“Well, man, you’ve got a cracked head gasket and your water-pump is shot.”

Roger really had no clue what the diagnosis of his broken down Ford Escort meant in terms of severity of injury, but the inflection in the mechanic’s voice indicated that it was not an easy fix.

“Oh really…” Roger began, attempting to sound as if the mechanic’s assessment sounded like something more than gibberish to him. “So, what would that run me…”

The burly automotive repair technician interjected, “Well, parts and labor… you’re lookin’ at about 1200.”

Roger’s stomach seized up and a lump crawled from his belly into his throat. “Tw… twelve hu… hundred?!” The fifty dollars he’d dropped to have his car towed to the shop was about as big a dent in his budget as he could manage. This repair estimate was an astronomical figure by comparison. “I… I just… there’s no way I can afford that. Is there any way to fix it cheaper?”

“’Fraid not,” the hulking mechanic responded matter-of-factly. He leaned down across the grimy workshop counter that separated him from the lobby in which Roger was standing, his thick, veiny forearms crossing each other under the weight of his gnarled, well-muscled upper body. Peering down from squinted eyes set into his chiseled face, he worked this thick, square, five-o-clock-shadowed jaw back and forth with the chewing of his wad of cotton candy flavored bubble yum. “Well…” he began, looking Roger up and down with a look of unfettered voraciousness on his face. “Maybe I spoke too soon. You’re a pretty boy. We could probably work something out.”

Roger was taken aback by the serviceman’s tone and gesture.

“But,” the scrungy repairman continued, “I’m gonna expect payment up front.”

Roger was bewildered. Was this mechanic really soliciting him for sexual favors?! That was absurd. Like something out of a bad porno film. “Sir, you can’t seriously be asking me to pay for my car work by… well… ya know…” Roger looked down, now uncomfortable making eye contact with the strapping mechanic across the counter. As his eyes descended from the man’s tan, greasy face, he noticed the embroidered lapel on his shirt that read “Dale”.

Dale just continued to stare Roger down, allowing the unfortunate motorist to talk himself into the act.

“Dale…” Roger started, then halted suddenly, looking back up at the sexy, middle-aged mechanic. “Mind if I call you Dale?” Dale just lingered. “I… I mean… surely you’re kidding? Right?”

Dale’s gaze did not waver.

“I just can’t do that. I mean, I’m flattered, but I’m not… ya know… into guys.” Roger squirmed, running his hand across the back of his neck furiously. “But I really can’t afford these repairs. But I have to have my car running. I can’t get to work otherwise. There’s no way I could get an advance. And with my credit, I can’t qualify for a loan…”

Dale’s focus did not falter. He continued to chew his gum, staring thin, lithe young Roger down with a steely unblinking glare.

“I mean, I appreciate you trying to work something out for me. But I just can’t do that. I can’t be … with… another man. I just can’t. I just can’t.”

Dale finally budged from the counter and broke eye contact with Roger. He stood upright, towering above his small client. He walked out from behind the counter and moved past Roger toward the door