Flash Fiction Friday - Car Song Trio

CB

"Breaker 1-9, this is Big Rig Daddy headin' down the freeway and lookin' for love." She could hear the twang of a country song in the background through the static on his CB.

"10-4 Big Rig, this is Top-Down Lady sittin' behind the billboard for Luigi's Pizza on 150 South, lookin' for fun," she said, her voice slipping into the accent without realizing it. "Why not stop by if you're in the neighborhood?"

This was it. Her voice trembled as she said the last words, not from fear but from anticipation. He agreed eagerly, said he was in transit, then signed off. She sat there, waiting, humming softly, fingers toying idly with the snap on her stockings, then reaching down to stroke the silk-covered wetness between. Her small breasts were chilled by the breeze of passing cars, the nipples hard and tender in the shadows. She didn't care if anyone saw.

When she heard the semi pull up behind her with a rumble of engine and a screech of air brakes, she turned to see him getting down from his cab, then sighed with satisfaction. It's not every day a girl gets her driver's license and pops her cherry in the same day. She leaned the seat back and prepared for some trucker love.

---

Drive-In

"It's okay." She'd said it so many times to me before. "It's okay." But it wasn't okay.

We were at the drive-in with the top pulled down, and she was reattaching the strap that had come loose during our fit of passion, not looking at me. The feature was some monster movie from Japan, but neither of us were paying attention to the cheesy plot. We were close enough to the projector to hear it humming softly, or maybe that was the compressor on the freezer where they stored the terrible food they deep-fried to death.

"I know you wanted to go all the way," I said from the back seat, head in hands. "I... I just can't. Not like this."

"Then how?" she asked, a snap in her tone which she instantly regretted. "Jesus, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, it's my fault," I said, looking up finally. "I just wanted it to be special. But something takes over when we're together; I just want to rip your clothes off, and then when it gets to the moment... I can't."

"It's okay," she said, again, looking at me. Maybe she believed it as she slipped her bra back on. In the car, in total silence, we watched the rest of the terrible movie, then drove home to our separate beds with wedding rings that felt too tight for comfort.

---

To the Metal

"Gun it!" she squealed as I revved the engine, naked ass writhing on center grill. "Oh god, right there, yes, yes!" My foot was to the floor; the car was rocking even though it was safely out of gear. She was cumming. I tried to see, to feel the spasms running through her, to time my foot to them, but in the end, she was in rhythm with the engine, not with me.

She laughed even as she kept pressing her hips down onto the body of the car, right above the drive shaft. Then she reached over and slammed her fist against the horn and wailed as the sound blasted out into the night. It was primal, the sound of horn and engine and girl all rolled into one essential noise of orgasm. Her juices stained the upholstery.

"Okay, I've got to try it," I said with a laugh as she collapsed into the back seat. The engine sat there, humming softly, a raging beast waiting to be unleashed. I undid my garter and then straddled the center of the car next to her, and as I felt the vibrations of it, of him, slowly run up my spine as I ground down, I gasped, then cried out, "Pedal down! Gun it!"

---

Three? Yep, you counted right.  My stringent editorial controls are a bit lax this week; I just don't have the time to pick them over with a fine-tooth comb.  Nor, really, to go into the depth I'd like in the notes.  But some brief words:

I just loved the idea of sitting in a car on the side of the road in nothing but panties and stockings.  I don't know why, but the CB radio connection clicked somehow, and so I knew why our intrepid heroine was waiting in that state of undress.  Then I decided to give it a bit of a twist, because what the hell, I think the idea of hooking up with a trucker on your 16th birthday to lose your virginity is kind of sexy, in a "God I'd never actually do it nor do I want anyone else to" kind of way.  Plus, I liked the sobriquet, "Top-Down Lady" to describe both the car and the driver.  The first one was just a bit of fluff, really.

Number 2 is a bit more awkward.  I wasn't really going for a twist, but rather to explore the difference between horny teenagers and people who are inhibited.  I don't know; it's a bit of a sad story, and I suspect all too common in marriage to build up expectations that one can't possibly meet, then, of course, fail to meet them.  Hell, that's probably common everywhere.  Or is it about the difference between intention and action?  I don't really know.

And then, of course, since I'd put aside the "humming softly" line, not using it as a descriptor of the car's engine, as seemed quite obvious to me, I had to think about things which hum softly, and why not turn a car with a bit of a vibration into... well, you get where I'm going with this.  I don't care if it's physically impractical.  If this car had had a gear shift in the center, I might have used that, since most of the old cars with sticks that I've driven have had a bit of motion in the gear shifter.  Anyway, car as vibrator.  I was going to be a bit more metaphorical about it, but then I just said, "Fuck it," and wrote something simple and fun.

Are all three of these stories connected?  I don't know.  They're just vignettes about cars.

There, I managed to write more fiction than I did exposition of said fiction.  Victory!  If you'd like that same victorious feeling, deep inside, where you're soft and pink (don't tell me you're not soft and pink inside, because everyone is, and I have the graphic crime scene photos to prove it)... where was I?  Oh, yes, feel victorious by participating in Flash Fiction Friday.  Don't murder people just to prove me wrong.