"Scrapbook Chronicles: Towing the Line" (One-Shot)

[Lover_Boy]

Eric turned the key stubbornly in the ignition, "Stupid car....!"

The engine refused to turn over, and merely coughed as it tried to start. He turned the key again, and stomped on the gas for what seemed like the hundredth time. The engine didn't budge; only sputtered and died. Frustrated, Eric punched the steering wheel for good measure before extinguishing the four-ways and getting out of the car.

He muttered to himself, "Suppose that's what I get for criss-crossing the country and not stopping for tune-ups." Could anything else go wrong today?

He'd spent the last two days in Billings, Montanna searching for another target. But this time, it had apparently only been just another rumor. There were hits, and there were misses. It had happened before. That didn't mean he couldn't still be pissed. It was eleven-o'clock at night on a deserted road fifteen miles outside the small town he'd just driven through. He wasn't looking forward to the walk back into town. Hopefully, the gas station he'd passed on the outskirts was still open.

The clouded sky above rumbled like the empty stomach of a god, and Eric felt the first faint droplets of moisture hit his skin. "Oh, could this night get any better...!?", he yelled skyward. As a deluge began to fall, he grabbed his umbrella and began the slow wet trek back.
__________________________________________________ ___________

Blessedly, the service station was open 24 hours. In hindsight, Eric reralized it was probably for travellers leaving town before the 250 miles to the next one.

"Here ya go. Hope it helps." The station's attendant tossed the phonebook onto the counter in front of Eric. "Don't hold your breath though, buddy. Most of the shops around here that hain't gone outta business don't keep late hours."

He was nice enough. Ruggedly handsome with brown eyes, messy brown hair, and about two days of stubble along his chin and jaw. The laugh lines etched around his mouth and eyes spoke of what Eric guessed to be a good natured 30 years of age. Filthy hands, jeans with a hole in the left knee, and an oil stained red t-shirt told Eric that he was a working man. "This your place?"

The guy shook his head with a smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. "Naw, I wish for the prices the owner charges. I just work the graveyard for him, Daryl's the name."

"Eric nodded, "Eric." He looked at what was left of the cover. The year at the top was 1998 - '99. "Uhhhhm, do you have anything more current....?"

Daryl looked down, and puffed out his cheeks. "Sorry, buddy. I keep tellin' Bart he needs a new phonebook, but he dun't listen. Best I can do for ya. You can use the phone, though. No charge."

Eric flipped open his cellular, "I got it." He put the phone to his ear. Nothing.

Daryl spoke up. "We're in the mountains here, buddy. Not likely you'll get a signal."

Eric looked at the phone. It beeped inanely, and he put it back in his pocket before turning back to Daryl. "Probably got too wet on the walk back anyway. Think I'll take you up on that after all."

He turned to the yellow pages as Daryl turned to a small, black-and-white television. Hardly any of the pages were left, but the 'T' section was mostly in tact. He turned to the Tow ruck/Towing Services section. There were a whopping 5 numbers listed. He tried the first four numbers only to find that the numbers listed were "no longer in service". Contrary to Daryl's advice, he held his breath as he dialed the last number for "Towing the Line Auto Services".

The other end rang. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Five rings. Six rings. Seven rings. Eight rings. Nine rings. Ten rings. Eric's heart sank as he was about to hang up when the other end came to life.

"Hello, Towing the Line Auto Services, can I help you?"

Salvation! Eric began talking too fast as his heart leapt, "Hi, my car broke down about ten miles away, and...."

The voice on the other end was calming, but a bit high pitched. Not the voice he expected from a mechanic. "Whoah, whaoh! Slow down, mister. Where are you?"

"Im at....", he looked at Daryl.

Daryl looked up from the TV, "Bart's Last Stop Self-Serve."

"....'Bart's Last Stop Self-Serve', on the edge of town."

"Okay, and your name....?"

"Eric. You need a last name?"

"Nope. You need a tow, right?"

"Yeah. My car's about ten miles outside of town."

"Okay, got it. You want a ride to your car? Or would you rather wait and I'll pick ya up on the way back?"

"Oh, that'd be great. Would you?"

"No problem. I'll be at Bart's in a half hour."

"A half hour....!?"

The voice was unphased by Eric's astonishment, "Yeah, man. I'm at the other end of town from Bart's."

Eric calmed, realizing how lucky he was, "Alright. I'll be waiting."

"Good, see ya in a half hour."

"Okay, bye." Eric hung up the phone and looked at Daryl. "Thanks. You've been a big help."

Daryl raised a bottle of soda in his direction without looking away from the television, "No problem, buddy. Anything for a weary traveller."

Eric turned toward the window and waited. There was nothing else he could do....
__________________________________________________ ______

"Sorry'bout the mess, man. Not used to havin' passengers."

Eric looked around the truck's cab. The floor was littered with innumerable empty soda cans, and dirty rags. He was just glad they weren't beer cans. "Hey, I'm just glad I don't have to be in the rain."

The truck itself looked ancient when it pulled up outside the station in the rain. The rain had become torrential, obscuring the lot lights. But it had been sufficiant to show a patchwork paint job of pea green, and countless rust spots. On the saide was an all-but-gone ad: "Towing the Line Auto Services", over a cartoon charicature of a tow truck with a big smile. It had almost looked surreal.

Eric looked the driver over in the faint lights of the dashboard. Nothing at all like what he'd been expecting. He was young, looking to be barely in his twenties. Clean shaven, with a cute boyish face, and a mop of curly blonde hair. Thin masculine lips, and a slightly long nose; the dim light of the cab didn't reveal his eyes much. Still, Eric could tell they were dark. He was tall. Taller than Eric, and he could see that he had to keep his seat pushed back conciderably to acomodate his long legs. But perhaps the most curious feature was the fact that he was skinny.

He wore a plain white, almost brightly clean t-shirt with a v-neck. But it hung from his long lanky torso like a shroud. The faded jeans he wore rode low on his hips, and were extremely baggy around his long legs. All in all not bad. But definitely not Eric's type. He averted his gaze out the window as the driver spoke again.

He patted the wheel affectionately, "Well, Betty here's seen all types of weather. Rain, floods, blizzards, even mudslides. Almost lost'er in one of those."

Eric was curious, "That seems like a lot. I mean, you don't look like you've been doin' this very long."

He laughed, "Me? No. But my dad did it for 30 years. Had this old wrecker since he opened for business back in '76. Could never bring himself to junk it, so he just kept her up. She's old, but she's still got lotsa life in'er."

"Do you work for your dad?"

"Used to. He passed on a few years ago. I wanted to keep his business alive after though. He taught me everything he knew from the time I was old enough to hold a wrench ,so I kept the shop open. Mostly to honor his memory, really."

"I'm sorry to hear about that. I can tell you enjoy your work."

He shrugged, "Eh, it pays the bills. Don't get much business, but I manage." He looked over at Eric, offering a hand, "Name's Gary, by the way. Gary Sidell."

Eric took his hand and shook. It was a clean hand, but Eric could feel the thick callouses that only came from years of manual labor. The kind only a mechanic could have. "Eric, Eric Surich."

"Pleased to meet ya, Eric. Figured if I was gonna tell ya my life's story, I oughta tell ya my name."

"Well, it's nice to meet you too."

Cary looked out the windshield, "That your car up ahead?"

Eric followed his gaze, slightly dismayed that the conversation with this surprisingly friendly stranger was ending. "Yep, that's me."

"PT Cruiser, huh?"

"Yeah, I've had it since I drove it off the lot."

"They're nice. Never met anyone that could afford one around here, though."

"Well, I'm not from around here."

"Yeah, kinda figured. Shall we....?"

Eric got out, and found to his surprise that the rain had slackened to a light mist that floated in the headlights of the wrecker as Gary walked up to the Cruiser. The shy had somewhat cleared, and a full moon illuminated the night with an eerie blue light.

"Well, I suppose I oughtta get this badboy on the truck so we can take it to the shop and see what's wrong."

Gary walked to the back of the wrecker, and grasped something at the end of the truck bed. With a great heave, he pulled out two treaded ramps, and walked backward, pulling them with him until they reached their full length.

Eric was surprised at how little he struggled with the heavy-looking pieces of steel as he set their ends slowly and carefully down on the ground in front of the Cruiser's front tires. They had to weigh a ton, and Gary's unassuming build didn't look like it could handle such weight.

Eric scratched his head in utter amazement, "Wow! You're, uh, a lot stronger than ya look."

Gary smiled over his shoulder as the great metal ramps settled with an ancient creeking sound. "Heh, I get that a lot. Now, we gotta get your car up onto the bed. Ya wanna put it in neutral?"

Eric unlocked the driver door, and stuck the key in the ignition. He shifted into neutral, and stood out of the car. "Okay, go for it." Gary walked to the rear of the Cruiser, and Eric watched in confusion. "Aren't ya gonna use the winch....?"

Gary shook his head with a smile as he braced himself against rear of Eric's car. "Nah, hasn't worked for years...."

Eric became a bit more frantic as Gary prepared to begin pushing, "....Well, can I at least help....?"

Gary began to exhert force as Eric ran back to help, "....Nope, I got it...."

"But....but you can't possibly push that up yourself....!"

Gary smiled at Eric through gritted teeth, "Watch me!" He gave a loud grunt, and a strange wave of unseen energy seemed to radiate outward from Gary, sending Eric stumbling backward a few steps. Eric's eyes went wide as he watched.

His attention was firt drawn to Gary's arms. The previously vascular-but-thin arms were beginning to gradually get thicker. As he pushed, Eric saw that Gary's shoulders were starting to round out, his delts swelling to fill the fabric. His traps were rapidly filling in around his neck and pushing the shoulders of his shirt upward while his neck began to thicken.

Eric stepped back a few more feet as the intensity of the energy radiating outward from Gary increased. He became aware of a faint noise like something stretching, and saw that Gary's chest was beginning to swell outward with the force of exhertion. His abs were popping out, row by row, becoming cobbled and bricklike.

The light rain had soaked through the fabric of Gary's shirt, plastering it to his upper body, and Eric could clearly see skin through the white fabric. Deep cuts etched downward through Gary's back as each muscle rippled to life through the cotton. His lats exploded out from his sides, filling any remaining slack in the material, and ballooning out to give his torso a broad v-shape.

Eric was astonished to see that Gary's previously baggy jeans were rapidly growing tighter. His quads filled the denim out, and his glutes had become large and rounded, giving him an attractive bubble butt.

With a squeak, the Cruiser began to inch forward. Gary's hair was wet, and draped around his head and face in loose curls as he put his head down, gritted his teeth, and pushed harder. The Cruiser began to move toward the ramp.

Eric only whispered in awe to himself, "Holy shit....!"

Eric was dumbfounded as Gary began to grow bigger still as more strength was needed. His body became massive as pound after pound of muscle packed itself onto the ample room of Gary's formerly gangly frame. His deltoids inflated, growing to the size of bowling balls as his traps rose higher on his shoulders and crowded in around the rope-like cords of his neck.

His biceps inflated ever bigger, now like mellons, and pulling the sleeves of the shirt tighter to reveal the horseshoe shape of his triceps. His pecs, for their part, were ballooning to fill the t-shirt and shown plainly through the fabric as his cobbled abs became more brick-like by the second.

Gary's lats flaired wider still, and the t-shirt rose, untucking from his waistband. It inched upward along his torso, revealing the writhing mass of muscles in his lower back, and the two lowest pairs of abs surrounding his inny navel. His jeans looked painfully tight around his butt and thighs. A ripping sound came from below as the seams around his inflating calves separated.

The car rolled forward now, and began up the ramp to the back of the truck. Gary lifted his head, and roared, looking for all the world like the living embodiment of strength. His hair was plastered to his head, and streaked across his face. The t-shirt was soaked, straining to contain his strength. He exherted greater effort still, pushing the car up the ramp.

Eric watched as the shoulder seams of the t-shirt split under the strain of his bulging, melon-sized delts. The freed sleeves slid down his arm, only to be caught and held in place by his ballooning upper arms. The fabric was quickly stretched, and contorted, finally ripping as his bis and tris exploded outward from one another. His pecs swelled out, causing a jagged tear to start at the distended collar. The tear extended rapidly downward over his chest and abs, splitting the shirt open. His chest spilled out, jiggling slightly from the force of the sudden release of restraint. His abs jutted out from beneath them proudly, standing in stark contrast to the narrowness of his waist. His back became overly wide as his lats blew up under his arms, and forced the bulk of them outward and obliterating the remains of the tee. With a final groan of protest, the seams on the outside leg of his jeans parted, giving up the fight. The tear quickly travelled upward toward his waistline, revealing the individual tear-shaped muscles of his quadriceps as they broke free of their denim prison.

The Cruiser rolled into place, and Gary restrained it, cranking two braces in along its sides from the sides of the truckbed. He turned, and leapt nimbly from the bed, to the ground where he stood before a speechless Eric.

His torso was completely bare, gleaming with rain and sweat in the pale light of the moon. Veins criss-crossed his entire form, and Eric noticed now that a large bulge had errupted forth from his crotch. It extended up and to the right, out to his hip where the head was plainly visible in the area of his pocket. The front of his jeans curved outward obscenely, and the crotch had become crowded and packed with his now tennis ball-sized gentalia.

Gary smiled shyly, looking down over himself as he followed Eric's gaze. "Hm, think I overdid it a little."

Eric sputtered a second, trying to find the words. "A little....!?"

Gary looked up, uncomprehensively. "You....don't seem surprised....."

Eric took in the sight of Gary's physique. His entire body was bloated, and overdeveloped. Not an inch of bone showed anywhere save for his mostly obscured elbows as his arms hung out and away from his body. "Well, lets just say....well....it's a long story."

Gary looked quizzical, "Care to fill me in?"

Eric debated the matter briefly. "Ummmm, yeah, but I think we should get to wherever you need to take my car first."

Gary shrugged, and Eric nearly swooned as it sent a ripple through his chest and arms. "Fair enough. Lets get going."
__________________________________________________ ______

During the ride back, Eric had explained in detail about his quest, and how he came to be in this part of the country. Gary had been surprised to here that there were others able to do things similar to what he'd kept secret from everyone but his parents.

At the garage, Gary had quickly identified the problem as a shot starter. He fixed the component in a surprisingly short amount of time, remaining shirtless the entire time. It struck Eric as odd that he was so comfortable around a relative stranger.

Gary washed grease from his hands, "There ya go, man, all fixed up. Ya should be able to leave in the morning."

"Why in the morning?"

Gary glanced over his shoulder to a clock on the wall. "It's 4 a.m.. Ya really wanna start travelling again at this hour?"

"Good point. Is there a hotel nearby?"

"No. But I have a room at my place where ya can crash."

Eric smiled, "That's really very nice. And I'm flattered, but, I'm kinda taken...."

Gary shrugged again as he looked down for a moment. "Shoot. Well, I tried. But ya can still crash there till tomorrow.... if ya want."

Eric finally got up the courage to ask. "Okay, but can I ask you one more favor?"

Gary sensed the question, and shrugged, sending another ripple through his bulging torso. "Sure, man. Anything...."

Eric rose, and walked foward, placing a hand on each of gary's massive pecs. Gary smiled broadly, showing a perfect set of bright white teeth. Eric leaned in, and spoke into his ear....
__________________________________________________ _______

Eric got into his car, and headed down the road. As he passed Bart's, he chuckled to himself. It wouls certainly be a place he never forgot. Eric thought about everything he'd seen the night before. Including the show Gary had agreed to put on for him. He felt the crotch of his jeans constrict and stretch as his overdeveloped cock inflated at the thought of Gary lifting the tow truck over his head effortlessly. He certainly felt good about his next journey as he drove across the state border into Wyoming....

(END....?)

__________________________________________________ __________

[COLOR=red]There ya are, kiddiez. The third "Scrapbook Chronicle". Even though it's only a One-Shot, I hope y'all enjoy it. I will post the next Chronicle as soon as i think something up. Until then, you know the drill. Questions, comments, and constructive criticisms welcome. Until next time kidz.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]Ciao,[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]L_B[/COLOR]

[omelissokomos]

Nice imagery of the hot, wet, muscle man hulking out in the rain. Cute pun on the title too. Just hope people remember it's originally from 'toeing the line'. Hehe...

[scott2462]

Great story to wake up to first thing this morning. I agree with 'O', the hulk out scene in the rain was awesome.

[chocomus]

I liked it a lot.
I wonder who wil he met next.
Looking forward to read it!

[Lover_Boy]

[COLOR=red]....What joke were you referring to....? Did I copy a story someone else wrote....?[/COLOR]

[omelissokomos]

Originally Posted by Lover_Boy

What joke were you referring to....?

The expression "Toeing the Line" being replaced by "Towing the Line", which I thought was the source of the pun for the towing company name you used, kinda like a hair salon calling itself "Curl Up and Dye".

[Lover_Boy]

[COLOR=red]....that was an intersting, and informative little factoid. I wasn't aware that I was indeed simply mis-spelling it. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=red]Like the site said, I always imagined the phrase to mean doing work by "towing" a line. The "line" being a figurative workload, or burden of some sort. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]From my point of view, it makes sense. Usually whenever I've heard someone say"...So, you better start toeing the line!", it usually meant that they were slacking in some way, and needed to start pulling their weight more (another odd phrase). In essence, figuratively bearing a burden, or "towing" a line. [/COLOR][COLOR=#ff0000]Imagine my surprise to discover my life long misconception on this. [/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]As it is, thankyou for granting me with more wit than I actually possess (apparently). However, it does make for a good pun, as you stated. Too bad it wasn't intentional.[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]And that concludes today's lesson on "Strange Phrases, Idioms, and Adages". [/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]Class Dismissed,[/COLOR]

[COLOR=#ff0000]L_B[/COLOR]

[RadRx]

I've always thought the phrase 'toeing the line' was military in origin -- referring to the lockstep discipline required to march in rigid formation (hence your feet ending up on the "line" at the appropriate place) and obey orders under duress. Eventually it reaches a point that it becomes habitual and unquestioned when performed.

[Rowan]

I really like these chronicles, and this 'one-shot' is no exception. The imagery is just great, and I agree with those above. The scene in the rain was incredibly hot. Definitely looking forward to seeing more of Eric's travels.

-- Rowan