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From: bitbard@newsguy.com (BitBard)
Subject: Re: {Mat Twassel} Drive
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Reposted with permission.
The Author's Email: mmtwassel@aol.com
The Author's Website: http://members.aol.com/Mmtwassel/index.html
=====================================================
Drive
by MatTwassel
I was about half-way home from work, thinking about how nice
it was that spring was finally coming--I could drive with
the window open, it was staying light longer, and maybe I'd
have some time to clear the debris from some of our flower
beds--when the sleek black sedan in front of me did a little
swerve... for a scary second it looked like it was going
into on-coming traffic, and my first thought—maybe the
driver was avoiding something in the road, a hubcap, a deer,
a child. My foot was on the brake, not pressing, not
jamming down, but about to... as an adrenaline rush surged
through me. But then the sedan tucked itself safely back
into the left lane of the suburban highway, and everything
was OK--no obstacle. The panic subsided. I had that
slightly hollow feeling in my tummy, an emptiness, a pang
not so unlike what follows disappointment in love.
Was I too close? Traffic was light for a five o'clock
afternoon, but this car in front of me wasn't keeping up
with the flow. I looked through the sedan's rear window.
A woman with dark curly hair nestled against the driver's
shoulder. She was doing something. Moving slightly,
regularly. Maybe she was fondling him.
I drove behind them contemplating the woman's touch. Were
her fingers outside his clothes? I thought back to that
jerk he did in the road—was that the moment her hand went
inside?
At the next intersection, the sedan eased into the left-turn
lane. I stayed in my lane--now I was right next to them as
we waited for the light to change. Normally I'm a shy
person. My husband claims there's a bold spot deep inside,
but I don't believe him. In any event, I'm not one to
stare. But I couldn't help but look over. Earlier I
would have guessed these to be high school honeys, but they
were clearly a little older than that. The woman might have
been my age--young twenties, and the guy maybe 19, a tidy,
stone-gray man. He wore short hair, rimless glasses and a
blank expression. The bold black ringlets of the girl's
hair danced on the shoulder of her leather jacket as she
moved her arm. I couldn't see her hands--his lap. If I'd
had a mini-van, I thought, I could see what was happening
down there.
The urge to see surprised me. I had both a desire and an
understanding of what the woman was feeling. I could sense
the heat and weight of the man's poise, the pulse of his
control, and I was wondering whether its color was stone-
gray, too, when the man turned slightly. He was looking
right at me. His expression didn't change. We looked at
each other. He must have said something to the woman, for
she turned her head, regarded me for a moment, and then, an
instant before turning back to her boyfriend, but without
the slightest hint of insult, she pressed her lips together,
and she blew me a soft, ultra-serious kiss.
I was trying to make sense of the kiss, if a kiss can be
made sense of, when I heard a crescendo of car horns,
urgently bare noise: the left-turn traffic signal had come
on, but the sedan next to me had taken no heed of it. "Oh
oh," I thought, "Maybe he's stalled." I felt a tender
thrill as I waited for my green. Suddenly, the sedan
screeched forward, jabbed itself into my lane, and sped off
straight down my road. I noticed something new: a passenger
in the back seat. It was a young woman. It was me.
"Nice ride, huh?" the girl said. She snuggled against the
gray man, her hand still working, delving, but she turned
her head so she could see me, and something about her
expression made me feel what her fingers were feeling. I
could smell her coat--wicked leather.
"It's the seats," she said, apparently able to read my
thought. "You should take off your panties. But don't
leave any wet spots." She laughed, and I could feel myself
open, close, open--the hot wet seep of sex.
Abruptly, the car swung into a small park, a place with a
single picnic table and several tall trees just beginning to
bud. There were no other cars, but we were clearly visible
from the highway. Anyone driving by could look over and
see...
The man was standing up, his head poking through the sun
roof. Carefully the woman put the man's cock in my mouth.
She didn't let go of it. She had her fingers around it, and
she eased her hand back and forth, bringing the ruffle of
penis skin against my lips, the knuckle of her slim
forefinger caressing my nose, and then she stretched him
out, and then she brought him back. She varied the rhythm,
never hurrying, drawing out the moments.
I was thinking about moving my tongue back and forth across
the underside, but I stayed perfectly still, breathing
through my nose, breathing the scent of the man's sex on the
woman's fingers.
"In a moment I'm going to make him come," she said,
beginning to move her hand faster, pressing the skin firmly
against my lips. "'Member what I said about wet spots--
don't drip."
I was jolted by the blare of car horns behind me: I had
missed my green. A man came up to my window.
"Is something the trouble?" he said.
I nodded. "The car," I said, "but I think it's OK now."
I'm sure I was blushing furiously. My whole body tingled.
The man looked like he wanted to say something, but he just
nodded, tapped my mirror, and walked back to his car.
When the light changed I accelerated hard, but my car's not
the kind to squeal, and almost immediately I eased off,
moved over to the right lane. The little park was up ahead.
I thought about turning in, I was going to, but I just
breezed on by. It was empty--just a bicycle propped against
the picnic table--no sign of that sedan.
I turned into my driveway, pulled up to the garage, but I
didn't touch the door-opener--I didn't even turn off the
engine; I just sat there idling with my left hand on the
wheel, my right hand gripping the gear selector, my right
foot pressing the brake. I stayed that way for some minutes.
It was very peaceful--the car thrumming gently. I could
feel it everywhere, my cunt, my fingers, my feet--not climax
but the slow sweet verge of it.
A few minutes later my husband pulled into the driveway
behind me. He came up to my window.
"Honey?" he said, "Are you all right?"
I got out of the car and gave him a deep kiss. "Let's go
for a drive," I said.
END
====================================================
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