Xcelite deluxe set no 127 by Peggy Rockey

Prompt: Workbench | Word Count: 1800 Words Exactly | Genre: Fiction
Warning: Sexual content
Due August 14

Nathan’s hands, gnarled with arthritis and old age, felt too large and clumsy for the task he’d set for himself. The beloved tool set is old, older than he is, handed down from his father and his grandfather before him. The rust and peeling paint are evidence of a life well lived, yet Nathan had plans to restore it to its original state. Nathan plans to pass it on to his two year old great grandson on the occasion of their next visit.

Handling the tool set had flooded Nathan with a sense of nostalgia. Fond childhood memories surfaced of playing with this particular tool set, the Xcelite Deluxe Nutdriver Set No. 127. As a little boy, he had played out here in the garage, happily matching the colored drivers to their color-coded slots in the metal case, while his dad tinkered with his hobbies. His father had called the drivers spin tights, had used them to fix old radios and televisions.

A strong memory came to him, of being lifted up to sit on the workbench, his short legs dangling in the air while his dad fiddled with the wire tape recorder. Dad and Grandpa Al had exchanged recorded messages throughout most of Nathan’s childhood, sharing little snippets of their lives they found amusing or interesting; preferring to communicate in this manner when a telephone call or a letter would have done the same.

Nathan had uncovered an old box of these recordings just a few days ago, cherished memories of voices long silenced, but not forgotten.

"Say hello to your Grandfather, Nathan," Daddy had held the large, rectangular microphone up to his face.

"Hello Gram-pa," he had replied in his uncertain, little boy voice.

"Tell your grandfather what a good boy you are, Nate; how big and fast you're growing."

"I'm a big boy, Gram-pa."

Nathan smiled at the memory; Dad had gone on chatting into the microphone for a while, his deep voice laughing at his own jokes; until his mother came in to make inconsequential small talk about soaking chicken in buttermilk while oil heated up on the stove.

Nathan feels a thickness in his throat, a longing so intense for his parents that he hadn’t felt in years. It had been such a great thing to listen to those old recordings, but it had been bittersweet as well, and left him in a bit of a funk.

He set the tool case back into the tray of vinegar, the sharp, acrid scent permeating the garage. His Dad had taught him this trick long ago, using white vinegar to remove rust from metal. The aroma tickled his nose and made his eyes water.

Of course it was the vinegar making his eyes tear up. Not the yearning for his long dead parents, nor the more recent memory of Sally, lying pale and shaken in the recovery room following surgery earlier that morning, of his wife’s brave, bandaged face on the drive home from the hospital. She’d said is wasn't painful, but she worried that the scar would mar her face.

“Scar, schmar,” Nate had assured her. “It’ll just add character to your good looks. You are just as beautiful as you were when I first fell in love with you, even now after all these years, with your gray hair and wrinkles.”

"And saggy boobs?"

“Those too," he had teased, reaching across the car to give her breast a gentle caress and a quick tweak of her nipple.

"Oh, you," she swatted at his hand, but her lips had lifted in a tentative smile, and he could tell her spirit had lifted as well.

He had put her to bed, kissed her forehead and stroked her thick hair, until she shooed him away so she could sleep off the last dregs of anesthesia. Nathan had come out to the garage to distract himself from his feelings of helplessness, of his inability to protect his wife and keep her safe.

He plucked the tool case out of the vinegar again and set it on the workbench. Picking up an old toothbrush, he began scrubbin the soft bristles against the largest rust spot. He was determined to remove the blemish from the tool, like the surgeon removing the cancer from his wife. The rust came off slowly, but it was a time consuming, painstaking process. Eventually, he had to stop, to rest his hands from the ache of hard use.

As he placed the tool case back in the vinegar, his eyes took in the heart shaped engraving he’d carved into the lower left corner of the workbench. The sight of it lightened his spirit momentarily. He'd been so young then, but he was just as besotted now as he’d been back then. N.A + S.F. The initials are as clear as they’d been when he’d first put them there. Had it really been sixty years?

He’d been in love with Sally Fisher even when she had been Josh O’Rielly’s girl, back when they’d all been in high school. Josh hadn’t treated Sally very well. More often than not, he would leave Sally with Nate while he went off drinking and hanging out with “the guys.” He’d done this so often that Nathan suspected Josh actually preferred men over women, and had not been brave enough to admit it. Josh’s neglect had had a terrible effect on Sally’s self- esteem, leaving her feeling unworthy and undesirable, when that was so far from the truth.

As a result, she took to flirting outrageously with Nathan in a failed effort to gain Josh’s attention, to make him jealous. And Nathan hadn’t minded that one bit. She was so pretty, with her big blue eyes, and lopsided grin; her hourglass figure, toned from jogging and playing basketball. It had made Nathan so angry to see her pining away for a man who didn’t want her. She’d been sexy as hell. Hell, she still is, Nathan thinks, even at seventy seven.


Sally and Josh eventually broke it off, opening the way for Nate to court her instead. They’d had a whirlwind romance; already in love with each other by the time they were free to do so. They’d married within the year.

Josh had even been the best man at their wedding. He never did come out of the closet. In all the years Nathan knew him, the only serious relationship Josh ever had was with his bottle. Sadly, he drank himself into an early grave at the age of fifty-six.

From the very start, Nate and Sally couldn’t keep their hands off each other; their physical attraction was mutual and satisfying. They made love often and even when they fought, there was always make up sex to make things right again. Time and again she would come find him, tinkering in the garage, and end up bent over the workbench, loving his hands on her hips while her soft moans escaped into the night.

After the twins were born, Nate rigged up a swing for the two girls beside the workbench, where Emma and Ellie would happily play while he tinkered and worked. As babies, they were oblivious to the times when Sally would sashay into the shop, all sexy in her mini skirt and tank top. She’d dance across the floor and sidle up against him, whisper something suggestive in his ear, and bend over in front of him, as if to pick a tool up off the floor, just far enough so he could see her lack of panties.

God, it made him hard just remembering. This, in and of itself, was a minor miracle at his age. At seventy eight, this no longer happened as regularly as it had in the past.

Nathan rubbed a wrinkled finger over the scarred workbench; the texture as rough and gnarled as his skin. The workbench has been a part of his life for as long as he can remember. Like the Xcelite Deluxe Nut Driver Set No 127. It had been a wedding gift from his father. Along with the house and the shop and all its furnishings.

Dad had had no desire to live in the house after Nathan’s mother had passed away, so he’d gifted the home to his son and new wife. He bought a shiny new silver bullet trailer and set out on the road to find adventure in his old age.

The trailer was on the side of the house now, no longer shiny, but still in decent condition. His recently widowed daughter had asked if she could borrow it to pursue some new adventures of her own, and Nathan had agreed, hoping it would help move Ellie beyond grief.

That had been before Sally had been diagnosed with melanoma and their lives put on hold. Today’s surgery had been the second and, thankfully, the doctor seemed confident that he had removed all the cancer cells, though she would need to go in for follow up evaluations every six months. This second surgery had not been nearly as difficult as the first, when they had removed lymph nodes from the side of her neck, but Nathan expects she will be exhausted and depressed, as she had been before.

His chest tightens with anxiety. Irrational fears were now forcing their way past the nostalgia that had comforted him just moments before, taking hold of his thoughts. He doesn’t know what he would do without her. She is the love of his life, his best friend, his main squeeze.

A shadow appeared in the doorway, a form silhouetted in front of the brightness of the late afternoon sun. It took less than a moment to recognize her.

His heart quickens as she comes into the garage, her eyes locked on his, walking slowly towards him with a suggestion of seduction in her lopsided grin.

“What are you tinkering with, old man?” She asks, her voice low and husky.

She’s wrapped in a woolen robe, her bare feet making little sound as she approaches. “You better not be out here worrying about me,” she said, “because I am going to be just fine.”

His throat tightens and he swallows reflexively. She lifts up on her tippie toes, places her hands on either side of his face and tugs him gently towards her until his lips settle on hers. He worries about brushing against the bandage and hurting her.

The kiss is tentative at first; but intensifies as her arms come around his neck and her tongue dances with his. A gasp escapes him as she moves just so, with that practiced swivel of a hip, pushing up against him, just so.

She smiles that impish smile that he loves so well, opens her robe and lets it fall to the ground.