Old Boyfriends, Old Cars

I love old cars. The big wide seats, where you slid across if you rounded a corner too fast. The leg room the spacious back seats. Cars these days are so ergonomically designed it’s like sitting in the space shuttle. And let me tell you, it’s not at all conducive to fooling around when you get a leg cramp trying to climb over the shift.

So I was tickled when I got home and hooked up with my old BF, and we picked up right where we’d left off before I set out to earn fame and fortune as an actress in NYC. Jude never forgot me (he said) and he sure seemed delighted to see me (if the bulge in those tight, worn jeans that hung low on his hips was any sign).

It was the Saturday after I got home and we’d been lounging around the lake, sipping beers and listening to music and watching the sun set. We’d been necking on our blanket – all wet from swimming and horny from getting to know each other again. But there was the odd fisherman floating by, and some kids in tires, so we had to restrain ourselves.

When I got in the car next to Jude, snuggled up against him on the front seat of his 1970 Malibu 450, with good old country music playing loud, and we were headed out onto the highway, I couldn’t control myself anymore. I’d had him rubbing up against my who-ha, feeling me up and sticking that tongue of his down my throat for hours. I decided it was time to give him a little of his own medicine.

There weren’t any cars on the road, so he just gave a start when I slid my hand between his legs, pulled down that zipper and dropped my head into his lap. It was a wild, and free feeling, zooming along the road with my high school boyfriend, giving him a hearty blow job, just like old times. I’d perfected my technique since those days, though, and he was having a hard time keeping focused on the road. He eased back on the gas for safety, I guess, but I was so involved in worshipping his yummy cock that I paid no attention.

So I never saw the rickety old mobile home that had pulled alongside us on the four lane highway. And it wasn’t until Jude pulled on my hair, yanking me up so that his shiny nob popped out of my mouth, leaving a thin string of spit from my chin that hung there as I looked out the driver’s side window.

An elderly woman was leaning out the window looking down at us, her mouth gaping as she stared, while she hollered out to the old woman driving.

“Good golly, Miss Molly, would you look at that!”

What can you do? I wiped my chin, winked, waved, and then went back to finish up my business.

God, I love old cars!