A Well Oiled Heart

Chapter 1

California, 1957

Dust rose in the trail of the green 1953 Pontiac convertible. The silence of the rural road was broken by the roar of the engine and the sounds of Jerry Lee Lewis singing Great Balls of Fire through the radio. Jason Moor put his foot to the pedal, the Pontiac speed forward inflaming his senses. There was nothing he loved more than speed; he loved the barrage of sound which burst out from the motor and shattered the silence. Jason was in love with cars, they were his passion and his escape from thinking about love, romance or even lust. Jason was devoted to his automobiles and that's the way he liked it. Jason did not hate romance. What Jason hated was hiding his feelings and smothering them in a layer of brash masculinity. His black hair blew in the wind reacting to the speed of the roaring engine.

He looked down at his fingernails and tried to clean them off on his coveralls, as a mechanic his fingers and hands were always covered in dark grease and oil. Jason did not mind he was doing what he loved and that's what mattered to him. However, inside of him, he felt an urge to be free. He knew just doing what he loved was not enough; he needed to be himself and embrace his inner self. How could he? How could he embrace himself when he would have no one to share it with?

Jason sped up and turned on the headlights of the Pontiac. The sun had begun to set and deep shadows began to grow on the ground. The rural roads had always been his favourite. Jason felt the trees enlivened him and the fresh country air was soothing. Jason turned the corner he could see a figure standing in the distance in the middle of the road waving him down. Jason could see a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air its sleek lines and white-walled tyres caused Jason to slow, he kept his eyes focused on the car and slowly turned to face the figure that waved him down.

In the space of a heartbeat, Jason was no longer thinking about the Chevy but about the tall, dark-haired sculpture of a man that stood smiling at him. Jason bit his lip slightly as he inspected the machine of manhood which before him. His eyes traced up from the legs encapsulated in skin-tight jeans which revealed the very definition of the leg and cradled the round tight bubble ass which filled them. Under a black leather jacket, the stranger wore a tight white T-Shirt. Jason could see the stranger's lips moving, but he could hear nothing. His sole focus was on the thick plump lips which would put James Dean to shame.

A hand waved in front of his face and suddenly the spell was broken. Jason's heart which had stopped was again pulsating blood throughout his body.

"Hey, there daddy-o," A smooth voice which rang, with a slight Italian-American accent. "I got a flat can you give me a hand?"

Jason Shifted in his seat and tried to adjust his pants without bringing attention to the fact that he was trying to hide his erection.

"You listening to me buddy?" The voice said again.

"– Huh...Yeah, Yeah" Jason replied opening the door and getting out of the car.

"Thanks...I've been here for hours you're the first car to stop...thanks for the help, Franki, Franki Malone." The stranger said, offering his hand. Jason reached and shook the hand for a moment it seemed like his knees would give way. "J...Jason Moor" Franki's hands were firm and strong and exuded confidence. Jason's eyes now focused on the hazel coloured eyes, which reminded him of a pool of chocolate.

"Yeah, no problems always open to helping out," Jason said, trying to pull himself back to reality. He had never experienced such a strong attraction in all his life, his heart was pounding in his chest.

"Tyre burst as I took the corner, nearly hit the trees," Franki told him. Jason looked over at the car again and could feel his true love, his distraction taking hold of him once more.

"Sweet ride," Jason said, "Is that a Chevy Bel Air?" Franki nodded, his plump lips pulled into a smile. Jason smiled back but he kept his eye on the car, he was worried how he might react if he looked at Franki.

"Damn pity about the flat, you got a spare?" Jason asked kicking the shredded tyre and knelt down to examine it.

"Nah, I blew it out on the track last week?" Franki replied smiling at Jason. Jason felt his cheeks flush red, he could feel and an unstoppable smile growing on his face. Jason bit his lips his eyes lingering on Franki's hazel eyes for a moment.

Jason suddenly felt angry with himself; he was giving too much away. He was showing the side of himself he denied. Jason had struggled with his sexuality as far back as he could remember, it covered him like a cloud which would not leave him alone. No matter how hard he prayed or how many girls he tried to like, the primal roar always awoke inside of him like a Ford Mustang hitting 100 miles an hour. The only thing which kept him sane, which distracted him from the lie he lived was cars. They shielded him and wrapped him in their masculinity; no one would ever suspect and no one would ever guess. Jason felt as though he were born to be alone. All he wanted to do was look away from Franki's handsome face. In this moment with his heart roaring and his hands quivering, his desire erupting from within. He felt scared and ashamed.

"Well, I can't help you with the tyre here," Jason said. "I could help you back at the workshop, could take the tyre to replace it, and have a few spares lying around." Jason hated himself before he finished the sentence. Why had he invited Franki to go with him to the shop? Jason could feel Franki watching him; he could feel Franki drawing closer and slowly reach for his hands. Franki stanched the keys from Jason's hand.

"Let's burn some rubber," Franki said laughing playfully. Jason snatched they keys back.

"We still need to take the tyre off," Jason said with a raised eyebrow. Franki smiled and leaned back on the hood of his Chevy, he took a cigarette from his pocket and a match from behind his ear. Franki lit his cigarette and took a long drag.