Since very few people follow this blog, I feel it's pretty safe to workshop my chapters here and then delete them when I publish the book. I'll post a couple of chapters a week until the book is done. Let me know if you have any thoughts--if it sucks, let me know. If you like it, let me know.
Thanks, TR--and obv this is NSFW shit
Bruce hadn’t realized how many potholes dotted the road until the Toyota his father had borrowed hit every one on the way into town. He stared out the window as the trees bounced by, looking at anything except his father.
“So…” Bruce started. He stopped, trying to figure out the best way to not piss his dad off even more. “It was nice of Frank to loan us this car.”
He wasn’t even sure how that would go over. His dad had made fun of the shitty little Corolla more times than he could count.
“Yep,” Jim said without conviction. “Real nice.”
They drove on for a few more minutes. Frank didn’t take his eyes off the road.
Bruce shifted in his seat, wanting the ride to be over—wherever the hell they were going. He figured there couldn’t be too much harm in at least asking about that.
“Were’re we going?”
Jim nodded slightly, as if he’d been waiting for Bruce to bring it up. “Two stops. First ones to see Spencer.”
That made total sense. His dad’s truck was at Uncle Spence’s shop. Thankfully, his uncle was the best mechanic in the county making the whole wreck thing a hundred times less complicated than it could have been.
“Cool,” he said.
Jim cleared his throat. “Yeah. He’s gonna loan me a truck until mine’s fixed. I don’t wanna keep driving this shit box.”
Bruce perked up. His friends didn’t mind picking him up, but he needed something to drive to pick up Susan for dates.
And goddamn he needed one. He’d just fucked her twelve hours before, but with all the cock and jizz since then, he needed a refresher in pussy.
“Don’t get too fucking happy.”
The smirk on his dad’s face let him know that he’d hate whatever was about to follow.
“You ain’t driving it.” Jim bumped the blinker lever and took a left into Uncle Spence’s garage parking lot.
Okay. Don’t panic.Bruce considered how to phrase his next question.
“Well, Uncle Spence is a great mechanic. He should have the truck up and running in no time.”
His dad pulled the car into an empty spot right outside the office. The large cinderblock building hadn’t changed for as long as Bruce could remember, right down to the same fading motor oil signs in the office window.
“Right?” he urged.
Jim looked at him for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and waited a few seconds as the engine sputtered and shook. When the shudders stopped, he said, “Sort of. When I tell him it’s okay to start, it’ll take about a week.
A week. Bruce could tolerate that. Even Susan with her wild sex drive wouldn’t be looking for another dick in that short a time. “Wait—”
“Yeah?” His dad’s eyebrows raised like he’s been waiting for his words to sink in.
“What do you mean by ‘when you say it’s okay’?”
“When you have the money.” Jim reached for the door handle. “Until then, you have to cover the storage fee and rental on the truck he’s letting me drive.”
A chill ran through Bruce. Fees? Rental? “How much is that gonna add?”
“Nothing. You’re gonna give my brother twelve hours of your time every Sunday until this is all over.” He opened the door and stepped out.
“Twelve hours in one day?! Can’t I spread it out?” Bruce begged, thinking of the Sunday football games he’d miss and, hell, just all the time in general.
Jim stuck his head back into the car. “Nope. You’ll be busy the other days of the week.” He slammed the door and walked toward the garage.
Bruce sat stunned.
Uncle Spence stepped out of the farther of the three large bays in the front of the building. He smiled and wiped grease from his hands as he greeted his older brother.
They hugged for a second, then Uncle Spence waved at Bruce. He couldn’t hear what the men said to each other, and from the way they were cracking up, he was pretty sure that was for the best.
Jim shook his head. “Can you believe those little bastards have been fucking?”
Spence shook his head and grinned. “Are you kidding me?” He shoved the greasy rag into his jeans pocket. “Don’t you remember why we used to always want to spend the night at Uncle Julius’?”
“Of course, I can,” Jim said. “Having a cousin who’d rather suck our cocks than breath—who can forget?”
“And, if I remember…” Spence lowered his voice. “You and I got pretty good at it too.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “Well, I did.” He poked his finger into his brother’s chest. “You couldn’t get those buck teeth out of the way.”
They both burst out laughing.
“I wasn’t that bad,” Spence said, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Nah,” Jim said, catching his breath. “Hell, you coulda used more practice though. So, I guess I’ll offer my cock’s services if you wanna brush up.”
Spence huffed. “I don’t think so. Sounds like you’ve got enough family on your rod at the moment. Besides, I’d practice on Big Duane. I’ve heard he’s bigger than the two of us put together.”
“Wait—” Jim cocked his head. “How the fuck you know that?”
Spence rolled his eyes. “Nothin’ like that. The man went to high school around here and spent seven years in lock up. That’s a lot of showers with a lot of people. Word travels. Besides, why do you think most people call him ‘Big D’?”
“I figured ‘D’ was short for Duane.” Jim looked at the rusty Toyota. Bruce still sat in the front seat where he’d left him, but his head was down.
You ain’t even seen sad yet, Jim thought.
“Are you sure about this?” Spence asked.
Jim shrugged. “Why not?”
“I just… I don’t know. The kid used to love coming around here, bugging the guys, building forts back in the junkyard. Hell, he and Dex played with spent welding rods and PVC pipes for hours. This place was like their Disneyland. This whole plan of yours might ruin that.”
“Don’t worry, little brother,” Jim said, resting his hand on Spence’s shoulder. “It’ll be me he hates. Not you.”
“I sure hope you’re right. You have two good boys there.”
“And I’d like to keep them that way. They’re both on the wrong path and need to straighten the fuck up. Showing him what it’s like to owe things to people who can fuck up his life… it’s gotta be done.” Jim turned to the car and whistled.
Bruce’s head jerked up, and Jim motioned for him to get out.
“I need you to walk him around and let him know what you want done every week since you won’t be around on Sunday’s. Don’t go easy on him.”
Spence frowned. “Alright. It’s pretty much just going to be cleaning and helping Big D if he’s got something going on.”
Gravel crunched slowly as Bruce took his time approaching.
“Speaking of Duane…” Jim looked around. “Is he around today?”
“Yeah,” Spence said, nodding his head to the first bay. “Working on old lady Smith’s Cadillac—again.”
Jim chuckled. “You should just shoot that car and put it out of its misery. That old woman drips money. She could afford a new one.”
Spence shrugged. “If she did that, her money would stop dripping into my pocket. I got a boat payment to make, so I’m not gonna push her.” He smiled over Jim’s shoulder. “Bruce! How’s my second favorite nephew?”
As always, that got a smile. He’d gotten tired of Bruce and Dex fighting about who was his favorite, so instead of telling them that they were both his favorite, he went the other way. They’d both been his second favorite for ten years.
“He’s all yours, Spence,” Jim said, patting Bruce on the shoulder. “I’m gonna have a chat with Duane.” He felt a little guilty about going behind his brother’s back. They’d always told each other everything, but he knew Spence wouldn’t go for what he had planned.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Spence said, rushing him off. “Let me and my nephew chat about what a no-good bastard my brother is.”
Jim shot him a look and tried to convey a don’t-undermine-me-on-this vibe.
Spence cocked an eyebrow and gave him an I-got-this look. As far as Jim was concerned, that whole twins having telepathy thing might have been real enough, but it wasn’t just twins. He and Spence were about nine months apart and could read each other’s every twitch, look, and expression.
“I’ll be back in a few. Don’t go easy on him.” Jim headed toward the bay, ignoring the muttering voices of his brother and son.
He stepped into the garage and inhaled. Oil, gasoline, and burning metal… all the smells he’d associated with his brother since he’d started working at the garage when he was sixteen. He’d done well enough that he bought the place, junk yard and all, when he was twenty five. Jim rarely told him, but he was proud as all hell of Spence.
Duane was down in a pit under a large white Cadillac. Even in the pit, he had to bend down so he wouldn’t bump his head. He was tall enough that Jim was pretty sure Spence was fucking with him. When a man’s 6”5’, he doesn’t need a big schlong to get the nickname “Big.”
He bent down, holding the car’s bumper for support. “Hey, Duane. You got a minute?”
Duane had been concentrating so hard that he looked around confused for a second, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.
“Oh, hey, Jimbo!” His usual broad smile was blindingly visible, despite the beard that had become way overgrown in the last year. “Sure. Just let me get this oil pan fastened back on and I’ll be right up.”
Jim backed away from the car to wait.
Duane had been a great find for Spence. Not many people, especially garage owners, would hire an ex-con who’d spent time in prison for car theft, but Spence had a big heart, and it had paid off. The big man knew everything about cars and was just about the nicest person to ever set foot on earth.
He’d had a hard time after he was released. Spence had not only hired him, but he’d also let him live in a room over the back of the garage. Even though he’d been out a few years and probably had plenty of money saved, he never mentioned moving out into his own place. Since Spence liked having him around and it saved on a security system, he’d never brought it up either.
Soon, Duane crawled out of the pit and grabbed a grease rag from his waistband. “What can I do for you?” he asked, as he wiped his hands.
“Gotta second? I need to talk to you about something… a little private.”
Duane looked confused, but said, “Sure…” He looked around at the other guys in the garage. “Let’s head out to the yard.”
Once they’d trudged into the sea of junked cars behind the shop, Duane asked, “This good?”
Jim looked around to make sure there was nobody within earshot. “So, I need a favor.” He paused for a second. “But, I’m not sure how to go about asking.”
Duane shrugged. “Then just go right to it. That’s probably the best way.”
Jim took a deep breath. “Alright… but, first. And, this is gonna be a little personal… How are things on the dating scene?”
“Bringing a lot of girls back to your garage apartment?” Jim nodded back to the garage.
“Enough,” Duane said defensively. “Wait, you gonna set me up with somebody?”
“Uh, kinda. When you were in prison…”
Duane cocked his head.
“Uh… well…” Jim stumbled over his words. He’d gone over this conversation in his head a few times since he’d woken up, and it turned out to be even harder than he’d expected.
“Alright—just coming out with it.” He shook his arms and cracked his neck to brace himself. It was a bad habit he had when he was nervous—which wasn’t often. “When you were in prison, I assume there were ways you took care of…” He pointed to the general area of Duane’s crotch.
Duane pressed his lips together and nodded.
Jim was suddenly worried the big man would kick his ass. That hadn’t been part of his practice conversations either. He figured he’d gone that far, so he might as well finish.
“More than just a hand?”
Duane considered for a second, then said, “This isn’t something people talk about once they’re out…”
“I know,” Jim blurted. “And, I’m really sorry.”
Duane looked him up and down. “Where’s this going, Jimbo?”
“So you did have a… bitch?”
“Yeah,” Duane said. “You know the guy. You asking me to fuck you?”
“No!” Jim waved his hand like he was trying to clear that question out of the air. “No, no, no… What do you mean, I know him?”
“You know that if I didn’t like you and work for your brother, I’d have kicked your ass for even bringing this up, right?”
Duane’s body language was more threatening than Jim was comfortable with. And, if Spence knew what he was about to ask Duane, he’d have jumped in and helped the guy beat him. “I do. And, honestly… I’d deserve it.”
“The guy was Wade.”
Jim took a step back. “No shit? But, he’s…” Wade was an ex linebacker for the high school football team. He’d gone on to college in a football scholarship, but hurt himself a couple of years in. He still looked like he was in the NFL—and came to Duane’s weekly, Sunday poker games.
Duane shrugged. “He liked it. We all still throw him some d now and then, if you gotta know.”
As shocked as Jim was, hearing that made the rest of the conversation a lot easier. “So, did Spence tell you my boy was gonna be around on Sundays?”
The quick turn of the conversation seemed to take Duane back a little. “Yeah…” he said suspiciously.
“Well, he’s gonna be doing odd jobs ‘cause I’m trying to teach him a lesson.”
“And, what does this have to do with me and the guys fucking Wade when times get lean?”
Good. Duane was talking a little more openly. Jim thought that maybe it would work after all. “Well, I found out my boy’s been takin’ dick for a while now. And, last night Frank and I—”
“No you didn’t.” Duane chuckled. “You looking for advice on fuckin’ a guy?”
“No. And, this is the favor—I don’t want my boy to enjoy his time here. It’s supposed to be punishment. So, I want you… and I guess the rest of the guys if they’re willing… to fuck my boy stupid until it’s over.” Jim breathed a sigh of relief. It was out. He’d gotten to the point.
Duane shook his head. “Can’t do it. I like the kid.”
Shit. “Come on, man. It’s for his own good. I really need you to humiliate him. He knows he has to do everything you say—no matter what. I’m trying to teach him responsibility about this truck thing. Otherwise he’s heading for the big-house.”
Duane mulled that over for what seemed like forever. Finally, he sighed. “You think?”
Jim nodded. “Yeah. Look you said you liked my boy. Bruce’s a good guy, and I want to keep him that way. He’s also too cocky and too pretty for his own good. He needs to know what’ll happen if he stops being a good guy.”
Duane shrugged uncomfortably. “I still don’t know. But, I’ll talk it over with the guys.”
“That’s all I can ask, man,” Jim said, holding his hand out.
Duane shook it and headed back toward the garage. “I gotta get back to Mrs. Smith’s Caddi.”
“Thanks, Duane,” Jim called to the big man’s back.