This is my first attempt at writing a purely fictional story and I hope you enjoy it. Having said that, the characters are based on people I know or have met. I do my own editing and proof reading and I'm aware that I'm not as good as many other authors on here, so please consider that. It contains depictions of incest, mild BDSM and underwear sniffing (both male and female) as well as gay sexual play amongst other things. If you're offended by these subjects it would probably be better to pass this story by.
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Brian.
A nondescript name for a nondescript man.
In many ways he liked his solitary life. Unseen by just about everyone who passed him in the street. It gave him comfort to go unnoticed. It hadn't been that way when he was at school so many years ago.
He wasn't academically bright. Never had been. He wasn't good looking either and he was an introvert. He just wasn't made that way. Socially inept, quiet and shy. That hadn't helped him back then.
It wasn't only that though. At barely 5'5" tall his slim, some would say scrawny body, only seemed to accentuate his shortcomings. With the thick rimmed glasses he had to wear and the fashionless clothes his mother bought for him, it all made him a target.
He no longer suffered the sideways glances, snickering, nasty comments and physical bullying now he was older. People barely noticed him at all.
He liked that.
He'd had a tough upbringing. A single child brought up by his lone mother. His father had died when he was just 3 years old. Fortunately the life assurance payout meant his mother had something to fall back on. She'd paid off the mortgage and still had enough money left to keep them both comfortable That along with her job as a secretary gave them more than enough security. Even so, she constantly told Brian that she couldn't afford to buy him nice clothes like the other kids at school or have the other luxuries so many seemed to have.
Oh no, they had to be careful.
"Money doesn't grow on trees," she would snap at him whenever he asked for new clothes or shoes. If he pushed her too hard, she would slap his face hard and send him to his room crying. For someone so petite she had a strong hand.
She was a hard woman. She'd raised him to respect his elders, be polite, do chores around the house and to make do with what they had. If he ever got into trouble or answered back, she was quick to punish him. Sometimes with words, other times with her hand. If he'd been particularly bad, it was with the leather strap or cane that hung from hooks on the mantelpiece, either side of the fireplace. A constant reminder of what he could look forward to if he stepped out of line.
In spite of this, he loved her. It wasn't as if she punished him often, just when he deserved it. Always a source of comfort whenever he'd been bullied, she would hold him, softly saying he was her special little man and it would all be over when he left school. She would rock him in her arms until his sobbing stopped. He felt so secure in those moments.
He loved her very much.
By the time he was 11 years old his mother knew he would struggle at school, but he'd always been good with his hands. Just about every toy she'd ever given him had been taken apart and put back together again. He had an aptitude for it. He enjoyed seeing how things were built. So she asked his uncle Clive if Brian could help in his workshop. He was happy to help.
Clive was a huge guy, always in overalls covered in muck, but he had a friendly face with red chubby cheeks. Brian liked him and he loved being around the cars waiting to be repaired and the smell of grease, oil and metal. All the tools neatly arranged on the walls. Always clean and well looked after. Clive taught him the value of tool maintenance.
He wasn't his real uncle. Clive was a family friend and had been in Brian's life since he could remember. It was his mother that called him uncle Clive, so it was just natural that Brian did too. He spent more and more time at the workshop and it became a place of refuge whenever he'd had a bad day at school or with his mother. Uncle Clive never bullied him or shouted at him, just taught him about cars and engines.
By the time he was 16, he could strip down an engine and put it back together without thinking about it. He could repair bodywork, weld, spray and fabricate small parts. He even understood the electrics to some extent, although he still had a way to go.
When he left school it was with the expected low grades, but he managed to get an apprenticeship working for a company that repaired, maintained and serviced trucks. He loved it there. He especially loved working on the trucks. He had a lot to thank uncle Clive for.
The other mechanics there were generally nice to him, even though he remained introverted and quiet. He had to put up with some occasional banter, but it wasn't bullying, just guys being guys. In the main they accepted him. As the days and months went on he became part of the crew. He never took a day off sick and they even had to force him to take his holiday entitlement, although he would have preferred just to be there working.
It took 3 years to complete his apprenticeship and by then he'd become respected by his colleagues and the management. They often tried to get him to go with them for nights out, but he never did. He wouldn't have known what to do in a social situation like that. He knew it would have been uncomfortable for him.
Of course by then at 19, he'd discovered masterbation. He loved that just as much as he did working on the trucks. He would see a photo in a magazine or newspaper that would trigger an erection and away he'd go. He would wank off as much as he could. Anything between 2 and 4 times a day. He didn't tell anyone and nobody would have guessed just how much he jacked off.
Oh yes, he really loved wanking his cock, but because he was cut he learned the need for some kind of lubricant to stop his member becoming sore. Anything would do. Baby oil or Vaseline at first. Then he started to buy something designed specifically for the task from his local chemists. He was embarrassed the first time he bought it, although the old man serving hardly seemed to notice.
He'd done it loads of times at work. In the toilets or in the locker room showers after work. It was the smell that excited him, although he didn't really understand why. He also liked knowing his cum was on the floors where his workmates walked or on the toilet seats where they sat. He was careful to make sure he was always alone.
He even did it on the toilet seat at home sometimes too, thinking about his mother not realising she was sitting on his dried spunk. Instinctively he knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help himself. He would dab small drops on different parts of the seat and flush the rest away. His cock would get instantly hard whenever his mother went to the loo afterwards.
Maybe it was just his need for some kind of contact. Albeit not physical, at least it was a kind of connection. His colleagues feet, thighs or buttocks. The same with his mother. For him it was sexual contact. All he knew was that it turned him on.
He never dated a girl. He never went out or really had any friends. He knew his limitations. He knew women wouldn't want anything to do with him. He was no catch and the only man he'd ever really had a conversation with was his uncle Clive. Even that was limited.
