The Customer is Always Right

The clock on the wall had stopped. Jim was sure of it. There was just no way it was not eight o’clock yet. This day was NEVER gonna end!

Gil came into the customer lounge from the garage. “Everything’s cleaned up and ready to go. Tools are all away. You got the deposit done?”

“Yup, all ready to get the fuck outta here! Just fifteen minutes to go… “ Jim draped himself over the service counter, his head supported by his hand, as if gravity had suddenly become just too much for him to handle. “Maybe I should go ahead and lock up now? You know - just in case?”

Gil actually considered this for a moment. “Nah, you better not. Marv’s already lookin’ for an excuse to fire us,” he sighed, glancing at the clock for the third time since entering the room.

Jim found the strength to raise himself off the counter for a half-hearted show of defiance, “Man, Fuck Marv! And fuck Quickie Lube! And fuck you for talkin’ me into this job in the first place. Look at us, dude. It’s Friday. Its DARK out. I’m BORED! We should be out partying or something. What do they expect from us, anyway?”

Gil ticked off on his fingers, “Prompt, courteous service…Friendly, professional atmosphere…employees who arrive ON TIME for work every once in a while.”

“Oh, whatever, ass-kisser!” Jim flipped a lazy middle finger as gravity won out again and his head slipped down to the counter.

Gil laughed. “Dude, will you relax, please? We get outta here at eight, head back to my place, put the deposit in the night-drop on the way, change quick and then we can hit that party over at Ted’s. You know things aren’t gonna get going until ten or eleven, anyway. Look at that,” he said, indicating the clock, “we’ve already killed almost ten minutes. Just seven more to go. I promise you, no one is gonna come in at…”

The man didn’t just walk into the room, he took possession of it; the way a lion takes possession of the African savannah. He was about 6’4”, with slightly graying hair and moustache. Though he looked to be in his late 40’s, early 50’s, it was apparent that powerful muscles still lay coiled beneath his casual, but clearly expensive, clothing. His grooming was impeccable; his manner aloof. He had an air about him that suggested he was not a man used to being inconvenienced, much less contradicted or defied.

With no preamble, he tossed his keys to Gil. “Oil change, lube, vacuum.” He didn’t wait for a response, but grabbed a stale-dated magazine and sat down heavily. He looked for all the world like a man sitting in his own living room.

The man looked up from his magazine, and held up the wrist bearing his watch. “I have 7:53.” Once again, he didn’t wait for a response, but merely returned to his reading, confident that he had said all he needed to. No further communication with these peons was necessary.

Gil exchanged pained looks with Jim, sighed quietly and walked out into the garage to begin what he knew was at least a 30-minute job. And the sooner he started, the sooner he’d finish. He left a silently-fuming Jim alone with the customer.

Jim walked out around the counter, crossed over to the door and, with a great flourish, locked it and closed the blinds. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the man, who was regarding him with a condescending, humorless smile. Jim broke eye contact by pretending to suddenly become very interested in straightening the blinds. Then he tried (and failed) to feign casual disinterest as he sauntered back behind the counter. The whole time, he could feel the prickly sense of “being watched” on the back of his neck. His face grew hot and tingly with impotent anger at this unexpected inconvenience.

As Jim rounded the corner, he glanced back at the man, who was reaching into his shirt pocket. He produced a large cigar wrapped in cellophane and proceeded to open it. He passed it under his nose, nipped off a small piece of the end with a cutter and fished his lighter out of his pocket.

“Sir…You can’t smoke that in here,” Jim said, rather petulantly. If this guy was gonna come in at this hour, no way was he gonna sit there and enjoy himself!

The man regarded him coolly. “You’re the one who locked me in here,” he shot back. “Not my problem…” His voice dripped with sarcasm and derision.

“Well, maybe if you wouldn’t come in at the last minute it wouldn’t be anybody’s problem…”

Even for a slacker like Jim, it was too much. And what’s worse, he KNEW it was too much as soon as it left his mouth.

The man froze, fixing Jim with a furious, piercing stare. The stare of a predator fixed on his prey. His dark eyes fairly blazed with anger.” Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that? It’s time you learned your place in the world, boy!” He threw his magazine down, rose and crossed to the counter…

Gil finished working on the man’s car as quickly as he could, making sure that he did everything as carefully as possible. He didn’t want any ‘do-overs’ this late. But he was finally done. Wiping his hands on a shop rag, he went through the door connecting the garage to the customer waiting room. His nose was immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of cigar smoke. But it wasn’t the smell that stopped him in his tracks - it was the scene which presented itself to him that dropped his jaw.

Jim was standing in the middle of the room, ostentatiously smoking on a big cigar. His pants were down around his ankles. The demanding customer was on his knees in front of Jim, a blank look on his face. His lips were wrapped around Jim’s penis as Jim’s hips thrust back and forth.

Gil rolled his eyes and crossed to the counter. “Dude…! You have GOT to stop hypnotizing the customers!”

“Oh, <nnnnnhhh> lighten up!” Jim grunted back. “He wanted to <mmmm…> act like a dick, now he’s <nnnnhhhh> SUCKIN….Suck….sAHHHHHHHHH….! Jim threw his head back, giving himself over to the orgasm as only the young can. Cum filled the man’s mouth, dripping out at the corners. As his orgasm subsided, Jim leaned forward, resting his arms on the man’s head. The man just sat back on his haunches, his arms resting limply at his sides.

“What’s up with the cigar there, Castro?” Gil asked.

Jim regarded the smoldering stogie in his hand. “I kinda like it. Captain Cock-capper here,” he said, indicating the kneeling customer with his thumb, “says they’re Cuban. He gets ‘em in from Canada. Guess they’re pretty expensive. I’ll let ya try one after Cob-Gobbler here sends me the box I made him promise me. Ain’t that right, Rod-Rider?”

The man’s bland expression never changed. “Of course,” he said, in a perfectly flat, conversational tone.

Gil eyed Jim with amused exasperation. “You are sooo gonna get caught at this one day, you know that, don’t you? I mean, what is the fascination with this, anyway?”

“It’s hard to explain…I just get off on having control over somebody. Just knowing that I say something and someone does it, no matter what it is.” He turned to the kneeling customer. “Bark,” he commanded. The man immediately started barking like a big dog. “That’s enough. Shut up.” The man instantly complied. ”See? Tell me that is not hot as hell! It’s the ultimo turn-on.”

“I think you mean ‘ultimate’ turn-on, but I think I get it. But that brings me to my next question: if it turns you on to do this, then why is it you always seem to, you know, end up with…guys?”

Jim shrugged elaborately. “Hey…the heart wants what the heart wants. Different strokes and all that, ya know? C’mon, you’ve always kinda known I batted ‘southpaw,’ haven’t you? Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining when I put that couple in trance last month and you got to have that soccer-mom hottie of a wife.”

“That was pretty sweet…” Gil said, smiling at the memory. “And I HAVE always kinda known about you, yeah.”

“So, we cool?”

Gil laughed, “Yeah, we cool.”

Jim turned to the customer. “Stand up.”

“Sure,” the man replied and got to his feet in a slow but fluid movement. Bits of semen still clung to his moustache and around the corners of his slack mouth.

Jim turned back to Gil, a big, conspiratorial grin on his face. “Well then, to celebrate our new understanding and pay you back for busting your ass on this douche bag’s car…you want some o’ this?”

Gil looked genuinely startled. “Dude, you mean let him…? But, I mean…he’s… he’s a…a guy…!”

“Hey, a happy ending is a happy ending, right?”

Gil smiled sheepishly and blushed. “I don’t know, dude. What if someone found out?”

“Who’s gonna find out!? I sure as hell ain’t gonna tell anybody?”

Gil looked like his resolve was weakening, so Jim pushed his advantage. “C’mon, bud…I happen to know for a fact that he really wants to do it.” He turned to the customer. “Dontcha really, really want to do it?”

“I really, really want to do it,” the man said blandly.

”Hey, you heard the customer, man. And after all, the customer is always right!”

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