Dylan's Dad

All characters are consenting adults (18+) 

Part 1 of 2

Dylan was my best friend. We’d known each other since middle school, and the only thing that changed over the years was our age. We were both as immature and mischievous now, at nineteen, as we were when we were ten.

He worked with his dad at a car garage in the small town that we’d grown up in. It was a tiny little place, but it was the only one for miles around, so his old man had enough business to pay his son well for the work that he did.

Dylan worked his ass off in that garage. Morning, noon and night, he could always be found underneath a car, covered in oil, in his dirty blue overalls. I suppose he enjoyed it, but I knew that he was saving every red cent he got, so he could finally move out.

As much as we both enjoyed growing up in the town, there was little to do, and all day to do it. Ever since we were kids, it had been our life’s goal to get out of there, but Dylan seemed to want it even more than I did.

I envied that about my best friend. He was a hard worker and a real go-getter, and there was nothing he couldn’t do if he put his mind to it. My parents loved him for it, and had been comparing me to him for as long as I could remember.

“What’s Dylan doing these days?” My mom would say, if she hadn’t seen him for more than a week or two. “I bet he’s working hard”.

And he always was working hard.

“Man, it’s fucking warm” he said, pulling the zipper of his overalls down, to reveal his bare chest. My eyes dropped for a second, noticing the muscle that was starting to appear, and I grinned.

“More muscle on a butcher’s pencil” I joked, nudging him.

“Hey, look at those arms” he replied, squeezing mine, “ain’t never seen a day’s work in their life”.

That’s how we were. Barely an hour went by where we weren’t teasing each other about something or other, but it was all just a laugh.

I didn’t know a single person on the planet who I was more comfortable around. It felt like we could talk about anything and everything, and the truth was, over the years we had talked about anything and everything.

“It is warm, though” I nodded, as the sun baked down on the garage, making the two of us sweat profusely. “You should tell your tight ass old man to put in some proper air conditioning” I grinned, but my blood ran cold when I heard the man clearing his throat behind me.

“Oh, shit, I was just kidding, Mr. Harrison” I choked out, as Dylan cracked up with laughter.

“For that” Tom said, lugging a huge bag of tools onto a messy table. “You can go through all of these and sort them out for me”.

Just like his son, Tom was a light hearted guy. We’d always gotten on pretty well, and I was happy to help him out.

Tom was in his forties, with a mop of jet black hair that he kept slicked back with something that looked like grease. He was tall, and pretty well built, too, and just like his son, Tom seemed to only own overalls, which he walked around in morning, noon and night. A tuft of black hair hung out over the top, where the zipper revealed a much darker and much firmer chest than his son’s.

“I hope you’re gonna’ pay me for this, Mr. Harrison” I laughed, because although we liked to have a joke, I still respected the guy enough to call him Mr. Harrison.

Dylan rolled his eyes and scoffed, just like I did whenever he sweet-talked my parents.

“Yeah, yeah” Tom nodded, lighting a cigarette as he walked outside, “can’t get nothin’ for nothin’ no more” he joked, and Dylan and I laughed together as he disappeared.

“I wish my old man was like yours” I said, because it was true. My own father was nothing like Tom. He was an easy-going guy, but he worked in an office and had no idea how to even change the oil in his car.

“We can swap” Dylan replied, yanking off a wheel. “You can have my dad, and I’ll have your mom”.

“Fuck you” I scoffed, and we laughed again.

I didn’t usually help out in the garage, though I spent a lot of time there, just shooting the shit whilst Dylan worked. The summer had been too hot to do much else, so besides the air conditioning issue, it was the only other thing to do.

About an hour into the job, Dylan’s phone rang.

“Hey dad, what’s up?”

I continued pulling out tools that I’d never seen before and organising them in piles as the conversation continued, and a few minutes later, he put down the phone.

“I gotta go, man” he said, and I cocked a brow. “You remember Mr. Rodney from school? Dumb motherfucker totalled his car about fifty miles from here. My dad wants me to go tow it”.

“I can come” I shrugged, but Dylan shook his head.

“He wants you to stay here to keep an eye on the place. Said he’d pay you for it”.

Just like Dylan, I was also a strapped-for-cash teenager. “Sure” I nodded, and watched him head off in the pickup truck.

By the time I finished sorting out the tools, there was nothing left to do. I had no clue about cars, so I sure as hell wasn’t about to start messing with things, and as I sat there, warm and bored, Tom’s truck pulled up outside, and I got to my feet.

“Dylan’s gonna be a while” he said, handing me a large Coke, “got lost halfway there, so he’s had to double back”.

“Typical Dylan” I joked, gulping down the freezing beverage as Tom smiled and had another cigarette.

“Can I ask you something, Jake?” He said, and I nodded as he took a drag from his cigarette and blew it up toward the blue sky. “Why don’t Dylan have a girlfriend?”

I considered it for a moment. I’d wondered the same thing over the years, and even thought he might be gay for a while, until I walked in on him jerking off to straight porn.

“I think he’s just focusing on getting out of here” I said.

Tom nodded but he didn’t reply for a moment.

“How about you?” He eventually asked, looking down at me. “Cute guy, no girlfriend? Hell, when I was your age I was banging every chick I could”.

Tom was certainly a handsome man, with his dark features that looked as though there was Italian somewhere in his family line. His tough skin was so tanned that it was difficult to tell whether it was caked in engine oil, or just golden. Despite that, my cheeks began to burn at the question. I was the only person in the world who knew the real reason behind me not having a girlfriend, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to tell that to the one man who was easily the most old school, conservative dude I knew.

“Same as Dylan, I guess” I lied, and tried to switch topics before Tom chuckled.

“You sure you ain’t a bit fruity, son?” He teased, but I quickly brushed it off before I sounded too defensive.

“Just playin’ the field, Tom” I said, forcing a smile.

“Well how about you play with this, instead?” Tom replied.