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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
Yoshi got up, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and packed his books and notes into his backpack. He gently closed the mechanic’s front door behind him, checking it was securely locked before walking away. He bought a takeaway coffee and a muffin from a nearby café before heading to campus for his Monday morning tutorial.
His class about political speeches was uninspiring. He stared out the window, wondering if communications was indeed the right course of study for him. He remembered the high expectations his parents had when he finished school, and part of those expectations was continuing his education at university, but he was never sure what he wanted to study or even what he wanted to do with his life. He still had no clear idea, but the more he studied communications, the more he sensed it wasn’t right for him.
He met up with Amelia for lunch. “Hey babe,” he greeted her. “You look good.”
The goth smiled sideways. “Thanks.” She sat down. They’d each ordered lunch separately and were waiting patiently for their food to arrive. “Get up to anything last night?”
“Hung out with Mack. He showed me his vintage porn stash.”
“Nice,” came the goth’s disinterested reply. “Hey, we need to talk about something. We need to clear the air.”
“Uh-oh. Sounds ominous. What about?” Yoshi’s salmon salad arrived seconds before Amelia’s. “We ordered the same thing!” he exclaimed. He was about to joke that this odd coincidence made them soulmates, but he was glad he didn’t. Things weren’t like they once were, and he sensed there was something serious on his friend’s mind.
“OK, so here goes.” The goth took a deep breath. This wasn’t at all what she wanted to say, though given the circumstances, she felt she needed to. “You can’t sleep over at my place anymore. I like hanging out with you and I like having sex with you, but now that you’re with the mechanic, things feel a little bit different between us. If I invite you over for sex, then that’s all it is, and you need to leave when we’re done. Is that OK?”
This was all Yoshi ever wanted, though he hated to think that his friend-with-benefits had put herself through so much emotional turmoil to arrive at this point. He loved their relationship just the way it was before, and he never wanted it to change anything about it in the first place. He wanted to go to the movies with her, talk about books and plays with her, listen to music with her and have awesome sex with her without accumulating unnecessary emotional baggage, and he knew in his heart he’d been crystal clear with her about what he wanted right from the start. It felt like they’d run around a city block only to end up back where they started. “Yeah. Sounds sensible. I love having sex with you too, but yeah, there are some places we probably shouldn’t go, because it risks getting emotionally confusing. If I can be honest, I felt a bit out of place sleeping in your bed the other night. I should’ve taken myself home after you fucked me. I don’t ever want to cross lines with you, because I don’t ever want to lose your friendship.”
On the inside, he breathed a massive sigh of relief.
Amelia smiled uneasily. Deep down, she still loved him and she desperately wanted to be with him, but she knew she couldn’t afford to get hung up on him. It’d kill their friendship and she’d lose him completely. She decided to set up a tinder account. “How’s your salad?” she asked.
Yoshi smiled. “Exactly the same as yours,” he replied, spearing a piece of cucumber with his wooden fork.
They ate in companionable silence for a few moments before the emo dropped his recyclable cutlery into the bowl. “I hate my course,” he exploded. “I need to do something else. What’s a bachelor’s degree in communications gonna add to my life? What’ll I do with it? I feel so disillusioned. I don’t know why I preferenced this fucking course in the first place. I don’t want to spend my life writing catchy slogans for a government department.”
“What would you wanna do instead?”
“That’s the thing,” an exasperated Yoshi said, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t know.”
Amelia fished a fat cherry tomato out of her salad bowl with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. She bit down, feeling the juices spurting onto her tongue. She waited for her friend to continue.
“I worry that so much of what we’re being taught about communications theory comes from the dark arts of propaganda. Are we being taught how to educate people, or how to manipulate them?”
“A little bit of both, I suspect,” came Amelia’s considered reply. She tilted her head slightly to the right, as she often did when deep in thought. “I wouldn’t mind getting into advertising when I graduate. To me, advertising is education and manipulation in equal measures, but a good piece of marketing, like, I mean, a *really* fucking good campaign, can also be a piece of public art that echoes down the ages.” She often recalled catchy jingles from TV commercials she’d seen in her childhood, catching herself humming them for no apparent reason.
Yoshi blinked slot siteleri and shrugged. He couldn’t imagine himself in advertising, he couldn’t see himself in political strategy, and he didn’t want a job in market research. “Fuck, babe. I just don’t know. But I need to do something, right? Like, I don’t want to work in a fucking supermarket for the rest of my life, but I don’t know what I *do* want. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, of course it does.” She remembered the brief note he left him a few days ago. “Hey, remember this? ‘Thank you for last night. I love you, but this is hard. Need to think things through.’ Who wrote that?”
The emo blinked. “That’s what I scribbled on your notepad when I slunk out the other morning, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” replied the goth. “It’s a haiku.”
The emo sat quietly for a second, grinning on the inside. “I know. I did that deliberately. I’m impressed you noticed.”
An imaginary lightbulb lit up above Amelia’s head. “How about switching to literature? You read a shitload of books, and you know how to write. Maybe writing is your domain.”
Yoshi winced. “I thought about that before I enrolled. At least a degree in communications leads to a job. What does a degree in literature lead to?”
“Academia, artistic criticism, journalism, theatre, museums, archives, the creative arts in general … plus, if you ever wanted to publish an anthology of haikus …”
The emo’s eyes opened wide. “I’m gonna look into this. Thanks so much for the ideas, babe. And for the encouragement.”
“Any time,” came the goth’s smiling reply.
They gazed into each other’s eyes for a few elongated seconds, but Amelia was the first to look away. His eyes were beautiful, but she needed to find a way to break the spell he seemed to have over her.
Yoshi flicked his hair away from his face. “I really want you to fuck me, babe. I’m so horny for your cock. Do you have classes this afternoon?” He wanted to kiss her, but he knew he couldn’t. Not anymore. Not like this.
“Yeah, I do.” She had a marketing lecture she didn’t want to miss.
They finished lunch, hugged like friends, and went their separate ways.
Yoshi spent his Monday night in solitude. He rang his parents, just to check in, then turned his phone off so he wouldn’t be contacted by anyone. He devoured the rest of the novel he was reading, ‘Independent People’, then stared at the ceiling for a few moments as the bleak tale reverberated around his head. He slept early.
*
Thursday afternoon. The mechanic was on a break at the garage, enjoying a strong cup of tea.
Mack: hey
Yoshi: hey
Mack: you up to anything tonight?
Yoshi: nah … was meant to be doing some research for uni but im thinking about changing courses next semester
Mack: what’s up?
Yoshi: *sigh* tell you next time we meet
Mack: come over later?
Yoshi: sure, want me 2 bring anything
Mack: nah … just your appetite and your body
Yoshi: ooh daddy
Mack: you said you’d be up for anything? well I’ve got something I wouldn’t mind trying
Yoshi: what do you want to do?
Mack: it’s a surprise … come over around 6 and I’ll cook dinner for us
Yoshi: cant wait!
*
The emo rang the mechanic’s intercom just after six o’clock and was buzzed up. He knocked on the door, and the Mack let him in. “Hey, big guy. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Working hard as usual, punk, but it’s always good to come home and get creative in the kitchen.”
“What are you cooking?” asked Yoshi, wrapping his loving arms around the mechanic’s waist.
“I’m grilling us some trout fillets, and I’m making some mashed potato with a tiny drizzle of lemon juice mixed in, and to serve, there’ll be some seared stalks of broccolini and asparagus on top.”
Yoshi blinked. Sounded gourmet. “Do you use recipe books?”
“Nah. I have two or three books that my mum gave me when I first moved out with Abby. They’re old school. You know, how to rustle up meat and three veg, how to roast a chook, how to cook spaghetti bolognaise when the sauce comes out of a can, and how to make desserts with jelly. Mum told me I should learn to cook, and I have, but I don’t use the books she gave me, because the recipes in them are truly fucking terrible. So I kind of just make shit up.”
The emo frowned. “You make shit up?”
“Yeah, kinda,” admitted the mechanic, quickly checking on the trout. “It’s a bit of trial and error, I guess. Some meals I’ve cooked have been monumental fuckups, and a few have been completely inedible, but I can usually work out what went wrong and I learn not to do it again when I have another crack at the same dish. What I’m cooking tonight is quite easy, just so long as you don’t overcook the fish and get the timing right on everything else. I copied this one from a pub restaurant. This meal cost me forty bucks at a pub one night, and while it was good, I thought I could easily make it for myself at home on the cheap.” He took the fish out from under the grill and canlı casino set it aside — it looked perfect. He finished preparing the mash and removed the vegetables from the pan. On two plates, he spooned a generous helping of creamy potato, rested the fillets on the beds of mash, then placed stalks of asparagus and baby broccoli beside the fish. He handed one of the plates to Yoshi. “Here you go, punk.”
The emo’s eyes widened as delicious scents teased his nostrils. “Smells amazing! If I had an Instagram account, I’d take a pic. That’s what Insta people do, right? It’s all about people taking pictures of food.”
“And photos of bikini-clad attention-seeking teens with terrible boobjobs,” added the mechanic. “Anyway, food’s getting cold, so grab yourself a knife and fork.”
The meal was delicious, and the fish was so tender the flesh peeled away with the slightest nudge of Yoshi’s cutlery. “Fuck, big guy,” he said, munching on a broccolini stalk, “you know your shit.”
Mack smiled bashfully. “Thanks, punk. Nice of you to say.”
They finished eating, and Mack tidied up in the kitchen. He stacked the dishwasher and turned it on. The emo sat on the couch, wondering what it was the mechanic wanted to do tonight. He was about to ask, but the mechanic beat him to it.
“Hey, punk,” he said, sitting on the couch beside Yoshi, “there’s something I’d like to try, if you’re game.” He paused for a second, gazing into the emo’s beautiful half-Japanese eyes. “Wait here. Won’t be long.”
Yoshi sat and waited. The silence was broken by the sound of something heavy and unwieldy being accidentally slammed into a wall, and he turned his neck in alarm. “Oof, sorry, punk,” he heard the mechanic call as he brought a large, flat appliance into the lounge room.
“What’s that?” asked the emo.
“A massage table,” replied Mack, setting it up. “Come over here.”
“Why?” asked Yoshi.
“Because I’m gonna give you a massage.”
“Where’d you get it from? The table, I mean?”
“Someone at work. I told him I had some old rugby aches and pains that were flaring up and that I was gonna get a masseuse to come around.” The mechanic noticed Yoshi looked uncertain. “I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he continued.
“No … it’s just that … well I guess I’m surprised, but it sounds like it could be fun.”
Mack smiled. “I think you’re gonna love it. Like I said, come over here.”
Yoshi stood up and walked over to the device. “You want me to lie down?”
“Hold your horses, we need to get you undressed first.” The mechanic lifted Yoshi’s t-shirt up over his head, exposing his lithe, hairless chest. He ran his thick fingers across each nipple, watching them stiffen. The emo’s jaw gaped open, and the piercing in his lip glinted off the ceiling light. “I’m gonna let you take your socks and pants off yourself, punk.”
Yoshi complied and stood in front of the mechanic, completely naked except for a pair of frilly panties that Amelia recently gave to him. He looked up at Mack. “I think I’m ready, but I think I’ll leave these on for now,” teased the emo. “Like, I need to preserve my modesty.”
The mechanic coughed nervously as blood began rushing to the tip of his fat dick. “Yeah, no worries,” he replied. He placed a clean bathtowel down on the table in preparation. “OK, now you can lie down. Face down, and put your head through the hole at the top. I can’t dim the light, but I’m gonna turn the lounge room light off and leave the kitchen one on. Hopefully that works.”
Yoshi wasn’t concerned about lighting scenarios, but by the same token, he had no idea what he was in for. “I’ve never had a massage before,” he confessed, “but I’m up for anything.” He looked down at Mack’s floor through the hole in the table. “Will it be a Swedish massage or a Thai massage?” he joked, not knowing the difference.
“A rugby massage. It’s the only kind I know.” Mack grabbed a bottle of sunflower oil and squirted some into his palms. “Are you ticklish?” he asked.
“You mean my feet?” clarified the emo. “Nup.”
“Cool. I’ll start there.”
With as much tenderness as his well-worn hands could muster, Mack clasped his oily hands around the emo’s left heel. His thumbs went to work on the sole of his foot, and he heard tiny creaks and crinkles as tiny, stubborn knots Yoshi didn’t even know he had were untied and crushed. He ran his thumb across the underside of each of the emo’s toes, pressing them back, stretching the tendons and allowing blood to flow through. He massaged the ankle and calf of Yoshi’s left leg before pouring some more oil into his palm and getting to work on the right. “You OK, punk?”
The feeling was so foreign to the emo that he didn’t quite know how to respond. He made a noise, but it wasn’t words.
The mechanic moved up to Yoshi’s left thigh. His forceful digits traced tracks up the back and inside of the emo’s legs. The mechanic approached the emo’s groin teasingly before abruptly stopping to move across to the right thigh.
Without meaning güvenilir casino to, Yoshi drooled a thick string of spit that landed on Mack’s floor with a splat. This experience felt unbelievable, and it had only just started. He moved the position of his pelvis on the massage table. Inside his frilly panties, his cute cock was rock hard from the mechanic’s firm yet tender touch, and he struggled to resist the urge to fuck the surface of the table.
“Gonna do your neck, shoulders and back now,” reported the mechanic. He oozed some more sunflower oil into his hands. He stood above Yoshi’s head as he began massaging his shoulders.
“I can see your feet through the hole, big guy,” drooled the emo.
“I know,” smiled the mechanic.
“Full disclosure,” said the emo, making a superhuman effort to put his brain into gear. “I can’t wipe my mouth, but you’re making me drool pretty bad, so if you feel something wet splashland on your toes, it’s your fault, not mine.”
Mack laughed as his thumbs and the heels of his palms rubbed the sides and back of Yoshi’s neck. Slowly, he moved down to his shoulder blades. “Ow,” said the emo as the mechanic began massaging his right blade.
“You hold the mouse in your right hand, don’t you, punk?”
“Yeah,” came the whispered confession.
“I can tell. You’ve got a serious knot. I’ll go gentle, but let me know if it hurts too much and I’ll stop.”
Mack’s pressure and intensity was perfect. Yoshi felt discomfort, but it was good, therapeutic discomfort. His shoulder blade felt warm and loose.
After a few minutes, the mechanic began working on Yoshi’s lower back, teasing the top of his buttocks. He pushed his fingertips under the elastic of the emo’s frilly panties, lightly running them up and down the top of his crack. “Fuck, daddy,” Yoshi drooled, “you’re breaking my mind.”
“Roll over,” said Mack. “Time to do your front.”
The emo rolled onto his back, careful not to disturb the towel beneath him. He stared at the ceiling, and the first thing the mechanic saw was a very wet pair of panties, with a small yet firm tent pitched in the middle. The emo was relieved that his desperate urge to fuck the table had been taken out of play.
Mack poured some more oil into his fingers and began working on the front of Yoshi’s calves and thighs. As he felt the mechanic’s firm fingers massaging the flesh of his inner thighs, the sensation became too much. “Fuck, daddy,” breathed the emo, “I think I need to touch myself. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
The mechanic wasn’t about to let him cum just yet. He silently changed tack, turning his attention to Yoshi’s arms and hands. He worked on the emo’s left upper arm, elbow, and then lower arm, his hands delicately removing all the tension from his limb. He massaged the emo’s hand in the same way he worked on his feet — first the wrist, then the palm, then the fingers. He padded to the other side of the table to work on Yoshi’s right arm. He found a similar store of tension in his right wrist which he also associated with mouse use, though in the case of the wrist, tension could have stemmed from a range of other activities. “How’re you travelling, punk?” he asked, checking in with his client.
Yoshi nodded. His eyes were closed, his breathing was slow, his body felt like it was floating, and he wasn’t capable of coherent speech anymore.
“I’m gonna take care of your chest now,” announced Mack. This time, he poured oil directly onto the emo’s nipples, and Yoshi moaned as he felt the liquid drizzling down on him. A fresh patch of warm moisture appeared on the front of the emo’s panties.
The mechanic’s firm, heavy hands ran across Yoshi’s chest, tickling, teasing and pinching his painfully erect nipples. He gave the emo’s pierced nipple a light tug, and he heard Yoshi’s breathing change shape. “Fuck, daddy … fuck … I need to … oh my fucking god … you’re gonna …”
Mack knew the emo was close, and probably too far gone by now to hold himself back. He reached one hand down inside Yoshi’s panties and began tickling his pubic mound with his thick fingertips.
“Fuuuuuuuck,” screamed the emo. He arched his back as his thick load oozed through the fabric of his brand-new frilly underwear. “Fuuuuuck,” he moaned again, now feeling the mechanic’s oily-wet fingers slipping under the elastic and gripping his shaft between forefinger and thumb, coaxing the rest of his load out of him.
He felt the mechanic’s stringy ginger beard tickle his face half a second before he felt his lips. He opened his mouth to receive Mack’s tongue and they kissed.
Yoshi opened his eyes as if awakening from a trance.
“Was that good?” asked the mechanic.
“I’m dead, aren’t I?” came the reply. “That … was … fuck … I mean … like … I can’t …”
“It’s OK,” soothed Mack, placing a finger on the emo’s lips. “You don’t need to talk. I’m just gonna wash up; you just lie there for a few minutes.”
The emo felt like he was levitating. He’d never been touched like that before. He was used to the feeling of being pounded into submission, but this was next level. It was like the mechanic’s hands had coaxed an earth-shattering orgasm out of him without touching his pussy or his dick. It was so different to anything else he’d ever experienced.
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