A Stop in the Desert

Chris wanted out of the Nevada desert. The dust piping his sinuses heightened anxiety. His old 99' Buick rolled its last leg—just making it to Rick's Auto on the intersection of nothing. There was an attached gas station that had not spilled gas in a decade. He pulled up near an open garage with breaks squealing. He rubbed and flipped open his worn leather wallet first to see a picture of Kevin. It was him last year, light blonde, poolside in the Bahamas after three Pina Coladas. Kevin lived in Seattle and it was time to see him. Even time to forgive him.

"Hey there young man, what can I do for you?" Rick said.

Rick was barely 5'7'' in his late sixties, with a bulging gut from years of Budweiser rivers popping his Adams Apple out from behind. His red cap worn thin from sweat, motor oil, and feathering his balding head against the orange fireball in the cloudless summers. Patches of brown and grey hair flowed out above his ears. His sunburned squint held up his glasses that rested on the edge of his nose.

"It keeps stalling out whenever I stop at stop," Chris said.

"Then don't stop," Rick said.

Chris forced laughter but saved it to a genuine cough. A twenty-two-year-old college dropout playing it cool against his failed academics and homesickness. His thin Calvin Klein t-shirt had spots of blue from when he painted houses in San Antonio. He met Kevin there. Kevin—the tan surfer bookkeeper that walked around the office in sandals and a silver Quicksilver bathing suit. Chris, tall and lanky with a dirty blonde crew cut often gazed back at Chris with his blue Robin's egg eyes.

"Okay, how about popping the hood," Rick said.

Chris pulled the lever imagining it being Kevin's hard cock— popping the hood an inch. He smeared his wet thumb across the plastic over Kevin's face. He tilted the wallet to see three twenty-dollar bills ironed flat in the crease. The beige Buick rocked. Chris watched Rick's oil stained fingers—blistered, hairy; grabbing rubber hoses and digging between tarred metal.

"I am thinking your EGR valve is clogged, jump out, let me take her for a spin," Rick said.

Chris watched Rick drop slam the hood and smooth his hands with a pink rag. He opened the driver's side door for Rick and crawled over the center console to the passenger side. He pushed out his ass just enough to show the top of his silk green thong.

Rick planted his largish swamp ass where Chris earlier cried, and it rocked the car side to side. He shut the door like breaking a twig and turned the starter. Chris wished Kevin was in the back seat telling surfing jokes. Kevin could have Rick laughing through his beer breath. He would have had Chris laughing too putting everyone at ease. They pulled out onto the only paved road in town and headed west. Chris could already see the stop sign up ahead. Rick looked Chris up and down and then back on the road.

Oh shit. What if he saw my thong? Chris thought.

"I'm sorry what is your name?" Rick said.

"I'm John," Chris said. Chris just wanted to remain anonymous.

Rick's right snakeskin cowboy boot smothered the break pedal and the car died.

"My guess the EGR Valve. You need a new one," Rick said.

"Do you have one in your shop?" Chris said.

"You are one lucky son of bitch. As a matter in fact, I do," Rick said.

Rick put his cowboy boot on the gas and turned the engine. His bloodshot hazel eyes landing on Chris's hips. The engine caught, and Rick opened it up then put it in gear for a U-turn that blew his red hat into the back seat.

"So how long and how much," Chris said.

"You gotta hot date?" Rick said.

"I have to be back in Seattle for final exams for school," Chris said.

Chris pulled out his cell phone from his jeans. The little battery icon was red. The Buick jumped on a curb bouncing Chris's ass off the seat an inch. He wished it landed on surf boy's dick. He knew about this time of day: Kevin's muscular torso would be saran-wrapped in a wetsuit off the beaches of Westport. Kevin and Chris would be like flesh pretzels, naked in his beachside Jacuzzi sucking on each other's tongues like candy. Kevin would yank Chris up off his knees to show off his bubble ass when is brother Mike walked by.

"Look at this fucking ass, Mike!" Kevin said.

"I'm not even gay and I'd fuck that," Mike said.

The heavy pink sun made the vast desert look like a sea of burning lava. Both doors slammed as Rick's weathered boots and Chris's new black Vans crunched a gravel path into the garage. Rick fondled under the skirt of his leg lamp from a Christmas Story. An archaic cash register and an open bag of Cheetos illuminated. Rick circled the high desk and pulled a dark blue binder with a Buick logo taped.

"Want a beer John?" Rick said.

It was going on six 'clock and Chris ate a McDonald's sausage biscuit at nine thirty AM. One 12 ounce can of Budweiser would intoxicate him like four.

"Sure. Is there anything to snack?" Chris said.

Chris didn't want to be rude and a beer in moderation would relax him. He hoped Rick would do the work tonight, so he could be on the road by eight 'clock. Beatty, Nevada to Seattle was a straight seventeen-hour drive. He even had a few pinches of coke in his Nike ankle socks to help him driver longer.

Two beers cracked by Rick's index, spitting on the ceiling. They both tapped cans and poured sucked them down.

"It is going to be about a hundred and thirty bucks. Now that is with parts and labor," Rick said.

I only have sixty. Chris thought. "Finish it tonight?" Chris said.

"I can if you keep me company and help me drink down these cases," Rick said.

If we can just get the car in running order, I will negotiate. Unless he wants payment first. Chris thought.

"You have a deal, but I need some food," Chris said.

Rick's eyes captured the snail speed ceiling fan as he emptied the can. He turned and bent over exposing the crack of his ass just above a leather belt with bull patterns carved across. He opened a little fridge and tossed a saran wrapped turkey sandwich. It flopped on the counter like a pond stone.

"Did your wife make this?" Chris said.

"She's got the kid's in New Mexico," Rick said.

Rick peeled the plastic glued saran wrap in mayo to reveal a sandwich. His hunger propelled him to stuff the rolled dry turkey in his mouth and chase it with his Bud. It landed in the painful void of his stomach. His peripheral vision was blinded by white as Rick flickered the LED work lamps.

"I hope that son of a bitch starts up so I can work," Rick said.

It did. Rick pulled the car by the lamps. He popped the hood and rolled up his blue collared garage shirt.

Chris spotted an outlet by a splayed-out collection of Penthouse magazines.

"You mind if I charge my phone?" Chris said.

"No. You mind getting me a beer and grab yourself one," Rick said.

Chris plugged his iPhone into the wall. It glowed. He unlocked it with his fingerprint and sent a text to Kevin: I miss you. Coming to your neck of the woods in a few days.

He regretted it as soon as it sent. It's only been two months since their break up. Chris got done early painting houses and came home with fast food burgers. He ran up the narrow stairs to change and pushed the door open. It swung out like drawn curtains to Kevin sliding his cock into an employee's ass—a twenty-year-old painter named Jamie who just started a week ago. He didn't even stop and told Chris to get the fuck out for a minute.

Kevin's text: I miss you too. Where are you?

Chris ignored it and grabbed two cold beers out of the tiny fridge. The cricket sound of a socket wrench and metal banging erupted. Chris maneuvered himself through the maze of screwdrivers, pink rags, and car parts. Rick's large belly was exposed with two long greasy screws laying in his belly button. He reached down pushing his ass up for practice. Rick's head— well under the front of the car.

"Thank you, John. Hey, there's half a joint in that Bambi ashtray; light it up," Rick said.

Chris contemplated the ceramic ashtray perched on a high stack of Penthouse magazines. He could see a woman's smooth honey gold ass obscured by powdered nails and greasy nickels. My ass looks as good. Chris thought.

"How long ago did you and your wife separate?" Chris said.

"Two years," Rick said.

"Any girlfriends since?" Chris said.

"I'm an old man and running this shop takes all my time," Rick said.

The wood panel corner flashed a tint of blue. He heard the quick vibrates. Rick and Chris both leaned back their heads and guzzled beer. They looked like synchronized pros.

Kevin's text: I'm so sorry Chris. I promise it will be just the two of us forever, babe.

"I think we might have a working car," Rick said.

"I could kiss you! Seriously!" Chris said.

"Yup, let's start her up," Rick said.

Rick put his red hat on backwards and almost looked twenty years younger. He dried his hands and sat behind the wheel. This time the car started with a confident purr and idled to a sweet rhythm right out of a factory.

Chris put the joint in his lips and lit it with Dolly Parton's plastic tits. Kevin would give Rick his credit card number over the phone. He took three hits.

"You are going to kill me, but I only have sixty dollars and need some of that for gas to get to Seattle to see my ex-boyfriend," Chris said.

"Your boyfriend, huh?" Rick said. "Does this boyfriend have a credit card?"

"Yah, but I don't want anything from him. He is an asshole. Chris said. "Do you want another beer and here... hit this."

Rick smiled with the corner of his mouth and pinched the joint out of Chris's soft hands. Chris strutted his ass as if on a runway. He leaned and stretched his ass so hard against his jeans, the pine green triangle of his thong uncovered. Chris set two cold beers by the register and checked his phone.

Christ texted Kevin: Be there soon but first watch this. Now we are even.

Chris enabled Facetime video and prompted his phone camera to point on the open hood of his car. He undressed just to a green thong and carried his bare wobbling fem booty towards the car. He flattened his palms on the cool engine. He yelled out, "Is this a good angle?"

Kevin watched: From the left of the frame, Rick entered. He kneeled behind Chris, left fingerprints of grease on his hips and ate him out. Chris screamed hysterically on the balls of his feet. Rick unzipped his jeans to a seven-inch curved erection. He looked at the camera puzzled but then slid his cock between the bubble butt. He pounded him as the front of the car's hydraulics danced. "Oh Yeah, this pussy is good for daddy!"

"Thanks for fixing my car..." Chris said.

Kevin's face glossed in tears. He tossed the phone across the room. He could still hear what sounded like a people clapping.

Mike picked up the phone. Peaked back at his brother. "You shouldn't have cheated on him, bro!"