Breakdown (Sketch)

“Great, just great,” Paul thought, hearing his car’s engine start grinding as he drove down the highway. He made it another half mile before smoke started pouring out, and he was forced to pull off to the side of the road…somewhere. He was on the way to a convention being held in Houston, and had decided to just drive rather than book a flight, but here he was–stranded in the middle of “Some Desert, Texas” in the middle of the night. He was already cutting it close, since the convention started the next morning, but this didn’t bode well at all. He got out and tried to pop the hood, but the metal was too hot too touch–instead he got his cell phone, but naturally he had no reception–that’s what he got for going with that stupid bargain network bullshit. He kicked the tire, cursing, and then leaned against the car door, wondering what in the hell he was going to do. He had zero mechanical know-how–if desperate, he could probably figure out how to change a tire, but this was obviously beyond that. It would seem, then, that the only option he had was to try and catch a ride to somewhere he might get some help.

That late at night, vehicles were few and far between. He kept the lights of the car on so people could at least see, but the first several trucks and semis he waved at didn’t even slow down for him. Finally, after a few hours–putting it well past midnight at this point–a pickup truck rolled down the highway, saw him, slowed down and pulled off the side of the road a some yards ahead of him.

Both door popped open. From the passenger side came a younger man, probably not quite old enough to be drinking yet. He was in better shape but still with a sizable paunch, balanced with a bit of muscle, wearing a sleeveless tee in the hot night, grimy looking jeans and cowboy boots. From the driver’s side, out climbed a…rather obese redneck, a full bushy beard, and long hair, wearing a pair of coveralls and boots which looked to be coated in grease. That was a good sign at least–if the guy was actually a mechanic–maybe his luck was turning around.

“Hey! Thanks for stopping–I was starting to think no one was even seeing me over here,” he said, extending a hand for the older guy, “The name’s Paul.”

“Bill,” he said with a grin, and spit something black onto the ground, “Ah don’ mind givin’ ya a hand, but it ain’t gonna be free, ya hear? Still, don’ look like ya got much choice, right?”

“I mean, of course. How much will it cost?”

“We’ll figure that out once Ah see what’s wrong. Might need tah go back to the show fer the tow truck, we’ll see. Let me poke ‘round a bit, see what’s wrong.” The young man came up, and Bill slapped him on the back, “Mah boy ‘ere can keep ya company fer a bit–say hi, Tim.”

“Hello sir,” the younger man said, his voice much less accented then his father’s, “I just hope we can help you out. I got some coffee in our cab, you fancy a drink?”

“That…that would be nice,” Paul said, and followed Tim over to the truck, while Bill popped the hood, cusing at the heat, and started looking around. It was lifted well off the ground, and Tim had to climb up into the cab–as he did, he let out a long, slightly wet fart inches from Paul’s face, behind him. The smell was gastly, burning his nose and bringing tears to his eyes, as he tried to cough it back.

“Aw shit, sorry about that. I can let real stinker’s go sometimes.”

Paul was still coughing and sneezing, but it felt like…like the smell was forcing it’s way through his nose and eyes, right into his skull. he could almost feel it in there, wrapping….wrapping itself around his brain, choking it…cutting…cutting off…

Paul didn’t bother bringing down the thermos of coffee–he just flipped over, legs hanging off the seat, watching the businessman’s eyes glaze over as he stopped coughing. He was a handsome one–looked like he worked out, probably in mid thirties or so. Dressed in a suit, hair styled nice, looking like a good cityfolk ought to look. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his jeans and jock down around his boots, rolled over and dropped to the step up into the truck, bare ass towards Paul’s face, and let loose another fart towards him, Paul sniffing the air and stumbling forward, pushing his face between the young man’s cheeks and sorting in as much of the funk as he could, his tongue licking out the filthy crack, burrowing into Tim’s hole. It was…sweaty, or greasy–something was getting on his face in any case, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to care. Deep inside, some part of him was screaming, the the stench in his mind had cut it off, rendered it quiet and powerless.

He had no clear idea of how long he stood there, eating out Tim’s ripe hole, as the young man pumped fart after fart in his face, forcing him to inhale all of it, but eventually Bill came around the side of the truck, apparently unsurprised by what he was seeing.

“What’s the damage, daddy?” Tim asked.

“Engine’s shredded tha bits. We’re gonna have tah tow it outta ‘ere at some point. Looks like he’s enjoyin’ himself. Fuck, still remember the first time Ah caught a whiff a yer farts son, fuckin’ changed mah life.”

“Can I bring him home, Daddy? This one’s…hungry. I think we can have some fun.”

“Oh alright. Ain’t like he’s got anywhere else tah go, right? He can stay wit us ‘till Ah git his car fixed up.”

“Ya hear that Paul? You get to stay with me for a few days! isn’t that exciting?”

Paul wasn’t listening–Bill finally grabbed the man by the hair and pulled him free from his boy’s crack. His eyes were empty and unblinking, and his previously smooth face was coated with a half inch long beard all over, which he’d sprouted over the course of his ass eating. Together they got Paul into the cab with them, squished between them on the cab’s hump, and got back on the highway, heading home, Tim giddy with excitement that his new friend would be staying with him for a good long while.

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