Gay Mechanic: Can a gay man be a tradie

by Phillip Lesbirel

  I felt his cock in the leather covering, and determined that it was swollen, but not big, certainly not as big as mine, and nowhere as big as Joes had been. I stroked it through the leather before pulling it out and finally looking at it. Other guys were walking in and out, going to the urinals, and making the usual lured remarks, but I was oblivious to their words, concentrating on the task at hand. I placed my mouth over his uncut cock head, and gently moved my tongue over the tip and head area, I could feel him starting to gain pleasure, and his cock starting to react. I played with his head for several minutes, before moving down his short but reasonably thick shaft. As short as he was his thickness filled my mouth, and as I moved the shaft further into my mouth, I started to gag, but finally got used to it, and within a short time was taking his whole shaft into my mouth. I allowed my tongue to explore his shaft, and spend a few moments licking his balls and sac, and the area immediately behind the ball sac. I could feel his body starting to move, his hips gyrating slightly, his breathing becoming deeper and more laboured, and realised he was stiffening quickly, and he was unable to control his ejaculation, and he came quickly in my mouth. He did not cum much; in fact I felt only a small amount in my mouth, tasting the salty flavour, and its sweetness. I loved that taste, especially when Joe had made me suck his cock after having rapped me, but this guys taste lacked the ass juice from my ass, and I felt there had been something missing, apart from the quantity. I licked his dick clean, and helped him zip up his leather pants, and he walked out satisfied. I remained in the toilet, as Paul continued on with his suck buddy. I watched for a while, more guys coming and going, nobody taking the slightest notice or offence to my being there. As I was about to return to the bar area, and real nice looking blonde guy walked in, dressed in shorts and T-Shirt and sandals. Obviously a backpacker, I thought, but a fucking good looking one at that. He caught me looking at him while he was pissing in the urinal, and smiled. I saw he was also looking at me, so I started to rub my crutch. He shook his dick dry, and zipped up his shorts, moving away from the urinal towards me. I could smell his sweat now from the heat of the club, and his dancing, he did not wear deodorant, and his manly musky odour was making me dizzy with desire. I wanted this guy here and now, but not to suck off, I wanted his ass. As he came close, I moved my lips up to his, and started to kiss him gently, testing the waters. He responded easily and we started a passionate embrace. There was a toilet next to where I had stood, and I started to manoeuvre the both of us into the cubical. Paul was just finishing off his suck, and saw what I was doing, and gave me a wink and the cheesiest smile I had ever seen. He knew what I was up too, and whole heartedly agreed with my choice. As soon as we were in the cubical, I started to undo his shorts, first the top button, then the zip of his shorts, even before I had closed and secured the cubical door. I dropped his shorts and jocks; his lips still on mine, and I started to fondle his genitals, his balls, his prick, and his ass with my fingers. I used spit from my mouth to lubricate my fingers and his ass, as I tried to work his ass, and he did not object.

  We had said nothing, just using our intuition to lead us on. When I felt his ass soften and become receptive, I spun him round, and undid my zip, releasing my already hardened cock. It was seconds from removing my fingers, to when I moved my cock head around the crack of his ass, using spit to lubricate my cock, locating his sphincter and pushing my head into the softened ass hole. He gasped slightly, but said no more, holding my cock head in a vice like grip. It was only a short while before I felt the muscles of his ass weaken, and I started to move my cock further and further in gently, moving it out slightly, then in again only further each time. I finally felt my balls slap against his cheeks, and felt his warmth inside, his body close to mine, his odour increasing as his body anticipated sex. I began to work inside him slowly and deliberately, working my cock inside this man’s ass, rubbing my cock over his prostate, into his lower bowel, forcing my member deeper and deeper into his inner sanctum. He was mine now, and I was going to make my first male fuck the one to remember. I did not want to rush it, so I concentrated on slow rhythmical movements, building up the rhythm and the power of each stroke slowly, evenly, determinedly and with no regard for this guy’s wants or needs. He was here to serve me tonight, and only me, and he was going to get my seed injected into his body from my virgin cock. Yes, I was a cherry boy, but tonight I would be a fucking gay man, a virgin no longer, sucked, sucking, fucked and fucking, all in one day. A gay guy could ask for nothing better. I was thinking all this while stroking my cock inside this guys ass, and realised I was starting to pound his ass, and it felt good. His hips were moving to mine, and I started to pound harder, gripping his waist; my nails digging deep into his flesh and his moaning was getting deeper and more insistent, and both our breathing was heavy and laboured. I started to pound harder, rougher, and pushing him against the toilet bowl, his legs crunching against the seat every time I shoved my cock deeper and harder into his ass. I was getting angry now, not at him, but at myself for not having done this sooner, for missing out on fucking another man and being fucked and sucked by other men, instead of masturbating over some stupid muscle magazine. Fuck! I thought to myself, what a fucking wimp I had been. I was pounding harder, my cock still resisting ejaculation, my anger building as was my frustration, then I realised it was my anger holding me back, and I concentrated on my vision of Joe, stripped and naked except for his work boots, and I immediately exploded inside this great looking guy.

  I was exhausted, and gripped him tightly, laying my head on his back, remaining inside him till my cock softened. When I finally pulled out, he turned, and kissed me with all the desire he could muster. He whispered each time he came up for air,

  “You were great” and “You are the best I have had since arriving here in Cairns”. He was hard to understand at first, as he had a European accent, German or Dutch, but I found out later it was German. Once I had got my breath back, I tidied myself up, and just walked out, leaving him there alone. It was almost half an hour before I saw him again across the other side of the dance floor, standing alone looking at me. After several minutes, I beckoned him over, and he quickly moved across the crowded dance floor, and sat next to me at the bar. I put out my hand.

  “Jerry” I said

  “Heinriche” he replied, “But call me Ricky, everyone else does.” I offered him a drink, and he asked for a beer.

  “I like your beer. It reminds me of our Pilsner. It’s cold, sweet and with that touch of bitterness afterwards.” I agreed, and we settled into a stilted but interesting conversation about his travels. He was 22 years old, from Munchen in Bavaria, Munich in my language. He had been in Cairns for over a month, and apart from the odd suck or fuck in parks and beats, had not found a guy who had treated him the way I had. He was normally a top, but on seeing me he felt a desire to be a bottom on that occasion, and he had not regretted it, and in fact really enjoyed the rough way I had treated him. I was not going to tell him he had just taken my cherry, and just allowed him to think I was an experienced top like him. We stayed together for most of the evening, and when I left around 2am, promised we would meet again, only in a place where we could be more intimate. I said my farewells to Paul, who was again sampling the delights in the toilet, and caught a taxi home. I had to be up at 6am to start work that day with Joe at 7.30am. Today I started my apprenticeship as a motor mechanic, and as a slave boy to Joe.

  First day at work

  Dressed in my new work clobber, I got mum to drop me in, as the first bus to town would not allow me enough time to catch a connecting bus to the workshop. Mum had made smoko and lunch for me, and I had a couple of litre bottles of ice cold water too. I arrived just before 7.30am, and found the workshop open, and Joe in the air-conditioned office area, sitting at his desk with his morning coffee.

  “See you went shopping lad. All shiny and new, seems a pity to mess them good clothes up with grease and shit. Next time you are looking for work clothes, go to St. Vi
nnies or the Salvo’s (our local voluntary used clothing shops). They have heaps of used work clothes for around $5 a piece, and you won’t worry about getting them torn or dirty. Grab a cup of coffee, and come sit in here, while I go over a few points before we get into it.” I went into the small kitchen area off the office, and made a coffee, then returned to the office. Joe was going over some invoices.

  “Ok then, remember, apart from today, if you want a coffee before work, you get here in time to drink it before 7.30am, as that is the time you physically start work. If you can’t drink it by then, it goes down the drain. I don’t want any food or drinks in the workshop. Second, you are the shit kicker here. You will get every lousy, dirty, heavy, tedious, boring job I have here. Why? Because you must know how to do those jobs well; before you can do the other more important jobs. It gets your mind used to the dirt and grime of the trade. In a few weeks, you will not even know the difference, and accept it as part of the job, which it is. Thirdly, when I call you to the shithouse, you come running, and answer yes Sir at all times. There is no such thing as no or no sir. When in the workshop, you call me Joe, in the privacy of our playroom; I am your Master and will be called Sir. Do you understand?”

  “Yes Sir” I blurted out, not really knowing what to say at that time.

  “Ok, now just a few items you should know before we start work.” Joe went through some of the procedures he had with parts, customers and accounts, just enough so that I would be able to help customers, should Joe be busy. Joe then took me on a tour of the workshop, showing me the layout, where tools were kept.

  “You can use my tools for now, but loose one; and you pay for it. You have to apply to the government for a tool allowance, and that will allow you to buy a decent tool kit, and you pay back the loan in your taxes each year. Part of the loan is also a grant to encourage you guys to do a trade. I will give you the paperwork later after I download it from the net.” We continued our tour, till we finally got to the toilet, and Joe walked in.

  “Come slave” he bellowed, and I quickly replied

  “Yes Sir” and raced into the toilet. He already had his belt undone, and his work shorts part way down his thighs.

  “Suck my cock and don’t stop till it fills your mouth you fucking cock sucking hoar.” I fell to the floor on my knees and took his cock in my mouth, remembering the smells and feeling from yesterday. My own cock was getting excited too, but I knew my needs would not be serviced, only my Master’s. My Master grabbed me behind the head and started to face fuck me with increasing rhythm, his cock swelling in my mouth, his cock head oozing precumm, a salty sweet tasting liquid I had come to enjoy. All of a sudden, I felt a searing pain in my crutch, as Joe placed his steel capped boot on my cock and balls, and pressed down hard. I went to yell out, but he slapped me hard on the face, so I continued to suck his cock, the pain excruciating, but also feeling quite erotic. I could feel Joe’s back starting to arch slightly, and small tremors in his legs and crutch, and knew he was close to cumming, when he burst forth, filling my mouth with his hot juicy life giving fluid. I swallowed every drop, and continued to lick and clean his cock, when I heard a car door slam, and Joe looked up.

  “Shit, that must be Brad with his Ute. Told him I would check out a noise in his suspension before he headed out on his run today. Fuck off lad, and go clean up the wash bay round the back. Make sure you don’t come in here for about 15 minutes.” I stood up, and brushed down my knees, and left the room, heading for the wash bay. Brad was a muscular guy, about 25 years old, long black hair, about 6’ or so, dressed like me in work shorts, shirt and boots. He had a brand new Holden Ute with the solid covered back, in a golden yellow colour. He used it for parcel deliveries. He headed straight to the toilet at the back of the workshop, and I saw him disappear inside. As I was walking out the workshop, another car pulled in; it was driven by a woman. It was an old Leyland Mini, early 60’s, but in good nick. She got out, and walked towards me. “Need a new battery. This one had to be jump-started this morning. Can you fix it for me straight away? I’m in a hurry for an appointment.” I looked at the car, at the woman then at the toilet. Should I get Joe? No, I knew where the batteries were, as Joe had shown me on our tour, and I could always go on the type in the car at the moment, so I said

  “Sure”, and proceeded to open the bonnet. I fumbled for a while trying to get the hood-stay to work, but eventually mastered it. To be honest, I really didn’t have a clue at what I was doing, but I struggled through. I found a battery similar to the old one in the car. The brand was different, but the size and placement of the poles were the same, so I disconnected the positive first and then the negative. Luckily for me this car was a positive earth, as I was to find out later, where-as most cars were negative earth, and if I had done this sequence with the other type I would at least had a spark at contact with the spanner, at worst, blown the alternator or starter motor or both to kingdom come. It took about 10 minutes to fix the woman up, and she said Joe had an account for her, and would I put it on the account. I said I would, and she hurried off, leaving gravel and dust in her wake.

  Just then, Joe and Brad came out of the toilet, both beaming broadly ear to ear. I could see dirt marks on Joe’s knees, so I assumed Brad had been serviced, and Joe had had lunch. Joe asked what had happened, and I told him about the mini. He nodded.

  “I told the silly cow she should have had it done last week. It serves her right the stingy bitch: Always trying to accuse me of overcharging her. Well this time her bill will be a little higher than if she had done it when I told her: Serves her right.” With that said, he kissed Brad gently on the cheek, and they went their separate ways. I headed off to the wash bay, where I hosed and scrubbed the concrete floor area to get rid of yesterday’s grease and oil spillages.

  My first day was spent servicing my new Master on 3 occasions, cleaning parts from disassembled motors and gearboxes, sweeping the workshop floor, tidying up the parts store, and being a general dog’s body. I was totally fucked when mum came at 5.30 pm to pick me up. I was covered in grease and dirt, stank of fuel and sweat, and looked like the cat had dragged me in on a wet and windy day. I looked and felt awful, but also elated at having started my new career. Mum had thought ahead, and had brought a towel to place over the seat of the car.

  “I think we had better look at getting you your own transport.” She said as I got into the car. I knew now it was what I wanted to do with my life. I loved the smell of a workshop. Its heady fuel smells, the grease and the sweat, being tired through honest toil and not through boredom. Yeah, this is what I want from life, being a gay motor mechanic.

  My Training

  Joe was a methodical worker. When he stripped down parts, he laid them out on a cleaning rag, set as they came apart, so they would go back in the reverse order. Over the next few weeks he instilled in me how to be neat and tidy with parts, making sure I did not loose bits, and never stripping down a part till the replacement arrived. This was to allow you to do the whole job in one go, instead of trying to remember back days or weeks to when you originally pulled the part down. Joe had monstrous sized hands, heavily calloused, deeply in-ground with grease and dirt, but he could handle the smallest parts with patience and dexterity. He was a master at carby’s, and taught me a lot in just a few weeks. Joe was a born teacher, and taught night classes at the TAFE in carburation, and fuel injection, as well as the odd side subject for the young hoons on nitro and water injection. He was well known and liked by the local car mad youngsters, who often frequented his workshop to ask questions, or to use the facilities to work on their own cars. Joe was patient with them, showing them what to do, but never doing it for them, allowing them full use of facilities and tools, and keeping a watchful eye on them. He never approached them unless they approached first. Many would end up in apprenticeships later down the track as they became more fascinated with the mechanics of their cars.

  Joe had one young guy who had bought a beaten up Commodore for a really
good price, and was doing it up from top to bottom. Many guys did this, but what was remarkable about this guy, was that he was just 16 years old, still at school, and it would be 18 months before he could apply for his learners permit. Joe lavished heaps of time on this guy.

  “He is going to be a great mechanic one day, you have to nurture these kids as much as possible, make sure what they do is 100%, no cutting corners, and they will appreciate their labours when their task is done.” He said it with a love of his trade, not a love for the kid, and I could see that Joe had been one of those kids, born to be a mechanic. Joe was very accomplished in more than his basic trade. As a youngster, he had worked part time in panel beaters, an auto electricians and a muffler shop, each job deliberately designed to give him skills to allow him to do his own car wreck up to perfection, and to give him a head start on his eventual apprenticeship. He had done his trade in a transmission and engine overhaul workshop, and on completion of his apprenticeship, his rich gay friend had set him up in this business. He still lived with his benefactor and lived as lifelong partners. His partners name was Jared, who had been born into money, but owned several businesses around Cairns, as well as several properties. He came into the workshop on the odd occasion, but you could see he hated it, the grease and grime ready to throw itself at him. He was very effeminate, and the total opposite of Joe, and it always made me wonder how incongruous they were. But Joe just beamed when Jared came into the workshop, and you could see the total adoration he had for him. Jared was wheelchair bound and I was to get the real story in fits and spasms from Joe.