Derek & I
Copyright ã 2003
By Lee Mariner
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an adult fantasy depicting homosexual acts. If you are not of
in your locality to be reading this story or should you not approve of
material, please leave.
The author copyrights this work. It may not be copied, reproduced or posted on any web site without the specific written permission of the author. All Rights are reserved.
Editing and proofing has been done by Scottie MacGregor.
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I guess I should not be surprised by Derek's sudden changes or decisions, but he caught me off-guard when he suddenly wants to buy a new car. We had only briefly discussed the need for something other than my truck, but we had not reached a mutual conclusion as to make or model. Even though I knew he did not need my permission to buy anything he wanted. I guess deep inside of me, I was a little chagrined at the idea of his being wealthy and even though he said we shared alike, it was still his, not ours. A very small voice was whispering in my ear, "Get over it, give him time unless you want to lose him."
It was difficult to 'get over it', even though I knew that I was being foolish, and when we reached the truck, I looked back at my mother, standing in the utility room doorway appearing to be as nonplused as I was. When she saw me looking, she smiled as she turned to go back inside, throwing her arms up into the air waving as she disappeared throught the doorway.
I felt the excitement generated by Derek's enthusiasm as we got into the truck but instead of turning the ignition on, I turned sideways and said, "I know you mentioned getting another car, D, and believe me, I'm all for it. But, do you have any idea what you want?
"I think I do," he answered, giving me one of his innocent pixie looks, his blue eyes twinkling impishly. "Chevrolet has come out with a new car named Monte Carlo. I've seen pictures of them in magazines and one passed us the other day when we were out shopping with Morgan. They've got a sort of sports car look but they are bigger - not all squatty. I think they are neat looking," he finished, breathlessly.
The intensness of his fervor was unusual, and I was surprised that he would show any interest in cars. He hadn't given any indication that he was except for the small off-handed comment he had made about my truck. I had to admit though, he had picked a good one. The new Chevrolet was supposed to be the hottest thing on the market, and I could tell from the look on his face he wanted one. I didn't want to seem that inspired by his enthusiasm but there was an excitement he always created within me that would not be that easy to suppress.
"Yeah," I said, glancing at him as I inhaled nervously, swallowing an accumulation of saliva as I tried nonchalantly starting the trucks engine. "I' saw one in the parking lot the other day when, Dad and I went bowling."
"What did you think about it?" he asked excitedly, moving closer, and pulling one leg up on the seat as he faced me.
"We didn't look at it, that close Derek. I saw it parked at the bowling alley with some other cars, but it was getting dark, and we didn't want to be late," I said. Fearing that I had strung the teasing out to far, I quickly added, "We can run over to Scholtskys Chevrolet on Brandywine if you want to look at them, they probably have a few on display."
Schlotskys was the
largest dealership of the many on
Brandywine Blvd. It was said that Norman Schlotsky, who had
from Poland in the early nineteen-hundreds, had bought the land for his
dealership outside of the city anticipating city growth outside of it's
When we drove onto the lot there were several salesman milling in front ot the main showroom doors. None of them seemed anxious to greet us as most car salesmen do, and as I was looking for a place to park, Derek said, "I think the truck with teenagers inside is the reason no one moved."
"Probably," I agreed as we parked and dismounted from the truck, not at all surprised by his astute observation.
Plastic flags strung over the rows of shiny new Chevrolets flapped and rattled in a stiff breeze. The selection of cars seemed endless but, there didn't seem to be any Monte Carlo models visible on the lot. Derek and I milled around, looking into windows, checking the price tags. When I turned to say something, I saw a middle aged man approaching us. He was well-groomed, and dressed in an expensive suit. I caught myself wondering if he did his shopping at Hoffmeyers.
"Good morning, I'm Harold Caplin," he said as he approached. "What can I do for you young gentleman?" he asked, his face wreathed in a brilliant teeth revealing smile. "Are you looking to trade the truck in? We can give you a good deal on an early vintage model Ford."
"We..." Derek started to say, and then in a panic, I cut him off saying, "Not this time, we aren't, Mr. Caplin, we're just looking."
"We are," Derek continued, throwing me an angry glare. " looking for one of the new Monte Carlo's but, I don't see any on the lot."
"Ho, boy, you go right to the top don't you?" Caplin said, his smile seemingly chiseled on his face. "They are selling so fast that we have a hard time keeping them on display. There is a new shipment in 'new car prep', but if you want to see one up close and personal, we do have two beauties sitting on the main showroom floor."
"Are they for sale," I asked, feeling stupid after blurting out the words.
"Everything on this lot is for sale, Mr...Mr..."
"Marks, and this is Derek Kingsley," I answered quickly, nodding my head in Derek's direction.
"Nice meeting you and Mr. Kingsley," Caplin replied, still smiling and not hesitating as he asked, "Who is interested in a new car?"
"We both are, Mr. Caplin," Derek said quickly.
"Two cars!" Caplin exclaimed, stopping suddenly as he was reaching for the showroom door handle.
"No..., not two, just one," Derek said, glancing at me with a twinkle in his eyes as, reaching past a seemingly dumbfounded car salesman, he flung the door to the showroom open.
Caplin had not exaggerated. There were two gleaming Monte Carlos sitting on either side of a beautiful fire-engine red, Corvette two-seater sports car. Derek stood stock still, looking at the Corvette, and glanced at me, his eyes gleaming. I felt a knot of panic gathering in the middle of my chest at the sternum. Inhaling deeply, I mouthed the words "no way." A wave of relief flooded over me when winking, he grinned and turned to what I would have considered as the Corvettes counter-part, the Monte Carlo. The Monte Carlo we were looking at was two doors but, built to carry four people. Unfortunately, the two passengers in the rear might have felt like they were in a sardine can.
It's lines were smooth and tapered unhindered by excessive chrome. Headlights, running lights, and tail lights were receded into the cars front and rear fenders, visible only by narrow chrome fittings. Door handles were hidden within the door and the slant of the windscreen gave the car a rakish, aerodynamic appearance. The radio antenna was centered at the front edge of the hardtop roof and slanted to the rear of the car.
"Gee, Larry," Derek exclaimed, breathing almost reverently, his hands hovering over the high gloss fender as if undecided whether he should touch it or not. "She has everything anyone would want."
"And then some," Caplin injected before I could voice an opinion. "There is a 360 horsepower, Turbo-jet V-8 under the hood, and she has a Turbo Hydramatic Transmission, automatic level control, rear wheel skirts, 15 inch chrome wheel covers, and a lot of other stuff," he said, rattling off the cars attributes. "That car sitting right there will set some buyer back over five-thousand not including title and taxes.
"We'll take it," Derek said, running his fingers over the highly polished hod and fender, looking inquisitively at me as he did.
"If you are you sure its what you want, D, it's all right with me," I said softly, glancing at Caplin who was standing with one hand on the door panic-bar, slack-jawed, a look of disbelief in his eyes.
"But...,but, you haven't looked at any of the other cars on the lot," Caplin finally managed to say, moving hesitantly from the door toward us.
"I know that, but, we don't have to Mr. Caplin?" Derek replied. "We wanted a Monte Carlo, and this is it."
It was amusing how
quickly the atmosphere changed when
Derek produced the checkbook that the bank had provided, and
was paying cash for the car. Caplin was flabbergasted and at first
seemed in a
dilemma as to what he should do. He suddenly beat a
retreat into another area of the building, reappearing with a gentleman
introduced himself as Charles Keonig, the General Manager.
I could see that Derek was becoming a little irritated at being questioned again but, he drew in a deep breath and re-stated what he wanted and how he was going to pay for it.
It didn't surprise me when Mr. Keonig replied, "You will forgive our skepticism but, it is not that often that we have a young man make such a pronouncement, and I am sure you will understand we will have to verify the information you've given and your check."
"Absolutely," Derek responded. "It might save some time if you called Henry Masters, Vice-President of Heritage Bank and Trust; he handles all of my finances."
Keonig and Caplin excused themselves, and while they were gone Derek and I investigated the Monte Carlo closer than we had done initially. We were both sitting in the car admiring the instrument panel and interior appointments when they returned. Both men practically fell over themselves in accomplishing the sale including the trade-in of my pickup truck. Derek objected at first but, my contention was that we wouldn't be needing it. Inside of me, the real reason was that by including my truck, it gave me inclusion in the purchase of a car that would be ours.
Derek insisted that his name and mine be on the title, and registration, and the insurance and license from the pickup were transferred to the Monte Carlo. Mr. Keonig assured us that new insurance and registration documents would be forthcoming within ten days to two weeks.
While we were in Mr. Keonig's office signing papers, the car had been removed from the showroom floor and was being detailed. It sparkled like a dark blue diamond when Mr. Caplin drove it up to the front of the dealership. After a few pleasantries, Mr. Keonig give Derek an envelope containing the papers of the sale including the title and registration. I started to open the passenger door to get in but, Derek, pulling me back, said, "you drive."
I didn't stop to
think that Derek did not have a drivers
permit, but when we pulled off of the car lot onto Brandywine, he slid
the dark maroon leather of the seat, and said, 'You'll have to
how to drive."
"That won't be very difficult, D, not with these automatic transmissions," I said. "All you will need to learn is the manual, how to steer and judge distances when you're trying to park or following someone."
"That does not
sound very difficult," he responded.
"Some people pick it up right away, D, but, there are others that are so nervous they sometimes freeze behind the wheel."
"I never thought of it as being that difficult," he responded thoughtfully.
"Most don't, but all we need some weekend, is a large empty parking lot where you can practice," I said; resisting the urge to test the powerful 360-Horsepower V-8 engine. "The first thing to do, is to get a drivers manual so you can learn the rules of the road and take the test for a temporary learner's permit."
"All of that sounds complicated," he replied. "When can we start?" he asked anxiously.
"Not until Monday when the Department of Motor Vehicles office opens," I answered, reveling in the looks of envy and admiration of other drivers as we passed them.
"That gives us the rest of today and tomorrow to break the car in," he said; the coquettish tone in his voice distracting me for a moment.
"Ugh huh," I responded, grinning at him. "Do you want to have lunch at Sonics after we stop and show Dad the car?"
"I guess we could; but, I was thinking it would be nice if we picked up what we want at Sonics, and had a picnic in DeVoe Park," he suggested in answer to my question.
"I don't see why not," I replied, a strong tingling feeling prominent in the depths of my groin.