Head Boy - Sex Stories

Head Boy

... cleaning. I had some notion that you cleaned engine-type things with petrol, so I fetched an ice-cream container and half-filled it with petrol, then found a discarded toothbrush and set about giving things a scrub.

That took me nearly forty-five minutes, and maybe another twenty to reassemble everything and screw it back together, then I primed it and yanked on the starter cord. It roared into life on the third pull, which was good going for this machine, and stood there proudly thrumming away, sounding (to my ear, anyway) better than it ever had, and barely smoking at all.

Dad came back out on the porch and stood there looking confused as I walked toward him.

"Well, I'll be damned," he said when I got close enough to hear. "If you were five years older, boy, I'd buy you a six-pack for that."

"Feel free," I told him.

"Like hell!" he snapped. "You're thirteen! Get on and finish the lawn."

Although I didn't get so much as a cold coke for fixing the mower, let alone six beers, there was some good came out of it. About a week later, Dad leaned against the doorframe of my bedroom as I was sitting in bed with my knees up and homework spread about the covers and waited for me to notice him.

"Did youactually take that whole thing to bits and put it back together cold, like - without the manual?" he asked.

"The mower, you mean? Uh-huh. I cleaned all the pieces before I put them back. I think maybe it was just dirty."

He scratched at his neck. "It probably ...

... was. A while since I had it serviced. Guess I don't need to anymore, seeing as you apparently know how to do it."

Clearly this meant there was now another chore on my list, but I didn't mind. I'd enjoyed solving the puzzle.

"Anyhow," Dad continued, "I was talking to Scott yesterday. I asked him about that bike of his in the garage. He said if you can get it going, you can have it."

I instantly forgot about all other things in the glory of that moment. "Oh my god! Oh my god, yes!"

"You can'tride it until you're sixteen, remember," Dad warned, "and getting it running won't be the work of a moment either. It wasn't going when he left, and it's just been sitting idle for what, six years, now? That sort of thing's not great for engines. And you'll likely need to buy parts - but if playing around with machines is your bag, there's plenty of entertainment there for the taking."

It took me nine months of fiddling and watching videos on YouTube to get so much as a cough out of Scott's old bike, and another six of saving up for parts before it actually ran properly, but even so, I had a functioning motorbike to my name before I was old enough to ride it on the road.

Along the way I sort of eased into some loose coalition of other gear-heads at school, and spent a good portion of my remaining free time with them, either standing around a popped bonnet poking at an engine from above, or lying on my back on a cold concrete floor tinkering with something from below.

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