Mechanic with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  I stared at her neat scrawl, some of the bullet points quite lengthy. “Someone’s a little Type A,” I noted.

  She shot me a raised brow look. “What’s Type A?”

  “Uh, you write everything down and need clearly defined boundaries.”

  “Oh, okay.” She thought about it then nodded. “Where did you hear that?”

  “I’m a psych major.” She coughed lightly, reaching for her wine again. I knew that look. “Despite what people tell you about athletes, I do occasionally learn something in class,” I said, defending myself but laughing.

  She chuckled. “Fine. So I’m Type A. Tell me about it.”

  “Most people think it’s genetics that determines personality, but it’s actually more nurture than nature,” I added, showing off. “Genetics is part of it but it’s not an underlying cause.”

  “Is that so?” she murmured. “Okay, what else, doctor?”

  I grinned. I loved talking about this stuff. “Well, most Type A's are perfectionists—hence, your list making,” I listed. “They’re also usually rather critical of themselves, and over-anxious…” When she inhaled sharply I looked at her, feeling her tense slightly beside me. “You okay?”

  She nodded, and forced a fake smile that I didn’t understand and didn’t like. Amy was not a fake type of girl. That’s what I liked most about her: her authenticity. “Let’s stay on topic, shall we?”

  “Don’t like talking about yourself, huh?” I teased, trying to lighten her up.

  Finally, a genuine smile. “Just like you. Now, take a look at the list and let me know what you think,” she said, handing me the paper.

  I scrunched my face up, unsure what the ‘just like you,’ comment had meant. I thought about addressing it, but instead I cleared my throat and began to read out loud. “Preamble”—I looked over at her—“you wrote a preamble? Wow.”

  “Just go with it.”

  I cleared my throat again before I began to read it aloud. “Preamble to the constitution of Chandler and Amy’s friendship. In the interests of remaining sane over the course of our study abroad term, it is vital that both parties be friends and only friends. Therefore, the first party proposes the following rules to ensure a peaceful and happy tenure as study abroad partners.”

  “That’s me. I’m the first party,” Amy said, giggling with a silly smile.

  “You taking a constitutional law class right now or something?”

  She nodded excitedly. I had to laugh. The girl was nerdy as hell, and comfortable with that. I gave her props. I shrugged and kept going, giving my best try at a ‘proclamation sounding’ voice.

  “‘Rule number one. No kissing. Rule Two. No petting’.” I stopped, hating this list. “Really? Petting? This is ridiculous.”

  “Just read them all the way through.”

  “No barging into the shower. No shit-talking the other person. No bringing other people home to fuck.” I stopped, and looked at her. “What’s up with this rule? So you’re friend zoning me but I can’t fuck other girls? Fat chance of that happening.”

  “Chandler, we’re friendzoning each other,” she said, so insistent. “It’s a mutual decision for the good of both parties, remember?”

  I smiled, tossing her list on the coffee table. “Oh, right. So obviously, we are attracted to each other.”

  She let out an indignant breath of air. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh come on. You know it’s true. Both of the mentioned parties are attracted to each other,” I corrected, using her constitutional language against her. “We’ve even said as much.”

  “Maybe a little, but you’re the exact opposite of the guys I like to date,” she said, but not denying my statement. “I’m more into the intellectual types.”

  “Oh yeah?” I grinned, my eyes moving over her body.

  “Yeah,” she emphasized.

  “One, who says I’m not an intellectual type? Two, why are your nipples hard if you’re not attracted to me?” My voice came out low and throaty, just as I’d intended. If Amy wanted to be just friends, I sure as hell wasn’t going to make this easy for her.

  She looked down and touched her nipple through her double tank top arrangement. I couldn’t tell if she had a bra on or not. Her breath caught. “How the hell can you tell?”

  “So you’re admitting they are hard?” I cocked my head. She scooched her body away from mine.

  She sighed. “It’s cold in here.”

  “Ha! It’s seventy degrees inside.”

  “My post workout sheath of sweat has me colder than normal. And even if I am a little bit attracted to you, that doesn’t mean we should act on it.”

  “Your brain is really fighting your vagina, isn’t it?

  Laughing, she responded. “You should talk, Mr. Boner during telenovela time.”

  I looked down. Yup. I was pitching a tent, and through my enthusiasm in talking with Amy, I’d forgotten to keep shielding myself. “Damn. And I thought I was being stealthy.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” she stated. “But it’s just not going to happen between us. You know that would be a disaster if we got together and then broke up and were still living in the same place, right?”

  I paused because getting a different host parent would be near next to impossible. Amy clearly had different views on relationships that I didn’t hold as dear; but I liked and respected her enough to want to honor her wishes, even if it might kill me. “Fuck, you’re right,” I said, eventually, then I looked at her for a long second. “I have to say, I am surprised at how okay you are that I just popped a boner in front of you.”

  She grabbed the rules from the table and then her backpack. “I was lucky enough to be raised in a household where I was taught healthy sexual expression,” she said, getting off the couch. “And no, I don’t think there is anything unhealthy about you getting an erection.”

  I squinted at her when I spoke the next words. “You know, this is all your fault,” I ruminated, grabbing my wine glass. “If you weren't so hot, I wouldn't be so hard.”

  Her jaw dropped, but she quickly collected herself to respond in a dignified manner. “Well, if you are too hard—you do have two hands. Figure it out.”

  I nearly choked on my wine. “What did you just say?”

  She put a hand on her hip and looked me right in the eyes. “Just keep in mind about that the main reason I don’t want you bringing girls here is because you’re so damn loud and the walls are thin—and this girl,” she said, pointing to herself, “needs her beauty rest.”

  I stared at her. “You really are sexually liberated, aren’t you?”

  She shrugged. “My parents are hippies…they used to walk around naked in the house like it was no big deal. They were also pretty open about talking about sex and all that with me and my older brother. Guess it rubbed off on me. Anyways, I have a date tonight, so I have to get ready.”

  What…the…fuck? Did everyone suddenly have a date tonight besides me? How did I miss this memo? “A date? You have a date?” My pangs of jealousy began to throb. I was the fucking Casanova here. If anyone was going to take Amy on a date, it was going to be me.

  “Yep! With a Spaniard. I’m going to practice my Español!” She did this three-hip-shake-dance move thing with snaps at each turn.

  My heart beat faster, and jealousy welled up inside me out of nowhere. “Uh, wasn’t that in the rules, no dating Spaniards?”

  “Nope! You didn’t take the time to finish reading them, so you don’t know. But dating is actually encouraged. You know, cultural assimilation and all that. We just can’t bring them back to the apartment. All right, gotta get ready!”

  My whole mood was changed when she left the room. This was going to be hell, getting through these next couple of months living with Amy. I had to laugh out loud, because—call me cocky—I can hook up with a girl whenever I want. Women flock to a Division One athlete and knew how to take care of them between the sheets.

  Yet the one girl who I r
eally wanted was playing hard to get. And going on dates with fucking Spanish dudes.

  After disappearing for a few minutes, she appeared again, looking extra fuckable in a white v-neck t-shirt and a short black skirt. Did she even have a bra on? She ignored my stare. “Adios Chandler! Glad we cleared up everything with this talk. Have a good night.”

  She closed the door before I could respond, but if I had, I would have said that we had cleared exactly nothing up tonight. I was even more confused than I’d been about our non-status.

  I thought about calling a couple of girls who I’d hung out with before Amy had arrived, but I decided against it. I knew exactly what I needed tonight, anyways. I wished I could involve Amy in this activity, but since she was hell bent on being just friends, I had to live with that. I turned off the TV to get rid of the distraction.

  I reached into my shorts and grabbed hold of my cock, which could not get any harder, and pulled it out. On the couch? Fuck it, why not out here?

  I would start on the couch and then maybe head to the bed to finish myself off. Besides, this was some unprecedented alone time with no Doña Maria and no Amy. I would take my fucking time with this rocket session.

  I pulled my shorts and my boxers down all the way around my ankles, closed my eyes, and pictured Amy’s thick, luscious ass.

  Eight

  Amy

  Maybe if you weren't so hot, I wouldn't be so hard.

  I slammed the door of Doña Maria's apartment shut and let the air fall out of my lungs as Chandler's words repeated themselves in my head.

  I pressed the button for the ground level once I reached the elevator, even more fired up…and a lot turned on. It was strange to be accused of turning a guy on when for months I’d been accused of being a turn off. It was both confusing and kind of sexy.

  Restless, I tapped my foot as I waited for the elevator. It was an old building and the elevator was quite janky, but finally it arrived, and I opened the old-fashioned metal cage.

  The guy I was going on a date with was going to be so screwed. I'd be nodding and smiling while Javier spoke Spanish that I could barely understand, and meanwhile, all I would be thinking about was Chandler's hot body. His sexy voice. His cocky tone.

  I needed someone to coach me out of this mood I was in, to remind me that as charming as Chandler was, he was definitely the kind of man who would dump you after one night. It made sense in my brain, but my brain was fighting hard against my reason. Thirty, to be exact.

  And now, I was soaked. In the several months with Scott, I hadn't gotten this wet when he was going down on me, yet being around this man it was instantaneous. It was almost unfair what Chandler could do to me.

  As the elevator dinged to the ground floor, I stepped out and dug around in my purse. I needed to call Becca for a sounding board.

  A few seconds of digging made me realize I had no phone.

  "Goddamn it!" I muttered, loudly. An older woman was walking toward the elevator, and she smiled at me, surely not understanding my English swear.

  I pressed the button to go back up to the sixth floor. Wet panties and no phone was no way to attend my date, which I honestly had less than zero interest in now.

  The woman smiled as I let her get in the elevator before me. Her broad grin brought out all of the wrinkles in her face. We began our upward ascent and I wondered why she was so happy.

  After a brief farewell smile, I got off on my floor. Inside the apartment, I headed to my bedroom. Before I arrived to my room I heard a whisper that sounded like it was coming from Chandler's room.

  "Amy," the voice murmured.

  I arched an eyebrow and headed to Chandler's room to see what he wanted.

  I was about to knock when I heard him moaning. Instead, I peered through the crack in his door and my jaw dropped. My purse slid down in my hand and I hung onto it by a single finger, avoiding the embarrassment of Chandler seeing me watch him.

  He was on his bed, completely naked with the lights out. The moonlight seeped into the room, the only available light. I could see his eyes tightly shut and his back arched as he stroked his hard length. I froze, unable to look away.

  "Mmm. Amy," he grumbled again.

  I should have walked away that instant, but I couldn't. The truth was, it was the hottest thing I had ever seen: watching him touch himself like that, his hands wrapped around himself as he stroked up and down as he murmured my name.

  For the next minute, ten minutes—honestly, it felt like a lifetime and a flash at once—I continued to stare through that crack in the door like a creep. Was he really thinking about me? I was never the hot girl in high school. Nerdy and slightly awkward with people? Absolutely. Why didn't he watch porn like a normal guy, like my ex always did?

  I couldn't help it; I pictured myself squatting on that thick, hard cock of his. How I would feel on top of him, my ass hitting his hips, his hands guiding me as I glided up and down on the thing—

  Fuck.

  Oxygen. I needed some. If my panties were wet before, now they were caught in a thunderstorm.

  I felt my pussy clench hard around nothing and begin to pulse.

  My brain yelled at me, “Get away from this man, from this peep show if you know what's good for you…he'll open his eyes soon!”

  Yet, I couldn't. Chandler's breathing increased and he began to growl on top of the covers. "Yes. Yes. Fuck. Amelita."

  Holy fuck. Well, unless he knew two Amelitas—highly unlikely—this had to be me.

  I clenched again and did the unthinkable… I reached a finger between my legs and slid my panties to the side. Not good enough.

  I slid them down my legs and began to finger myself.

  Ok this was bad. Hearing him with his girlfriend and getting off in my room was one thing but I’d never, ever thought about looking in on someone like this, much less touching myself while watching someone masturbating. But Chandler was the hottest man alive, and he was saying my name. No, scratch that. My Spanish nickname. Almost like it was an endearment.

  I didn’t know we were on such a friendly basis, but this was quickly becoming the single hottest moment of my life. I pulled up the side of my skirt, my panties falling completely to the ground as I ran a finger on myself.

  It felt completely forbidden watching this, and without him knowing, it made it even more explicit. And maybe that’s what made it all the more hot. I grazed my clit with my finger, careful not to rub too hard that I’d moan. If Chandler heard me, I’d die of embarrassment. Not to mention he might hate me for the next two months.

  I reached the tip of my finger inside me, wondering what it would be like to experience Chandler’s hard cock inside me instead of just my finger. Sweet Jesus that would be a fun ride I’d never want to get off.

  Get off. I couldn’t help myself from increasing the pressure of my finger on my slit. I wanted more pleasure and I wanted to keep watching him.

  I closed my eyes. The angel in me told me I needed to stop what I was doing and go back to my room. Chandler, apparently, brought out the devil in me.

  Pleasure came in waves, and I thought I might come right there, standing up. I opened my eyes and saw Chandler pumping hard, about to come.

  He yelled my name again, louder this time.

  “Amy,” he growled into the room’s soft blue moonlight.

  The next few seconds happened so fast, I barely remember them. In quick succession, I heard the apartment door open up and Doña Maria speaking loudly in Spanish with a man accompanying her. On hearing them inside, I let out a noise that said, ‘Oh shit!’ but in my orgasmic state, it came out more like “ungh,” followed by ‘ssssss.’

  Chandler was so locked in that he didn’t even notice me, at least from what I could tell. He stoked his cock with intense vigor, and my eyes widened as I heard him growl and then watched his cum shoot straight up in the air.

  I could hear Doña Maria shutting the door and then her steps to where she would come around the corner. I was risking being s
een. In my slightly frazzled state, I ran to my own room and shut the door behind me.

  I exhaled, threw my purse on the floor and plopped down on the bed, simultaneously relieved and freaked out. I had just watched my host brother jerk off and without his permission, and liked it. No, loved it.

  It was, quite possibly, the most defining sexual experience of my life. When I came back to general consciousness, I realized something that knocked the wind out of me.

  My panties?! Where were they?

  I went into panic mode, frantically looking around my room. I took off my skirt and tank top and threw on my pajamas and a t-shirt. I whipped open my door, eyes glued to the floor as I searched the area where I’d been standing. They weren’t on the ground. Instead, Chandler was standing in the doorframe of his room, holding something in his hand.

  “Missing something?” he asked with a big, wide smirk, his face cocked to the side. He’d at least put on boxers now, but I could literally feel the heat radiating off his body. He was so tall that I had to take a half step back to make sure I was looking him in the eye.

  If I could have seen my own face at that moment, it probably would have been blood red from how hard I was blushing. Even my shame was ashamed. I tried to cover it up.

  “Do you know a lot of Amy's?” I managed to ask, trying to play it cool.

  “Nope. Just you, Squirt.”

  He looked at me and licked his lips. Another shudder of pleasure fell over me.

  “Give me those.” I pointed to my black lace panties he’d balled in his fist.

  He didn’t flinch. “Actually, I think I’m just going to hold on to these as payment for the show you just watched.” I froze. He leaned in and whispered, “For wanting to be just friends, you have a funny way of showing it.”

  “So do you,” I shot back. “Glad I could provide you with some material for your spank bank. Now give me those.” I arched an eyebrow. I reached for them, but he held them up.

  “Nah ah ah,” he taunted.

  “Fine, you know what? Keep them.” I have no idea where I got the nerve or the idea but it just came out. “Because you, Chandler, will never taste this pussy. So enjoy it since that’s the closest you’ll get.”