Each day the bus passed by that used car dealership, and each day I ogled the red 1994 RX7 in the lot. I had owned my own car as a teenager, a gift from my grandparents when I turned 16, but I sold it when I went away to college, and now, in my twenties, all of my money went towards paying off student loans and rent on my great apartment. I was happy with the choices I had made, but I had to admit I was tired of taking the bus everywhere, and longed to see myself in that cute red sportscar, windows rolled down, letting the wind blow through my long blonde hair as I hit the gas on the open highway. Today's the day, I told myself, that I would get off the bus a few stops early and visit the dealership.
It was your typical used car dealership - a wide range of cars on the lot, from junkers to expensive imports. Prices painted on the windshields, balloons tied to rear-view mirrors. And not a salesman in sight, until I actually walked inside, was assaulted with the smell of old coffee and cigarettes, and found a middle-aged guy sitting with his feet up on his desk, watching a TV that was older than most of the cars on his lot.
My heart sank as I quickly realized that this guy saw me as an easy target for a quick buck at a high interest rate. I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as he looked me up and down, obviously savoring the sight of an attractive young woman in his showroom. He stood up, revealing an impressive beer belly, and moved his hands through his greasy comb-over as he walked towards me, as if that's all it took to make him look sharp.
"Well, hello, young lady. What can I do for you today?" I reluctantly shook his outstretched hand, knowing it would still be wet with who knows what product he used in his aforementioned greasy hair.
"Well, I've had my eye on that RX7 you have on the lot, and I'm curious if there's any room to bargain on the price? Also, what terms you can offer for financing?"
He started to respond directly to me, but soon shifted to talking at my chest, obviously finding my 36C tits quite engaging. First, he blathered on about low mileage, how the car might as well have been owned by his grandmother, for the lack of wear and tear. I knew he was full of it then, but he dug an even deeper hole when he started talking about how the price he had on it was as low as he could possibly go (I had done my research, and knew he was a couple thousand over Blue Book). Yet even though I knew he was about as honest as my uncle Charlie, who was presently residing in the county jail, I didn't feel confident enough in my knowledge of the car business to call him on his bullshit.
After he was done lecturing about the car itself and its saintly history, he shifted over to his financing terms. By this point, I was tuning him out, hoping he would shut up soon so I could make my exit and catch the bus ride home. As he wound down, I caught his last few sentences, "so, I'd be pleased to make you a special offer with just 20% interest. But, if I may be so bold, it'll all be worth it, to see such a lovely young lady as yourself drive away in this stunning vehicle."
Dejected, I left as quickly as I could. Back in my apartment that evening, I poured myself a glass of wine, turned on some quiet music, and sat down on the couch to ponder the whole fiasco. Was it really that impossible for a young woman like myself to be taken seriously by this sleasy used car dealer? What was it about me that made him think he could take such advantage? How did he know I didn't come from a long line of mechanics or something?
I felt silly, worrying about this so much. After all, I was a successful young professional with a good life. And if I wanted to buy a car, there were many ways I could make a deal without feeling like such a chump. I could secure my own financing first and then buy from a new-car dealership. Or, I had a few male friends I'm sure would be willing to pose as a boyfriend or husband to protect me from chauvinistic dealers like the one I had encountered today.
But somehow, I really had my heart set on that particular car. I had always wanted a red RX7, and to find that year with that mileage was unusual. And part of me also wanted to somehow put this sleasy old guy in his place. But how? I couldn't use the bring-a-guy plan, since this dealer had already figured out I was single. As I kicked off my shoes and put my feet up on my coffee table, the brilliant idea struck me.
I stood up, set down my glass of wine, and walked into my bedroom, where I stood in front of the full-length mirror on my closet door. Why not turn the tables, and take advantage of exactly that which seemed like a weakness as this lowlife was treating me like an object earlier that day? After studying my extremely hot body in the mirror for a few moments, I opened the closet door and studied my wardrobe, looking for an outfit that might achieve my plan.
I flung a few things onto my bed, shut the closet door again, and stripped down to my bra and panties. I again studied my body for a moment, running one hand slowly from my neck past my breasts to my hips, and then tracing my panty line. Yes, this plan would most certainly work, if only I had the courage to follow through. After playing a little dress-up, I settled on a fitted red sweater, short black suit skirt with a slit up one leg, and black heels.
