They finished lunch, hugged like friends, and went their separate ways.
Yoshi spent his Monday night in solitude. He rang his parents, just to check in, then turned his phone off so he wouldn’t be contacted by anyone. He devoured the rest of the novel he was reading, ‘Independent People’, then stared at the ceiling for a few moments as the bleak tale reverberated around his head. He slept early.
*
Thursday afternoon. The mechanic was on a break at the garage, enjoying a strong cup of tea.
Mack: hey
Yoshi: hey
Mack: you up to anything tonight?
Yoshi: nah … was meant to be doing some research for uni but im thinking about changing courses next semester
Mack: what’s up?
Yoshi: *sigh* tell you next time we meet
Mack: come over later?
Yoshi: sure, want me 2 bring anything
Mack: nah … just your appetite and your body
Yoshi: ooh daddy
Mack: you said you’d be up for anything? well I’ve got something I wouldn’t mind trying
Yoshi: what do you want to do?
Mack: it’s a surprise … come over around 6 and I’ll cook dinner for us
Yoshi: cant wait!
*
The emo rang the mechanic’s intercom just after six o’clock and was buzzed up. He knocked on the door, and the Mack let him in. “Hey, big guy. How’ve you been?”
“Good. Working hard as usual, punk, but it’s always good to come home and get creative in the kitchen.”
“What are you cooking?” asked Yoshi, wrapping his loving arms around the mechanic’s waist.
“I’m grilling us some trout fillets, and I’m making some mashed potato with a tiny drizzle of lemon juice mixed in, and to serve, there’ll be some seared stalks of broccolini and asparagus on top.”
Yoshi blinked. Sounded gourmet. “Do you use recipe books?”
“Nah. I have two or three books that my mum gave me when I first moved out with Abby. They’re old school. You know, how to rustle up meat and three veg, how to roast a chook, how to cook spaghetti bolognaise when the sauce comes out of a can, and how to make desserts with jelly. Mum told me I should learn to cook, and I have, but I don’t use the books she gave me, because the recipes in them are truly fucking terrible. So I kind of just make shit up.”
The emo frowned. “You make shit up?”
“Yeah, kinda,” admitted the mechanic, quickly checking on the trout. “It’s a bit of trial and error, I guess. Some meals I’ve cooked have been monumental fuckups, and a few have been completely inedible, but I can usually work out what went wrong and I learn not to do it again when I have another crack at the same dish. What I’m cooking tonight is quite easy, just so long as you don’t overcook the fish and get the timing right on everything else. I copied this one from a pub restaurant. This meal cost me forty bucks at a pub one night, and while it was good, I thought I could easily make it for myself at home on the cheap.” He took the fish out from under the grill and set it aside — it looked perfect. He finished preparing the mash and removed the vegetables from the pan. On two plates, he spooned a generous helping of creamy potato, rested the fillets on the beds of mash, then placed stalks of asparagus and baby broccoli beside the fish. He handed one of the plates to Yoshi. “Here you go, punk.”
The emo’s eyes widened as delicious scents teased his nostrils. “Smells amazing! If I had an Instagram account, I’d take a pic. That’s what Insta people do, right? It’s all about people taking pictures of food.”
“And photos of bikini-clad attention-seeking teens with terrible boobjobs,” added the mechanic. “Anyway, food’s getting cold, so grab yourself a knife and fork.”
The meal was delicious, and the fish was so tender the flesh peeled away with the slightest nudge of Yoshi’s cutlery. “Fuck, big guy,” he said, munching on a broccolini stalk, “you know your shit.”
Mack smiled bashfully. “Thanks, punk. Nice of you to say.”
They finished eating, and Mack tidied up in the kitchen. He stacked the dishwasher and turned it on. The emo sat on the couch, wondering what it was the mechanic wanted to do tonight. He was about to ask, but the mechanic beat him to it.
“Hey, punk,” he said, sitting on the couch beside Yoshi, “there’s something I’d like to try, if you’re game.” He paused for a second, gazing into the emo’s beautiful half-Japanese eyes. “Wait here. Won’t be long.”
Yoshi sat and waited. The silence was broken by the sound of something heavy and unwieldy being accidentally slammed into a wall, and he turned his neck in alarm. “Oof, sorry, punk,” he heard the mechanic call as he brought a large, flat appliance into the lounge room.
“What’s that?” asked the emo.
“A massage table,” replied Mack, setting it up. “Come over here.”
“Why?” asked Yoshi.
“Because I’m gonna give you a massage.”
“Where’d you get it from? The table, I mean?”
“Someone at work. I told him I had some old rugby aches and pains that were flaring up and that I was gonna get a masseuse to come around.” The mechanic noticed Yoshi looked uncertain. “I mean, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he continued.
“No … it’s just that … well I guess I’m surprised, but it sounds like it could be fun.”
Mack smiled. “I think you’re gonna love it. Like I said, come over here.”
Yoshi stood up and walked over to the device. “You want me to lie down?”
“Hold your horses, we need to get you undressed first.” The mechanic lifted Yoshi’s t-shirt up over his head, exposing his lithe, hairless chest. He ran his thick fingers across each nipple, watching them stiffen. The emo’s jaw gaped open, and the piercing in his lip glinted off the ceiling light. “I’m gonna let you take your socks and pants off yourself, punk.”
Yoshi complied and stood in front of the mechanic, completely naked except for a pair of frilly panties that Amelia recently gave to him. He looked up at Mack. “I think I’m ready, but I think I’ll leave these on for now,” teased the emo. “Like, I need to preserve my modesty.”
The mechanic coughed nervously as blood began rushing to the tip of his fat dick. “Yeah, no worries,” he replied. He placed a clean bathtowel down on the table in preparation. “OK, now you can lie down. Face down, and put your head through the hole at the top. I can’t dim the light, but I’m gonna turn the lounge room light off and leave the kitchen one on. Hopefully that works.”
Yoshi wasn’t concerned about lighting scenarios, but by the same token, he had no idea what he was in for. “I’ve never had a massage before,” he confessed, “but I’m up for anything.” He looked down at Mack’s floor through the hole in the table. “Will it be a Swedish massage or a Thai massage?” he joked, not knowing the difference.
“A rugby massage. It’s the only kind I know.” Mack grabbed a bottle of sunflower oil and squirted some into his palms. “Are you ticklish?” he asked.
“You mean my feet?” clarified the emo. “Nup.”
“Cool. I’ll start there.”
With as much tenderness as his well-worn hands could muster, Mack clasped his oily hands around the emo’s left heel. His thumbs went to work on the sole of his foot, and he heard tiny creaks and crinkles as tiny, stubborn knots Yoshi didn’t even know he had were untied and crushed. He ran his thumb across the underside of each of the emo’s toes, pressing them back, stretching the tendons and allowing blood to flow through. He massaged the ankle and calf of Yoshi’s left leg before pouring some more oil into his palm and getting to work on the right. “You OK, punk?”