Intrigued, excited, but hardening his look so he wouldn't betray it, Chuck pushed on the car's underbody and the creeper trolley moved forward. The mechanic emerged and looked up. His stony expression almost cracked when he saw what was there: cute as pie, the face cheekily boyish maturing into handsome, with a mop of brown hair that had been tangled in a salon and streaked with blond, hazel eyes that were dancing with mischief, full ruby lips and a healthy tanned complexion. There was another silver chain round his neck - this one quite long and chunky, above a tight fitting vest that was tailored to show off his chest, which was still developing, but fairly well muscled. The guy was a number - queer as fuck - probably not realising he was broadcasting so loudly - perhaps the signs not picked up by the local buffoons, but so obvious to Chuck's discerning eyes. The three-quarter length trousers were another dead giveaway - thin summer cotton affairs designed to show off his ass, which sadly at the moment was hidden from Chuck's vision. His crotch wasn't though. By God it wasn't! And would you believe it - the dirty little bugger was semi-hard. But then Chuck was as well, so he let the matter pass.

"Can I help you, pal?" Chuck asked as he got up off the creeper trolley to stand a few yards away from the lad.

Ewan struggled for an answer as he gazed at the big brute who at six feet four, towered almost six inches above him. He'd been prepared for disappointment, for the fantasy to be ruined when he saw the man's face, but that was far from the case. It was decidedly fine - butch and manly, though still very young, only a few years older than himself. The hair was dark brown, as were the eyes, and two day's worth of stubble growing on his square chin. It was harsh, stern, more on the rugged side than handsome - it fitted him perfectly, and looked as horny as sin.

"Erm... yeah... I've got a problem."

Chuck gave a wry chortle. The lad had a problem all right: he was a cock-loving poof, for one thing. He was cute, stylish, with an accent that hinted of the east coast of Scotland - Edinburgh perhaps - a city that all decent Glaswegians detest with a passion. He was a batty bum boy that took it up the arse, and a glorious specimen at that. He was everything that Chuck had been brought up to loath and resent, and exactly the sort of lad he loved to fuck. A whole month of sexual hunger and a whole lifetime of anger brewed inside Chuck's mixed up head. This dizzy mix of screwed up emotions tore at his guts, and fired up his balls. Of course the boy had a problem, and he didn't know the half of it!

"And what would that be," asked Chuck, trying to keep a lid on things. He needed to be careful. It went against his nature, but he had to be nice here, or at least vaguely civil. He was certain he was right about the lad being a fag, but it needed verbally confirming before he made a move. It wouldn't do to get it wrong and for the lad to go crying to the cops. Not given Chuck's current precarious situation with regards to the boys in blue.

"Well, it's my car. It won't start," replied Ewan, who was being equally cautious. Now that he was seeing the man in his full glory, he was more than a little bit taken with him - the guy was pure sex on legs. But he looked so hard, mean and tough, and there was something frightening in his dark piercing eyes - a sort of rage battling inside him. But what was it battling with? Ewan had a suspicion. He'd been gazing at Chuck's packet just before he'd emerged from under the car, and he could have sworn it was getting bigger. And the way Chuck had looked at him before he'd got up - Ewan had seen that look plenty of times before, and it invariably meant that a fuck was on the cards. But he didn't dare make a move. If he got it wrong, even by a whisker, then the rage would win and a nightmare would follow.

"Your car won't start!" Chuck chuckled, honouring the lad with a rare moment of his humour. "Have you tried asking it nicely? Or maybe turning the ignition? That sometimes helps."