The building did not look like an auto repair shop, one of the reasons Bob and I bought it. We spent five years doing auto repairs in a Monrovia Buick dealership and saving up for that quiet country place where I would not have to share my sexy Robert Blake with half of San Gabriel Valley.

We were coming back from a fishing trip passing through this back-country town called Ford’s Falls, when we saw this tacky, half-wild warehouse with a sign out front: “AUTO REPAIR SHOP FOR SALE”. The front did not look like much. The inside, rough and masculine, was more like the old barn it had once been. Bob and I both dug it, the price so affordable, we did not even ask whether there was enough business in Ford’s Falls to make it pay. After a few fucking sessions with the realtor, we made the down payment, hurried back to town, packed and drove back.

We drove in separate vehicles. I got there first, feeling great about having our own business in the country. Even though a long way from being ready for customers, I took down the old sign , replacing it with one we had made:



S&B AUTO REPAIRS

LARRY SCHULLER & ROBERT BLAKE, PROPRIETORS.



Then I sat waiting for Bob, just daydreaming about having that terrific body and cock all to myself. I did not care if we did not get much business. We had the place, the grand Uncle Charlie had left me in trust and Bob’s income from producing lots in Apple Valley. Let the grass grow around us here in Ford’s Falls! I thought. We would have more time to keep each other’s bungholes loose. It had been a while and I was really getting hungry for Bob’s ass.

I drove the station wagon up to Ford’s Falls, carrying not much more than our tools and clothes. Bob took the truck with most of the furniture. The rest was delivered. I laid out most of the tools to make the place look ready for business and sat down for a smoke, waiting for my man. Thinking about our new life gave me a roaring hard-on.

Most of the time, I am alert as a cat, but did not hear him drive up or come inside. He stood in the entrance, handsome as ever. I was not the only one with a hard-on.

“Hi grease monkey,” Bob said. When he kissed me hard, my hand grabbed his full crotch, as Bob held the back of my neck in a vise-like grip. Stepping up onto the bench where I sat seated, he pressed his swollen bulge against my face. ‘Suck it, grease monkey!”

Sometimes when Bob came on like his was master and I was his slave, I would play along. Other times, I pulled a switch and force him to be bottom man. We changed roles easily. However, today I did not feel into playing either end of the game, wanting the big lug on fifty/fifty basis.

“I cleaned off an old mattress that someone was thoughtful enough to leave up in the loft. Why don’t we go up there and do a little bouncing around…dutch ?” I suggested.

Without locking the door, we climbed up into the loft, me goosing him all the way up. Bob nearly kicked me trying to make me stop. We flopped down the mattress. He felt like talking first.

“You know, I don’t give a fuck if we never got any customers. I like this place and I like being here with you.” Then he kissed me.

I pulled down his jeans and started kissing all over his hot, meaty body, biting his nipples until he yelped. Planting my lips over his burning stalk, Bob bounced up and down on it like a piston on a locomotive wheel.

He pulled my shirt off, ran his hard fingers through the bush on my chest. Bob always liked my hairiness as much I his hot smoothness. We wrestled all over the mattress, kissing hard and holding hands. He stripped off my jeans, like an act of worship, sliding out the belt and struck my ass, leaving a stinging mark. Swinging on my cock, as he kneaded my furry chest, electricity flowed through me. I felt that master/slave game coming on, where Bob does to me what he wants. His grip, with mouth and hands was firm but also gentle, and again we were equals. I crouched over his flat belly and went down on the most beautiful cock I had ever seen or tasted.

The soft brush of his moustache trailed down my bucking cock before Bob’s hot lips clamped onto it, his head swirling soft around my excited cockhead. Sweat started to drip from his clean pectorals, the driving torso firm and meaty against mine as elbows dug into my ribs.

My tongue between his thighs, gnawing at his hips, I remembered the day five years ago when Bob sauntered into the repair shop in Monrovia, looking for work. All the way to the office, as I took him up front to meet old man Nelvin, Bob kept brushing my forearm or hip with his hand. Engaged to be married and not considering myself gay, I nearly flipped out.

“I really came in looking for a job,” Bob told me later. “But when I saw you, I knew I wanted to work there because you did. Even though then I thought you were straight. Did you think I was ?

“I been sucking cock since I was eight years old. Since I was ten, I had to be able to beat the crap out of any kid who yelled faggot, cocksucker, or called me queer. “

A runty kid, Bob did not take any shit from anyone. After he started lifting weights and wrestling not many tried to harass him. There was nothing gay about Bob, even now. Five years ago, he seemed a free soul who lived by his own rules and enjoyed life.

He got the job that day. Turning on the charm, Bob had old Nelvin drooling. An hour later, we were working side by side. Before the day was out, he found out I was not married, liked to fish, and played football in school. No plans for the evening, he invited me to dinner.

Bob took me to a place in El Monte and ordered French food, most of which I had never heard of before, but the meal was super. I did not realize the establishment was all gay until the second visit.

Before we were done with the soup, he told me about his folks and where he grew up.

“I guess my dream is to work in a place like Nelvin’s, save some money and open a small business somewhere in the country. You know, where the air is fresh and there is a good stream nearby. “

His dream turned me on. I was a little spooked that we had both had the same dream. Right away, I liked him, although it took a few days for romantic feelings to materialize. I became sexually aroused by his looks and the masculine way he carried himself; the way he used his hands and his eyes.

Still, I was locked into the thinking that guys were meant to make it with broads and never had any problems towing the line, so to speak. Yet I knew my heart was not in it. Anytime I saw a couple arm-in-arm, I focused on the stud.

Things kept buddy-buddy for the next couple of days, except he had his paws on me more and more. We worked great together at the shop- and I did not mind his hands at all. When invited to dinner a second time, I said yes, even though my fiancé, Ellen had made other plans for us. We went to a different restaurant, which I found out later was not all gay, a country and western bar not far from Disneyland. The place had three big rooms with a band in one. I notice more of the dancers were same-sex and half the women looked like truckers. It did not mean much to me. How they dressed or looked was their own thing, not mine. However, I could not visualize myself dancing with another man. That is until, Bob grabbed my arm and took me to the dance floor. I stood there facing him.

As the music and beer took over, I started to wiggle my ass and liked it. I was having more a lot more fun than dancing with Ellen or the girls that came before her. We were not slow-dancing or even close- that would take another week!

Back at the table, breathing hard, but feeling great, Bob seemed to glow. I felt his happiness and surprised myself by saying: “I like you, man, I really do.”

Back then it was not like me to say something like that, especially to a man.

“How much?” He leaned closer, his voice husky and serious.

I blushed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Do you like me enough to go home with me for some sex?”

His eyes held a devilish challenge; his hands tightly held my wrist. I liked the feel of his touch, but the question knocked the breath out of me.

Getting a shithouse blowjob from some stranger is one thing. Same with playing around with kids on the block when you are twelve or fourteen. However, Bob had come on to me in very personal way, and I was not sure I wanted to get personal about my sexual interest in other men, Bob included. Especially Bob.

I tried to look down, to think of some polite way of putting him off without slamming the door. But his eyes held me as tight as the hand that gripped my wrist.

I felt embarrassed, a little trapped, but not in any way turned off. I had the feeling he was asking me for a bigger commitment than just going for a roll in the sheets. I had done that with a couple of a guys when I was tanked up enough. If I were drunk, I could tell myself I had not known what I was getting in to.

Then for a second, I felt silly. The old song, ‘I’m just a girl who can’t say no,’ ran through my head. On the other hand, was the band playing it? A minute passed; it seemed like half an hour.

“Well?” he asked, staring like he was trying to hypnotize me. “Am I repulsive looking? Or does the idea of making love to another man make you want to puke?”

A vigorous “No,” nearly escaped my lips in answer to first question, when he asked the other. Had Bob said fucking around or getting it on , something like that, I would have gone right along because I like him enough to do something I otherwise was not ready for. However, when he said making love, well, that was too heavy for me. That is the way I was then.

We met for dinner again at the first place. I did most of the talking, telling how I had felt about all sort of things from the time when I was five years old, things I had not ever let myself realize I had feelings about. By the time, I was finished, it was obvious to both of us, Bob was not the only homosexual at the table. All my life I had been wanting it. and hiding from myself the fact that I did.

I brought the bill of good that you could not be a real male and at the same want another guy that way.

But I had wanted men all my life, not just for sex, although that was a big part of it. I wanted to be close to them, to be part of them, the way Bob and I have been part of one another ever since that first night.

I spilled all of this out to him, and it was like I proposing.

“Bob, you’re not at all repulsive. Very much the opposite in my eyes. But lovemaking is for men with women, not men with men. Letting some queer suck my cock is one thing, but…” I stopped there and started to apologize but it was too late. Bob jumped up, meaning a second to punch me. He stalked out of the restaurant. I had to take a taxi home.

Bob did not show for work the next day, did not even call in. During my afternoon break, I phoned him. I told him I was sorry about what was said. Before I knew, I was coming out.

“I think I may be in love with you.” But I needed to go slow.

We became closer, working together like a team, had lunch together, and going out after work. By the end of the month, we found an apartment big enough for both of us.

The part I found the hardest to get used to was having to share Bob with other men. Even though I felt the same as he, when we talked about it, it was still difficult. Bob enjoyed variety and once a week, liked a real gang-bang. In the five years together, he was always faithful to me in the sense that I was the one he loved. Whomever he was fucking, I was the one he always came home to. But he did not always come home alone and not always early. While I told him I was not jealous, I was. Although I preferred having Bob to myself, I eventually got used to an endless chain of sex partners. So now, I did, or thought so. While we were busy at sixty-nine, our first customer wandered through the front door.

Ron Cameron worked at the baling mill a mile from our body shop. His car had thrown a rod and he saw the new sign. Ron brought his car there many times before.

He saw no one around but heard the noise up in the loft. Climbing up on a box, he got an eyeful. Married with three kids, Ron had not seen that sort of action since boyhood parties down by the creek, but that did not keep it from turning him on. Too embarrassed to speak up and too excited to not do something about his own roaring hard-on, Ron sat on the box and pumped his own cock. He squeezed it tightly, a feeling he missed when I his wife’s loose cunt. As he stroked harder and faster, Ron forgot all about being overheard. His panting attracted our attention. By the time he was ready to come, Bob and I were peeking over the edge of the loft and enjoying the scene.

We put on our pants before joining him, and moved his car into the garage. Still worked up, we started given serious attention to our first customer.

As usual, Bob started things up. I was not slow to follow up and very soon, Ron was getting a blow job from the front end and the rear at the same time. Bob sucked his cock and I shoved my tongue up his ass and did that baby love it!

Ron was a beautiful hunk with a special softness that only a real male can have, just absorbing the action from both our mouths, responding everywhere our hands touches and mouth touched him. We spread a pad over his car and Bob lay on his back and sucked Ron, as Ron gave me a super blowjob. The positions changed like on a merry-go-round. Bob gave Ron head, then Ron shoved it up his ass. I took mostly leftovers. I always let Bob get the first crack at a new partner, and I get my kicks from seeing them getting it off, helping things along. Besides, I figured that Ford’s Falls being a small town (population 273) we would be seeing a lot more of this. Even if our first customer swore, after we were done, that he wouldn’t be able to come in again for at least two months.

So, we got to working on his car, and he headed down the road for some food. We were not well supplied with the right tools, but managed to get the job done.

Before long, our second customer came in, Joe DeNotto, the high school coach.

“I need a lube job. And there is a clanking in the transmission. Think you can help me out?”

Bob’s energy is limitless and damn if he was not smooching with the coach before the car was on the rack! I was still a little worn out by the session with Bob and the three-way with Ron. It was all I could do to change Joe’s oil and tighten the bolts responsible for the noise, in the trunk and not the transmission.

Bob pulled Joe over into the backseat of the convertible and gave him head. Joe sucked Bob, rimmed him, then corn holed him. Bob begged for more as he had not had any for a month. When Bob fucked Joe’s ass, Joe complained.

“You fuck like a stud canary. Any kid in my class packs a bigger weapon than that!” He was joking, but it kept Bob’s cock hard as steel. By the time they blew their loads, I was almost done.

Now Ron and Joe had seen each other around town but never met. Joe had a hard-on for Ron, and even got into going to the café where the husky mill workers ate lunch.

I had to go out for spare parts, leaving Bob in the back arranging things in our quarters. The next part of the action, we did not see but heard two full versions of it later.

Ron got back before Bob left the shop and was waiting for his car and the parts I left for.

“I got to work out back for a bit. Mind watching the shop until the parts get here?”

“Not a problem. Not after what you did for me earlier,” he grinned.

When Joe came in for his car, he sidled up to Ron.

“Seems like things are gonna be lot livelier in town with these guys around,” he winked.

Ron placed his hand on Joe’s knee, suggesting that perhaps things could even get livelier even with some of the older residents.

“I ain’t so old exactly,” Joe responded, “ and neither are you.”

‘Well, you’re only as old as you feel,” Ron laughed, putting his hand on Joe’s crotch, “ and today, I’m feeling years younger.” His hand trailed up under Joe’s tee-shirt as they kissed.

Joe opened Ron’s shirt, then stripped it off, running his hands hotly over the mill worker's brawny body, kissing the back of his neck, and then stooping to suck the dark cock as he unzipped his pants.

“Suck it, baby!” Ron moaned as Joe’s head wagged sharply back and forth, pumping the cock like a wig-wag signal. He removed Joe’s shirt, ran his tongue lightly over the soft hair on the coach’s chest, zeroing in on his sensitive nipples.

Joe nearly exploded: “Go easy! I can’t stand that!”

Ron then stripped the teacher’s pants down, grabbed his cock and balls, and slowly squeezed, not enough to cause pain, but enough to stir the meat to sudden growth. He gulped down Joe’s throbbing cock.

Joe returned the favor and the men rolled in an orgy of mutual delight, just as Bob entered. He joined them and soon all three were sprawled on the floor, a writhing mass of intense sucking.

As I entered with the needed parts, both customers were arched over my promiscuous lover. They shifted positions as soon as I tried to crowd in. Rolling Joe into his back, Bob and Ron gave him a double suck. Bob, taking the asshole suggested I do the same for Ron. I did, until we shifted again and got Joe’s ass pointed my way. Instead of sucking, I fucked him. Did that coach ever have one sweet tail! I plowed that furrow like there was no way I could possibly hurt him or care if he yelped. I collapsed onto all that was spread on the floor and let Ron suck my cock. My lover sucked off Joe and gave Ron four fingers to the windward side at the same time.

It was a Roman holiday. We were all tired, but no one seemed to run out of energy. But there is a problem with my memory. I can’t really say for sure, all the positions we got into. But Joe and Ron came back every day for a week. We did about everything four guys could do and it seemed better every day. Joe loved to pinch his own tits while he got head. His load seemed to fly off into the heavens.

It seemed I spent most of my time on my back, getting sucked by one of them while the others did all sorts of things over me, (and sometimes under me) including some things I enjoy having guys do to me, but that I’d rather not talk about.

There was more of that sort of thing with Ron. The mill worker seemed like Mr. Hunky Average Joe, but was fascinated with being humiliated. There was no demeaning treatment he did not enjoy receiving.

We’ve been in Ford’s Falls for three years now and gotten intimately acquainted with most of the interesting locals, not to mention, migrant workers, traveling salesmen , hitchhikers and truckers. Joe and Ron come back together once a week and often Joe, alone for a quick blow job or fast fuck. Ron’s interests became more specialized.

He arrives every Tuesday around noon, wanders into the place, and calls out: “Anybody here?” Then one of us decks him. We keel haul his limp body over to a post, tying him to it with belts, upright with arms outstretched. The fun starts after he comes to, and he calls the shots by begging us not to whip him, not to piss on him, not to jerk on his balls and whatever he asks us not to do is what he gets. How much is determined by how loud or wildly he begs us not to do it. I did not think I would care for that sort of scene. I still don’t care to try it with anybody else. But Ron loves it and we love Ron. After each session, he goes back to his wife and kids , the model husband and father until next week…

As for Bob and me, things could not be better. I don’t have him to myself, exactly-

But I like the way I've got him…