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Description
Fast Cars (completely fiction)

I love cars. I really love cars. But I lust after fast ones. They’re dangerous, and when they’re red, it’s worse. They make me do things I wouldn’t normally do under certain circumstances. Like this time-

I was on my way home; I had a little over two and a half hours left before I had to go to work. I was taking the vacant country roads home on an oddly hot day in September. I stopped at a stop sign where the cross-traffic doesn’t stop, and there it was. This 1977 cherry red Camaro. My insides quivered.
Inside it was a boy, early twenties, maybe a little younger. He wasn’t bad looking himself. Blonde hair spiked over his forehead in little tufts, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and he had his eyes trained on me. I stared right back. He turned his signal on and turned in front of me, and even when he was turning, he didn’t take his eyes off of me.
I followed him. He sped up, I sped up, and when he pulled over to the opposite lane, I pulled up next to him. I looked out my window, knowing that at the speed I was going, the wind was blowing my hair all over the place. I knew he liked it too, when he smiled at me, and mouthed the words, ‘pull over’.
I grinned at him, and shivered at the sound of the dual exhaust purring behind us. When we got to a place I could pull over, on a bridge in a copse of trees, I stepped out of my car, knowing that the t-shirt I was wearing was tight, and my shorts were hugging me in all the right places, I had been helping a friend move, and wanted something to wear to keep me cool, but now it seemed I was too hot.
He stepped out of his car, which was parked behind mine, and leaned up against the car door. I ran my fingers up the hood, loving the smoothness. I looked up at him through my eyelashes.
“Nice car.” I said softly. I looked up at him fully, and that grin flashed again.
“Thanks. What’s your name?” I ignored him, and walked along the car, brushing against him slightly, before stepping along behind him, sliding my hands along the sides of the car. He took good care of it; I could tell when I could see myself in it.
I walked up in front of him, and fisted my hands I his shirt. He took a quick breath, and I kissed him hard. His arms wrapped around me and held me close. I bit his lip and sucked his tongue in my mouth. He turned so that my back was against the car door, and ground his hips against the front of my shorts. I kissed him harder and ran my hands under his shirt and scratched at him with my nails. I felt him shiver as the nerves slowly flickered along that particular part of his skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and arched my hips at his, and I could feel him against my shorts. It made me feel so much hotter. He put his hands under my thighs and pulled me in tighter against him.
He pinned me to the side of the car and unbuttoned my shorts and reached his other hand up to my chest and grabbed my breast and squeezed gently. I felt his knuckle touch my center as he was pulling my zipper down, and I moaned against his mouth. He caught that and moved his hand under my shorts and rubbed me hard. I came and moaned a little more, this time into his collar bone. He smelled like leather and soap.
I pulled my hand from between us and hooked them in the top of his basketball shorts, and nearly tugged them down, when I heard the sirens.
“Oh fuck.”
I said.
I hate fast cars.

Description
Fast Cars (completely fiction)

I love cars. I really love cars. But I lust after fast ones. They’re dangerous, and when they’re red, it’s worse. They make me do things I wouldn’t normally do under certain circumstances. Like this time-

I was on my way home; I had a little over two and a half hours left before I had to go to work. I was taking the vacant country roads home on an oddly hot day in September. I stopped at a stop sign where the cross-traffic doesn’t stop, and there it was. This 1977 cherry red Camaro. My insides quivered.
Inside it was a boy, early twenties, maybe a little younger. He wasn’t bad looking himself. Blonde hair spiked over his forehead in little tufts, he wasn’t wearing sunglasses, and he had his eyes trained on me. I stared right back. He turned his signal on and turned in front of me, and even when he was turning, he didn’t take his eyes off of me.
I followed him. He sped up, I sped up, and when he pulled over to the opposite lane, I pulled up next to him. I looked out my window, knowing that at the speed I was going, the wind was blowing my hair all over the place. I knew he liked it too, when he smiled at me, and mouthed the words, ‘pull over’.
I grinned at him, and shivered at the sound of the dual exhaust purring behind us. When we got to a place I could pull over, on a bridge in a copse of trees, I stepped out of my car, knowing that the t-shirt I was wearing was tight, and my shorts were hugging me in all the right places, I had been helping a friend move, and wanted something to wear to keep me cool, but now it seemed I was too hot.
He stepped out of his car, which was parked behind mine, and leaned up against the car door. I ran my fingers up the hood, loving the smoothness. I looked up at him through my eyelashes.
“Nice car.” I said softly. I looked up at him fully, and that grin flashed again.
“Thanks. What’s your name?” I ignored him, and walked along the car, brushing against him slightly, before stepping along behind him, sliding my hands along the sides of the car. He took good care of it; I could tell when I could see myself in it.
I walked up in front of him, and fisted my hands I his shirt. He took a quick breath, and I kissed him hard. His arms wrapped around me and held me close. I bit his lip and sucked his tongue in my mouth. He turned so that my back was against the car door, and ground his hips against the front of my shorts. I kissed him harder and ran my hands under his shirt and scratched at him with my nails. I felt him shiver as the nerves slowly flickered along that particular part of his skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and arched my hips at his, and I could feel him against my shorts. It made me feel so much hotter. He put his hands under my thighs and pulled me in tighter against him.
He pinned me to the side of the car and unbuttoned my shorts and reached his other hand up to my chest and grabbed my breast and squeezed gently. I felt his knuckle touch my center as he was pulling my zipper down, and I moaned against his mouth. He caught that and moved his hand under my shorts and rubbed me hard. I came and moaned a little more, this time into his collar bone. He smelled like leather and soap.
I pulled my hand from between us and hooked them in the top of his basketball shorts, and nearly tugged them down, when I heard the sirens.
“Oh fuck.”
I said.
I hate fast cars.