Normal Enough

by Marie Sexton

  Kasey’s feet seemed to move of their own accord, taking him to the passenger door. He swallowed hard. His stomach felt too light, full of butterflies. His hand shook as he reached for the handle. He almost moaned as he got inside, not from pleasure, but with anguish. He was giving in. He realized that now. Any pretense at willpower was about to go right out the window.

  Fuck it, he thought, and he slammed the car door shut. Why not enjoy himself, like Brandon had said?

  Decision made, he leaned back and breathed deep. He inhaled the aroma of the car. He caressed the leather seats. He let the wave of arousal wash over him.

  He’d told Brandon the truth. He wasn’t attracted to the car. He wasn’t that fucked up. And it wasn’t all cars, of course. Not even most cars. New cars did nothing for him, and plenty of older models were equally unappealing. But the interior of certain classic muscle cars turned him on every time. They got his juices flowing and made him horny like nothing else in the world.

  It had been that way ever since those days he’d hidden in his daddy’s junked-out cars in the backyard. Once, when he was barely a teen, he’d grabbed a handful of what he thought were car magazines from his eldest brother’s dresser and stashed them in a fastback Mustang near the back of the yard under an overgrown weeping willow. He’d realized later that only the top two magazines were about cars. The others had naked girls in them. He didn’t care for the ones that had only women. But there were still others that had guys and girls together, and those he’d liked. He’d imagined himself in place of those women, on his knees, waiting for those men to touch him.

  And there, hidden in the shadowy interior of those forgotten cars, with windows so dirty he couldn’t see out and nobody could see in, he’d masturbated like the horny teenager he was, often multiple times a day. He remembered the moral dilemma he’d faced back then—not just because he was masturbating, but because he dreamed of men while he did it. Sometimes he’d thought he shouldn’t, and he’d made himself read car magazines instead. But even then, as he’d browsed articles on hemis and rear differentials, he couldn’t forget those other magazines, hidden under the seat. Magazines full of men with their hard dicks in their hands and unsated lust in their eyes. His cock would grow hard, regardless of the fact he was looking at cars instead of people. And eventually, he’d put Hot Rod magazine aside. He’d reach for the pornography and give into the pleasure of touching himself, with the soft leather of the seat under his ass, his left hand braced on the hard plastic of the dashboard.

  He remembered how easy it was to give in to his need. It was with that same sense of anguished desire and secret shame that he once again undid his pants and slid his hand inside. He wrapped it around his cock and squeezed.

  He had to bite his lip against the moan that threatened to escape him. There was no turning back now. Touching himself felt too damn good.

  He wanted more than a quick jack-off session, though. He’d been granted a rare opportunity here, and he wasn’t about to waste it. He lifted his hips and slowly slid his pants down to his knees. The seat was taut against his buttocks, not warm, but not cool either. He breathed in the scent of the car, remembering the mixture of leather and rot and weeds from his youth and the feel of slick magazine pages against his fingertips.

  He went slow, alternately stroking his shaft and rubbing the glans with his thumb. He thought of men in magazines, and men in cars, and in the end, he thought of Brandon. He made the most of it, enjoying himself as Brandon had instructed, and when he was done, he wiped down the interior three times over.

  He left no pecker tracks on the Chevy’s pristine seat.

  Chapter 2

  KASEY COULDN’T even look at the Chevelle the next morning when he arrived at work. He was embarrassed for having given in to such a base and unnatural urge. He hoped Brandon would pick up the car without asking for him, but his hope was in vain.

  “Hey, Ralston,” Reggie called to him, less than five minutes after the garage opened, “the owner of that Chevelle wants to see you out in the lot.”

  Kasey’s heart skipped a beat. What if it had all been some kind of trap? What if Brandon only wanted to mock him?

  Then again, what in the world did a guy like Brandon have to gain from doing something so petty?

  Kasey cleared his throat and made himself ask Reggie, “Does he seem upset?”

  Reggie frowned. “No. Said he wanted to thank you in person.”

  Kasey didn’t bother putting on his flannel shirt this time, although he regretted it by the time he was halfway across the lot. The wind was damn cold. Brandon was already in the car, although the engine wasn’t on. Kasey stopped next to his door, and Brandon rolled his window down a bit. He indicated the passenger seat with a bob of his head. “Get in.”

  Kasey swore under his breath but did as he was told, thankful at least to get out of the wind. The interior of the car was warm, and Kasey rubbed his hands together and asked, without meeting Brandon’s eyes, “You wanted to see me?”

  “I did. I wanted to know if you made use of the car?”

  Kasey continued to rub his hands as if trying to warm them, although in truth, he was simply floundering for an answer.

  Brandon didn’t give him much time, though. He sniffed and said, “I think I smell sex, but it may be wishful thinking on my part.”

  Wishful? Kasey stilled his hands by tucking them under his legs. “I cleaned up.”

  “I appreciate that. But to be honest, I was hoping for some details.”

  Kasey looked over in surprise. “Details? Like what?”

  “Like, who were you with?”

  “Last night?”

  “Whenever you made use of my car. Did you have a girl with you?”

  “No!”

  His answer was too loud. Too vehement. He noted the way Brandon’s smile turned predatory.

  “Did you have a man with you?”

  Kasey shook his head, his heart pounding. “I was alone.”

  “Ah. Exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

  Kasey blinked, contemplating that unexpected response, but Brandon spoke again before Kasey could formulate an answer.

  “Is it all cars? Just Chevys? What?”

  Kasey’s cheeks began to burn. He couldn’t understand why Brandon was so interested. Part of him screamed that this was a trick. That Brandon would turn on him and ridicule him. But Kasey didn’t see malice or scorn in his eyes. Only curiosity.

  “Certain muscle cars,” Kasey said at last. “Not Camaros so much, or Thunderbirds. But Mustangs. Cougars. GTOs. Things like that.”

  Brandon’s smile grew. “It just so happens, I have a few ‘things like that’ in my collection.”

  Kasey swallowed hard. “Oh,” he said, because he had no idea how else to respond.

  “I find you intriguing, Kasey.” Brandon reached across and put his hand on Kasey’s knee. “Based on your response a second ago, I’m guessing you’re gay, right?”

  Kasey couldn’t speak but forced himself to nod.

  “The news gets better and better.” Brandon slid his hand higher on Kasey’s thigh. Even through his jeans, Kasey could feel the heat of his flesh. “Does the car still turn you on?”

  God, yes. But it wasn’t only the car that sent the blood flowing to his groin. Not at the moment. That hand on his thigh helped too. He nodded again.

  Brandon moved his hand even higher, letting his fingers splay toward Kasey’s groin. “I could jerk you off, if you like. Right here, in the car.”

  Kasey’s breath caught. His heart began to pound. Blood raced to his groin. Was this really happening? “Jesus, this is crazy.”

  “I’m serious,” Brandon said, caressing Kasey’s growing erection through his jeans. “Would you like that?”

  “Yes.” Kasey leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes. The car was perfect, and Brandon’s hand felt so good. But he wasn’t brave enough to go through with it. Especially not with the Wrench Wars crew hanging around. “No. Somebody will
see.”

  Brandon smiled and pulled his hand away. “Ah, yes. Reggie told me about the TV show. I suppose being caught on camera could be a bit awkward for both of us.”

  “More than a bit.”

  “Another time, then.”

  Was he serious? Kasey didn’t know how to respond. If he said yes, would he sound too eager? If he didn’t respond at all, would Brandon think he was saying no? He sat frozen, weighing the options, sure that whatever he said—or didn’t say—would ruin everything. “Okay,” he finally managed and immediately felt foolish at the inadequacy of it. “I mean—”

  “I understand.” Brandon checked his watch. “The truth is, I’m running a little behind as it is.”

  It was a dismissal, albeit a polite one, and Kasey wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed. He climbed awkwardly out of the Chevy and wondered, as he watched Brandon drive away, if he’d ever see the man again.

  The question nagged him the rest of the day. That night, he sat with Bandit’s head in his lap, still pondering the possibilities. Despite the TV being on, Kasey couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was Brandon. The man had actually hit on him. Kasey found it mind-boggling, but flattering. Did Brandon frequently seduce men he barely knew? Kasey wondered where he lived and what he did for a living. He wondered if Brandon was thinking about him.

  Bandit nudged his hand with his wet nose, and Kasey looked down into his big, brown, doggy eyes. “I’m being a fool, aren’t I?”

  Bandit harrumphed his agreement.

  “Best to forget it.”

  But that was harder to do than it should have been.

  THE NEXT week passed without incident. Kasey was disappointed, although not surprised, when he didn’t see Brandon again. After all, Brandon was well dressed, well mannered, obviously successful at whatever he did. In other words, he was so far out of Kasey’s league, there was no point even wondering. He chalked it up as a one-time deal, a story other men might have told to their buddies over drinks or written about in some online forum, even though nobody would have believed it was true. Kasey had lived it, and even he couldn’t quite accept it.

  Nearly two weeks had gone by when Reggie poked his head out of the front office to yell, “Ralston! Mr. Hot Rod is here again. Says he’ll only talk to you.”

  Kasey’s heart immediately began to pound. He glanced out the window, looking for the Chevelle. It wasn’t there, but it wasn’t hard to figure out which car was Brandon’s. Not a Chevy this time, but a Pontiac GTO Judge convertible. Brandon stood leaning against her front fender, although Kasey barely noticed him. He was propelled outside, not by the car’s owner or by his own longing for the arousal her interior would bring, but by the sheer enthusiasm of a car fanatic presented with personal access to one of the all-time classics.

  “Wow,” he said, circling her. She was a beauty, in mint condition, exactly as the Chevelle had been. Cherry red with yellow racing stripes over the wheel wells—a questionable color scheme, but it meant the paint job was original. “She’s amazing! What year is she—’70?”

  “You got it.”

  “They only made a few thousand of them, right?”

  “A little over thirty-five hundred, and only one hundred sixty-eight of them were convertibles.”

  Kasey shook his head, stunned. “I can’t believe you let her out of your garage.”

  “I don’t, usually. But I wanted to make sure I brought something you’d like.” The words penetrated Kasey’s innocent enthusiasm for the car, registered in his brain as having a far deeper meaning. He blushed, tearing his gaze away from the car to meet Brandon’s flirtatious gaze. “If it were summer, I’d even put the top down for you.”

  Kasey found himself smiling, but he opted to stare stupidly down at the pavement rather than face this man, who unnerved him so easily. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Nothing at all, actually, but we don’t have to tell your boss that. Tell him this one has timing issues too. Charge me whatever. But please tell me you have to keep her overnight.”

  Kasey shoved his shaking hands deep into his pockets. “Okay.”

  “Come over here,” Brandon said, gesturing with a nod toward the driver-side window. “Take a look inside.”

  How could he say no to such a simple request? He stood next to Brandon and looked in the open window. Red bucket seats, completely intact. Red dashboard. Black steering wheel poking out of a shiny silver display. The tantalizing aroma of leather and motor oil. A pleasing hum seemed to settle in his abdomen—not an erection, but the teasing warmth of being damn close to popping wood.

  Brandon leaned closer. “Will it work?” he asked quietly.

  The hum intensified. Kasey’s breathing became shallower, feeling the intensity of Brandon’s attention focused directly on him. He managed to nod.

  “I wanted to bring her in last week, but I was away on business. Tell me you like her as much as the Chevelle.”

  Kasey swallowed hard, fighting to keep his thoughts in order. Trying desperately not to let his mind explore what Brandon meant. Not yet, anyway. “She’s perfect.”

  Brandon chuckled. “I know she is. But does she turn you on?”

  Kasey made himself nod. “Yes.” It wasn’t much more than a whisper.

  “Good.” Brandon beamed at him. “I suppose you’ll get to her later tonight? After the garage closes?”

  Kasey looked away from the car’s alluring interior. He made himself focus on mundane things like work and schedules and how many cars he had lined up that afternoon. “Probably around six.”

  Brandon frowned. “Six is a bit too early. Can we make it seven?”

  Kasey’s heart jumped into overdrive. Did Brandon intend to join him? The idea should have been appealing, but mostly, it scared the hell out of him. “‘We’?”

  Brandon laughed, and Kasey had the uncanny feeling he could read Kasey’s thoughts. “Don’t worry. You’ll have the car all to yourself.” He winked at Kasey. “But I have a small stipulation.”

  Kasey hunched his shoulders, staring down at the toes of his work boots against the asphalt of the parking lot. “What kind of stipulation?”

  “I want your number.”

  That surprised him enough that he glanced back up. “My number? You mean, my home phone number?”

  “What good would that do me? No. I want your cell number.”

  “I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Brandon blinked at him. “Are you serious? How can you survive without a cell phone?”

  Because he had nobody to call, and nobody ever called him. “I don’t need one.”

  “Okay.” Brandon leaned back against the car and crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his lips thoughtfully with a well-manicured finger. “That does put a crimp in my plans.”

  What plans? But Kasey couldn’t quite make the words leave his mouth.

  Brandon’s thoughtful expression suddenly turned triumphant. “The garage has wireless, right?”

  “Yes.” Too much of what they did required computers, especially when they worked on newer cars. “Why?”

  “I have an idea.” Brandon reached into the car and pulled out a briefcase, from which he took a mini iPad. He held it out to Kasey. “You know how to use one of these?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s easy. Just give me a minute….” He fiddled with it for a moment, then had Kasey enter the password for the wireless network. “I’ll leave it in the glove compartment for you.”

  “Okay,” Kasey said, not bothering to hide his confusion. “Then what?”

  “You’ll see. But be ready at seven, okay?” He glanced over Kasey’s shoulder and sighed. “Here come the cameras.”

  Kasey glanced back in alarm. Sure enough, the Wrench Wars crew had spotted the GTO and was headed their way.

  “You don’t strike me as the type who’s dying for his fifteen minutes of fame. I imagine you’d like to leave before they get here.”

  “Hell, yes.” />
  “Go, then. I’ll talk to them.” He winked at Kasey. “But I’ll see you tonight.”

  WAITING FOR seven o’clock was torture. Kasey made himself leave the garage at five with everybody else. He went home and made a sandwich from roast-beef leftovers, using cold gravy in lieu of mayonnaise, the way his mother had always done. Bandit sat behind him, his tail thumping on the floor, hoping for some scraps. Occasionally, he whimpered.

  “You’re pathetic,” Kasey scolded.

  Bandit perked up his ears and whimpered again, tilting his head, as if asking a question.

  “You’re not starving, you know. I fed you this morning.”

  The blinking light on his phone caught his eye. It’d been flashing for two weeks. Kasey hadn’t ever listened to the message. He didn’t really want to hear what Richie had to say, but the light was annoying, nagging him to do something. At the moment, anything seemed better than obsessing over the GTO and what might happen at seven o’clock. He crossed the room slowly, as if the light might jump up and swallow him whole, like some kind of horror-movie boogeyman.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be Richie after all. Maybe it would be a vacuum salesman or a political recording telling him who he should vote for and why.

  He hit Play.

  “Hey, Kasey.” Richie’s voice filled the room, deep and big, as their father’s had been. “I always seem to miss you, don’t I?” Richie had to realize there was more to it than that, but he went on, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to leave a message for a brother who did everything he could to avoid him. “I just wanted to say hi. See how you’re doing. Um….” There was a muffled thump, and Kasey imagined his brother switching the phone to his other ear. “Roger’s in jail again. He’ll probably be there for a while this time. I know you don’t care, and I don’t blame you, but it’s just you and me now, kid. It might be nice if we talked now and then. That’s all.” He paused. The silence stretched on for nearly a minute. Then he sighed. “Call me sometime, okay?”