Pleasssssse" I am wining like a little girl.

She starts to talk again, but does not give me what I need. Droning on and on about the new law that I already know more than her about anyway and I lose my temper.

"Give me the Damn number and I will E-mail you the whole thing when I am done" I say. I have a very long fuse, but when it reaches its end I am one hell of a stick of dynamite and I have just blown up. Almost immediately I feel sorry for what I've done. The phone is silent and I know if I wanted to make this work I have to swallow my pride and beg forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, I lost my temper. I have a plan that very well may end this but you have to trust me now. Can you do that?"

"I do trust you, but please don't yell at me again" she says. "The number..."

"I love you girl" I instantly catch myself but it was already out there and I can't take it back. "Trust me I will have the whole thing fixed by tomorrow, and you will be the first person I tell all about it I swear. And Michelle, I do love you but just as a friend, I have to go" and I hang up.

With my plan laid out in my head I franticly dial the number she had given me. The phone rang twice before a voice I recognizes picks it up.

"Rodger? This is Jamie, Michelle's friend. Can I come over? We need to talk, I think I can help"

I tapped the phone... "Hello"

"Oh, Sorry, I'm here" I hear him say. My heart is in my throat, and I am sweating like crazy. I fell like I am in falling love over the phone with this guy. "I guess you can come over, but what is this about?"

With no time for pleasantries, I ramble on like Michelle. "I have a plan to end the problems for you, if I can come over, we can talk it out, is your mother there? We will need her also."

I think I scare him. He is silent for a second before stuttering. "Sure I guess, but what is this all about? This isn't another trick is it?"

"No" I say, "Trust me, what's the address?"

Rodger gives me the address and I say "Thanks." I tell him to expect me in about 20 min and hang up.

As I hang up I hear the door shut down stairs. My father is home. I need him for my plan also. I take the steps two at a time again and catch him at the door just as he is loosening his tie. I don't give him time to talk or move.

I rush up to him, hug him and say "I need your help, change your cloths and we are leaving in 5 minutes"

I think he is a bit shocked; this is so out of-character for me.

"Is there a Problem son?"

"Not for me, for a friend, and you can help. Trust me on this one, but I want to get going"

Dad is never one to be rushed. He likes to take his time and do things slow and methodical, but I think he senses my anxiousness and decides that this was not a time for that. He quickly runs up stairs and to my parent room. His only question is "What do I wear"

"Just lose the shirt and tie, we are going to see a friend and his mother," I shout. "I will fill you in on the car on the way over"

I have to print some things from the Internet in the few minutes it takes dad to change, and he is waiting for me at the door when I come downstairs. I think he is kinda excited. My parents had always been bothered by the fact that I was never passionate about anything but Jeeps. Well, and men. Neither of them have any interest in them. Well, I guess mom does like men or all these years have been a lie. So, I think the fact that I have asked dad for some help on something is a big thing to him. We haven't really shared any interest in years; we may be reaching a jumping off point here.

As we walk outside, dad heads for his car but I say I will drive. He climbs into my passenger seat with a groan and laughs that his old bones are just not the same. I start up the Jeep and we leave the drive in a hurry.

"So son, are you going to tell me why I have to drop everything and come with you or is this a surprise?" he asks

I toss him the papers I printed and he shuffles through them. "So, this has to do with the new law on School athletics? Are you considering a sport?"

"Sorry Pops, no luck there. I have a friend that is home schooled and he is trying to run Cross Country this year. Seems the school has decided to make it as difficult as possible for him. To tell you the truth, I don't know the whole story myself. I got it 3rd hand from another friend. I know what you say about jumping to conclusions so I figure we will get the story from the family. My plan is, since you handle school administrators all the time and you have quite a bit of experience with both Mr. Johnson, the principal, and Billy Hass the athletic director you may be able to help. Plus you and I know we both would like to step on, Steve Potter, the Cross Country coach's dick if we can."

That makes dad laugh, both my brothers had run for Steve. He is a very good coach. He's produced several state champion runners and state champion teams, but the man has the personality of a wet dirty washrag. The whole family has a love hate relationship with him except me. I just hated the bastard. But me for a different reason. He is also the most homophobic teacher in the school, he makes it difficult for any student that even resembles gay. He is know to even trash talk other teachers who are gay.

When we pull up in front of the house, I almost drive by. I am so nervous I feel like I have ice water in my veins. Shaking, I turn off the car and get out. Dad waits for me on the sidewalk as we walk up to a neatly kept Victorian house in the older section of town. Taking two steps to the veranda, I guess it would be called. I hesitate before knocking on the door. The door is thrust open and I am looking down into the eyes of a boy about 8-9 years old. Trying my best to stay cool I ask for Rodger, but I think my voice betray me since I squeak it out. The boy smiles, or maybe it was more of a laugh, and asks us in.

Trying my best to be cool, I drop to one knee and say "Hi, I'm Jamie. What's your name" he gives me a look of disdain and mutters "I'm Jamie, And Don't treat me like a kid"

Sting. This whole family must know how to castrate you with words. Still reeling from that, another boy this one looking to be fourteen walks in and is surprised to see us.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Yeh" I mumble, "I think Rodger is expecting me"

"Oh you must be the name guy, huh"

Yep it runs in the family I decide.

"I am here to straiten that out, I hope" I say, a bit more bashful now. My father just gives me a blank look.

Just then a woman in her 30's walks into the front room and sees us. Her eyes lighten with recognition just as mine and Dad's do the same.

Chapter 4 is done and sitting in the editing room right now. It will arrive shortly...