Normal Types Cross The Street For Swipes
Friday night. C.B has a day off tomorrow, and he’s going to make the most of that free time. He’s already decided to take a nice long shower tonight, and really scrub all the dirt and grime out of the cracks in his paneling. The radio is on and the steam from the hot water has started to fill the bathroom. He’s standing still fully clothed in front of the mirror, staring at his own reflection. Electra was still acting weird today at lunch, immediately pulling C.B into their side and they even played with the hair at the nape of his neck that isn’t covered by the hat. It’s all so confusing and frustrating! Do they like him or not?!
C.B grips the bathroom counter, knuckles going white from the strain on his artificial skin. He takes a deep calming breath and looks back up at himself.
”Well. Let’s get this over with.”
He takes off the shoulder pieces first, placing them off to the side. Then he sits down on the small stool he has in the bathroom to take off the skates. He wants to avoid the ball bearings rusting, so it’s better to shower without them on. Then comes the shirt. It’s easier than the pants, but it’s still something that takes a bit of courage. C.B isn’t someone who stares at himself naked a lot, not because he thinks he’s too good for vanity, but because he doesn’t like what he sees. The other trucks are so much stronger than him, with thick torsos and arms, but he doesn’t need musculature for his job, everything is on the inside. Covered up, no need for aesthetics if you’re just a tool. He’s seen the Rockies shirtless, and they’re all bulky, with defined abs and strong pecs. And sure, C.B does have stronger legs than the average truck in order to brake with speed and precision, but it’s not nearly enough for him to feel proud to show it off.
Staring at his shirtless reflection, he sees the squareness of his torso, the slight line that goes from the top of his hips down into his pants, the individual artificial ribs that are easily counted, all of it. He feels ashamed of it all. He’s not beautiful, he’s not handsome. He’s just a smaller than average brake van with a stupid crush on a gorgeous electric engine. But at least he’s good at his job? That’s always something, right?
He shakes his head with a sigh and starts unbuckling the belt that holds up both his pants and the codpiece that all male trucks and engines wear. That one is purely for aesthetic purposes, at least in C.B’s case. Gender is something that is pretty much obsolete to trains, during manufacturing they’re given a set of genitalia, or multiple on occasion, and then they can decide the rest for themselves. There was a bit of a misunderstanding with C.B though, because when he was being built he was given a commonly male upper body, and a commonly female lower body. It has never been an issue, it all does what it’s supposed to, so why bother complaining? The only real issue with it is that the few times he’s slept with someone, just to try it out, it never felt very good. The coaches talk about their experiences, and it seems so much better for them, like it all works correctly. So why doesn’t it work with him? He asked Dinah about it once, and she just said that the guys he’d slept with were bad at it. Maybe that’s what it is?
Finally pulling off the pants completely, C.B steps into the shower. The nearly scalding water hisses when it hits his head and shoulders, and he instantly feels better. It’s like the anxiety and stress runs down the drain together with the dirt. He starts to massage his neck and shoulders, feeling the gears loosen up and move smoother. It’s all so good. Reaching for the shampoo, he starts humming along with the radio. When he washes his hair, the song changes, now playing a strangely sensual love song. He’s never heard it before, but it sounds like something Dinah would like.
The rest of the shower goes smoothly, and he steps out feeling refreshed and clean. He changes into his casual clothes after drying his hair. When he opens the door to the bathroom, the steam flows out into the rest of the shed, causing condensation to form on the windows. It’s already late enough for C.B to go directly to bed, and who is he to deny the siren-like call of his soft mattress? No one, is the answer. So he falls into bed, curling up underneath the thick comforter and kicking his feet in content. Closing his eyes, he waits for sleep to overtake him.
~~~
Three hours later, it’s almost two AM, and he’s still wide awake. His brain won’t shut up, and there’s a weird restlessness in his body. Like there’s something he needs to do but hasn’t yet. And he doesn’t know what it is! He’s tried everything, talking, running around, doing pushups, attempting to count to one thousand, everything! So he stares at the ceiling and tries to figure out what to do next.
What are the coaches always saying helps them sleep?
He thinks back to previous conversations with the coaches, trying to remember what they said. The blurry image of Dinah comes to mind, she was talking to Buffy about how easily she fell asleep last night.
”You wouldn’t believe how quickly I was out afterwards, poor Greasy barely had the time to clean me up before I fell asleep!”
Buffy nodded and was about to say something, but C.B butted in before she had a chance.
”Wait, what are you guys talking about?”
Dinah then proceeded to describe some of the weirdest things C.B had ever heard, including Greaseball and her’s sex lives. It was definitely a memorable experience, not for any good reasons though. He was horrified.
But she did say, and was backed up by the other coaches, that it’s really easy to fall asleep after an orgasm. Something about getting tired out by the physical exhaustion. No, it’s stupid, and it wouldn’t work even if he tried.
…
Fine. It’s not going to work, but if he’s already decided to be on a self discovery mission, he might as well try this out too. C.B sighs angrily before shoving his underwear down. It’s apparent immediately that he actually has no idea what to do next, just lying there for a few seconds with no underwear on. After a few awkward seconds of indecisiveness he finally makes the decision to just try touching a bit to figure out what to do next. His hand feels weirdly sweaty as it drifts towards his crotch.
He starts by touching his inner thighs, up to the junction of his crotch, and it feels strange. He knows that it’s his own hand, but he’s never really had anyone touch him like this before. It’s always been quick and rough, none of the ”foreplay” that the girls talk about, and no ”aftercare” either. Maybe that’s what he was missing?
While he was thinking, his hand moved on its own, and he doesn’t realize what it’s doing until he feels like an electric shock flew through him. He pulls his hand away, before curiously moving it back to where the shock came from. He has some general knowledge about his own genitalia, but apparently not enough to know what just happened. He finds the small nub located an inch or so above his valve, and there it is again. This time it’s less electric, but it still feels surprisingly good? He touches harder, but there’s not much more happening. Then he experimentally tries to rub it instead, and immediately an even stronger wave of electricity shoots up through his spine, making him gasp. Oh, so that’s how it works?
He quickly figures out a pace and motion that works best for him, and after a minute he’s gasping and his legs are twitching. His mind has wandered to his dreams, remembering the latest one where Electra was his faceless partner.
What would Electra even be like in bed? Knowing them, they would probably like to be in charge, telling C.B exactly what to do. He can almost see it, Electra sitting between his legs, keeping them spread with their hands, thumbs stroking his inner thighs. He can imagine them telling him what a good job he’s doing, and it’s something he wants to hear in real life now. He wants Electra to tell him he’s a good boy, to touch him, to do whatever they want with him. It’s a sudden and raging desire from the very bottom of his soul that catches C.B off guard. But it’s true. So he keeps fantasizing, imagining that it’s Electra that’s touching him.
His orgasm hits him out of nowhere, and as he cums, he shouts Electras name. The aftershocks feel just as intense as the orgasm itself, with his legs shaking and his breathing stuttering. Still shaking, he manages to drag himself out of bed to stumble into the bathroom and wash the lubricant off of his hands. He realizes that at some point during his masturbstion session he had started slowly pushing his own finger in and out of his valve. Weird that he didn’t think about it at the moment. But it felt good, so it’s probably fine. When the last traces of the lubricant are washed off, he stumbles back to bed and collapses, exhausted, on the bed. He barely has time to pull his underwear back on and cosy up beneath the comforter before he’s out like a light. His last thought before he’s asleep is ”thank the starlight I have a day off tomorrow so I don’t have to try to look Electra in the eye after that.”
Little does he know, Electra has some rather grandiose plans for the Saturday.