The Mechanic

This story is posted for the exclusive enjoyment of readers of the Nifty Archive. While you are free to make a personal copy, no copy of this manuscript may be published, copied, posted to another web site, or otherwise disseminated without express permission from the author, who retains copyright.

The contents of this story are fictional. Any resemblance of characters to living or lived persons is strictly coincidental. Certain characters engage in sexual acts which may or may not be legal in the state or country in which a reader may reside. Any reader with objections to graphic descriptions of sexual encounters between males who may not have reached the legal age of consent, or whose local, regional, state or national jurisprudence prohibits such descriptions, should not read further.


I'll never forget that weird Thursday morning last May, up at the Ahmandsen orchards. I was still 16, and I knew I was gay, even though I never did anything with another guy until a long time after that, in September.

(Christ, what a disaster he was! I thought he felt special for me, but he just wanted into my pants. Got me and then just ignored me from then on. Oh well, I was young and foolish then. I wish I had paid more attention to what Graham and B.B. said and did. At least I didn't let him fuck me. I wish I hadn't fallen for his line. Glad I used a condom.)

Anyway. I'd got all my chores done early, and didn't have to be anywhere that morning at all, so I rode my bike - the cool Suzuki I bought with last summer's earnings this past Spring - up to the little ridge overlooking the long gone orchards, right next to the Bowl - the "sinkhole" that appeared in the ground a week ot two before that. I was sitting in the early morning sun in a little niche in the rocks, just reading a story I printed out on my brother Terry's PC, stroking myself as I read this really hot passage about a guy getting his dick sucked by a Marine, just before he was gonna get eight inches of Marine meat plugged up his butt. I took off my shorts and boxers and t-shirt and sandals, and just let the warm Sun kiss me all over, before I started to read and stroke.

I heard them first, two trucks coming up the rise from the Post Road, and stopped my stroking. Old man Baker's Jeep came up over the crest, him and B.B. Taggert in it. There was an old red Dodge Ram right behind him, with two guys in it I never saw before. Real handsome, they were. Looked to be 20 or maybe a little more, same as B.B.

I saw B.B. cornhole my brother Terry once, back in the barn, when I was fifteen, last summer.

I was up in the loft beating my meat, and they were right underneath me, in the crib. They must have been doing it a lot before that, because they just marched right in, Terry dropped his jeans and stripped off his T-shirt, B.B. did the same, and Terry bent down with his hands on his knees, his butt jutting out. B.B. took out this enormous pole of a dick and just plugged into him, worming his way in while Terry moaned and pulled on his butt to open it for him, telling B.B. to "take it slow, a little harder, a little bit out, a little deeper," until B.B. was all the way in, right up against Terry's cheeks.

They stood there for a minute, not moving much, then B.B. just cornholed the shit out of him, slow and steady, moaning and rubbing Terry's back, telling him how good it felt, all hot and wet and tight like a glove.

I couldn't help getting my meat back out and pulling on it, watching over the top of the hay bale I was on. Terry beat himself off at the same time, but I couldn't see but B.B.'s dick going in and out of Terry's butt. Then B.B. spewed right into him, and it looked like Terry came at the same time. Sure sounded like it, anyhow. They didn't use a condom.

Then I just exploded, stars in my head and lightning in my dick, my stuff spewing out, the first shot actually going over the bale, through the load hole, right down to the ground, only a couple of feet from them, but they was too busy to notice. Me too.

I used that image a million times to beat off to. Really hot. I never figured why Terry gave that up for a girl, but he did.

So anyway, old man Baker and B.B. gets out of the Jeep, parked right in the middle of the big "sinkhole," and the Ram right next to it. Except old man Baker wasn't. Wasn't old, I mean. He was naked as a jay, and so were all the others, and he was young. Just like that. I was only maybe twenty-five, thirty yards away, so it wasn't no heat or mirage or nothing. Nobody carried no bags or nothing, except Graham and one of the two strangers were carrying something that looked like a black book. With shiny gold page edges. I realized they were Bibles, the kind that Mom 'herited from my Gram and Gramps. B.B. had an envelope of some sort. Nothing else.

Then something shimmered, like when you look on the top of an asphalt highway, in the air right above them. Only for a minute or so, and then this Voice happens in my head.

"You are ready." It said.

Ready for what? My dick had gone soft. I definitely wasn't thinking on the Marine sucking on the surfer's dick any more. Scared the piss out of me.

"Yes," said the new Graham.

All of a sudden, there was this man standing in front of the four of them. Naked, beautiful like I can't tell you, like everything I ever fantasized on as a man I would want to love. My height, handsome but not pretty, masculine, twenty-five or so. I knew somehow that he was called Groth.

Graham and B.B. moved to right in front of Groth, holding hands. They looked at each other, and you could tell they were more than just friends. A lot more. The other two guys were along side of them, also holding hands.

And this guy Groth, launched right in.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together . . ."

He married them. To each other. Just like in a church, except it was two guys, not a guy and a girl. And I watched, and got chills when they got to the part about "I do," and I started to get a little sniffly when they put a ring on each other's finger. When Groth started saying "by the power invested in me by the Creator, I now pronounce you husband and husband, blessed in His eyes," I couldn't hold back the tears. I saw them through the waterfall as they turned to each other and kissed, the first time I ever actually saw a man kiss another man on the lips, and it was just plain beautiful.

My eyes were starting to clear a little when Groth turned towards me, and the four guys turned towards me as well, and Groth said something that made me tremble. They knew I was there. Knew I was watching.

"I present to you Messrs Baker-Taggert and Messrs Fox-Greene. Please give them your blessing. I ask that Darren Adams approach, and sign as witness of their union."

They were all looking at me, and I stood up, my shorts and sandals and T-shirt and the pages still on the ground next to my bike. I didn't feel naked. I wasn't scared, for some reason. I walked down the slope of the sinkhole to where they were, and stopped in front of them, maybe five feet. They were all beaming and misty-eyed. I shook their hands, like I thought was what I was supposed to do.

"Please sign witness in our Bibles," said one of the guys I didn't know. He had . . . a beautiful body. I couldn't help looking at his dick. There was a pen from somewhere, and I signed on the pages that said "Family Bible of Rob and Cory Fox-Greene" and "Family Bible of Bill and Graham Baker-Taggert," under the caption "Marrriage Witnesses," and dated it. Then they each signed each other's Bible, too.

"Now we must say goodbye," the new and improved Graham said. He said it pretty loud, then turned to face Groth.

"You must bring the Bibles, but leave all else behind."

"This disk contains our record of all that has happened in the past two weeks or so," B.B. said. "I want it to . . . be preserved for the future."

"It is already in my databanks," said the Voice. "Remember, your computers are completely transparent to me. There is another purpose for the disk."

"What?" asked Graham.

"Give it to Darren. He will be the keeper of the troth," said Groth.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

"You will remember our discussion on the odds against what has happened," said the Voice.

"Yes?" Graham said.

"The improbability has become infinite," said Groth. "The alternate probability is thus infinite and definite."

"What does that mean?" asked B.B.

"There is no longer any possibility whatsoever that all that has happened has been the conflux of natural events."

"You mean, something has . . . "

"It means that all that has happened has been the result of a design. I have done the calculations. The certainty is 100%. Nothing else can explain the rupture of probability."

"You mean . . .?"

"God is."

Graham turned back to me and leaned down only a little and kissed my cheek, and the others each kissed me in turn. I almost got hard. B.B. was last, and as I let go of his hand, he handed me the envelope.

"Read it, and you will understand," he said softly.

"Please return to where you left your bike," said Groth.

I didn't even hesitate to ask why. I just did.

When I turned around, Groth was gone. The Jeep and the Ram were gone, too. The four guys were in a cluster, facing each other.

I caught the glint of the sun off metal, and looked to my left. There was a whole crowd of people, most of them looking after where the Ship had gone. Mrs. Taggert was there with a big guy I later found out was Andy Trothwell. She was sobbing into his arms. Next to them stood Jerry and Elva Wheeler, and a bunch of other people from town. I didn't know some of the others. Must have been thirty, forty people there, all dressed up.

Nobody paid any attention to me as I dressed and got on my Suzuki, ready to ride away as fast as I could from the embarrassment of being seen by all of them, naked as a jay.

"They did not see you unclothed," were the last words I heard from Groth. "You were dressed in a tuxedo, as were my friends, and there was no one who knew your face."

Then the four men just lifted up into . . . a shimmer. And disappeared. All of a sudden, I saw - what could only have been the Ship, but huge, much bigger than even the Hangar could hold. It must have been a good three hundred yards long, silvery and solid, but almost transparent, which I know makes no sense at all, but I could see the clouds right through it.

Slowly, the Ship rose, then tilted up at like a forty-five degree angle; there was another shimmering motion somehow, and the earth seemed to tremble a little under my feet, and then nothing. Complete stillness. No Ship. I could hear somebody's tractor over to Katy, the low whine of a truck way up on the interstate, birds, a jet plane somewhere way overhead.

They were gone.

I've read their story more times than I can count. I jerked off over a couple of passages, at least at first.

I wasn't going to give it to no one after I done read it all. It makes a nice story, sort of. But I can't keep it to myself. It seems . . . I feel sometimes I have to show it to people, have to let them know what's coming. But nobody's going to pay any attention to a sixteen year old with pimples and overactive gonads, so I'm sending this copy to you. So you'll know. So you can tell somebody who can maybe do something. We have so much to learn, so much to do . . .

He said it. Groth. The most powerful computer ever. The man I fantasize about, pray for someday to find. He said it so strongly, so surely, that I have no choice but to believe.

"God is."

The End
© 2000 Jonas Kichda