A Pair of Lost Socs

A few things: This story is a stand-alone companion piece to 'Heather's Exquisite Map of Tassie'. However, it's not necessary to read that story to enjoy this one. I believe a story should take its natural course, so I'll be upfront with you, there is much story and little sex here, but it's a story none the less, and sex happens along the way.

I have set much of this story during the initial stages of the Covid-19 pandemic. I'm aware the pandemic is current and raw, and for many the past year and coming future is a heartbreaking and tragic time. I'm also aware the Australian Covid experience is significantly different to that of many other nations. I therefore use the backdrop of the pandemic with the greatest respect to those affected and by no means wish to trivialise the disease and its impacts. Nor do I wish to politicise them, and any discussion about the disease by characters in my story reflect their views (approximately based on what was known or not known and other opinion at the time), and not mine.

The word 'Cobber' may be unfamiliar, and means friend, analogous to mate, and though rarely used on mainland Australia anymore, it's still occasionally used by young and old in Tasmania, where this tale is set.

'Sheila' is slang for a woman, used by older Australian's in the same way many use the word 'chick', where I've personally never heard it used by anyone younger than in their fifties or perhaps even sixties.

Three Australian muscle-cars built during the 1970s feature at the beginning: the Holden LX Torana, a medium-sized four-door sedan (Holden was the Australian subsidiary of General Motors); the Chrysler Valiant Charger, a two door coup; and Ford Falcon XY GTHO, a large four-door sedan. This story's not really about cars, however, if you're into cars and are unfamiliar with these models, you may wish to Google them. But of course it's not necessary to do so to enjoy this story, which I hope you do.

Also, I'm grateful to fellow Literotica author SisterJezabel for taking the time to beta read this story, spotting typos and suggesting several improvements. Thanks SJ, I appreciate it. On that note, despite taking as much care as possible, if mistakes and typos made it through, they are all mine.

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Max's Moment of Madness

Hobart, Tasmania, June, 1984

Is there anything more beautiful than the sight, the sound and the smells of the LX Torana SLR 5000, with its small block GM Holden 308 cubic inch V8 under the bonnet, the famous Holden 5 litre, revving high, AC/DC's

Highway to Hell

screaming from the stereo, racing down from Hobart's northern suburbs towards town, pushing past one-sixty kilometres per hour, beginning the curving climb up the hill towards the city's business district?

Max didn't think so. Everything about his baby was beautiful; in his eyes

She

was the most beautiful machine he'd ever laid eyes on. And if there was one thing Max knew more than anything, it was machines.

Focused upon the road ahead, his mind still wandered, imagining what

She

looked like in the eyes of anyone viewing

Her

streaking past; the blur of yellow body and black bonnet with its reversed scoop, flared wheel arches with

SLR 5000

written boldly in black across the bottom of the doors, and written on the back of the sharply angled rear ducktail spoiler too, the power from her V8 roaring loud.

He couldn't help smiling, the most peculiar thrill he couldn't even describe if he tried coursing through his soul. He'd even joke

She

was better than sex!

She

was almost identically the same thoroughbred race-car that won the Bathurst 1000 races in '75 and '76. And

She

was his, he was inside

Her

, a part of

Her

, as far as Max was concerned, he and his Torana were one. Together, they were invincible.

Little did Max Coughlan know he was driving to his destiny.

The highway ahead was empty this late Sunday afternoon, the river to his left disappearing behind a tree-lined embankment racing by, and to the right were houses of the suburbs, where beyond the red rooftops loomed the great mass of Mount Wellington, its slopes covered in green-grey bushland and grey-brown cliffs, dominating Hobart. A blanket of dark clouds sat above the mountain, right over the dusting of snow blanketing its broad peak.

With broken white lines against black bitumen rushing towards them like a blur, Max glanced to his right, not to the mountain but at Marty's red Ford Falcon GTHO 'Hoey' with its 351 cubic inch Cleveland roaring, creeping slightly ahead in the right-hand lane. He checked the rear-view mirror too, seeing past his cobber Neil's head in the back seat, and noted Domenico's orange Charger also in the right hand lane behind Marty's big Ford.

Max grinned, because the Charger, with its smaller Chrysler 265 cubic inch Hemi six-cylinder, was falling back on the hill. He scanned the crest for cops, and suspected the only way to beat Marty's powerful Falcon was to drop back a gear, so clutch in, quick-shift back to third, then pedal to the metal, and by God, hear

Her

glorious engine roar!

A mix of petrol and adrenaline,

She

gave Max goose bumps, exhilaration, his heart and

Her

engine revving high, tachometer needle pushing into the red,

Her

responding to his touch, flying up the hill, around the sweeping curve, Max's foot pushing the accelerator all the way, the wheel fighting his grip, and he grinned as he was neck-and-neck with Marty's Falcon now, seemingly inches between the two roaring beasts. With a laugh matching Bon Scott's screaming vocals, Max said, "I've got the inside line, Marty, ya silly bastard!"

A car passing in the opposite direction flicked its headlights, and Darren spoke from the passenger seat, "Jeeeze, Maxie, reckon there's be cops down by the Domain like the other week. They'll fuckin' be waiting for us this time round."

"Chicken shit, Donk," Max replied, grinning, fighting the steering wheel as they rounded the bend. Still, he hesitated, sensing the warning sent by the passing car, taking his foot from the accelerator as they approached the top of the hill.

Marty's red Falcon roared ahead, and for a moment Max was tempted to plant his foot again, but knew his hesitation already cost their lead and the Falcon would pull away downslope on the other side. Lifting his foot further, Max watched Domenico Agostino's Charger fly by, Jimmy Jansen yelling at them from the open passenger window with a grin on his ugly mug, both cars rising on their suspension when they crested the hill before momentarily disappearing from view.

They crested the hill themselves, their stomachs swooping, and Max picked up the white vehicle several hundred metres down the road, by the side of the highway, probably a Commodore going by its shape. Yep, a Commodore for sure, his eyesight better than 20/20 apparently, according to the optometrist.

Subtly applying

Her

brakes and keeping third gear so the engine braking would help slow

Her

, he brought his baby back to the speed limit,

Her

engine exhaling a disappointed whine as the revs came down, eventually transitioning to a satisfying V8 purr.

Max, Darren and Neil watched as Domenico's Charger switched to the left lane, avoiding Marty's Falcon, both car's brake tail lights shining red, slowing, and then the cop car's roof-mounted lights began flashing blue, an officer signalling both Marty and Domenico to pull over.

"Chicken shit my arse," Darren said, sounding deadly serious. Keeping

Her

in third and his foot covering the brake pedal but not pressing, Max let his baby coast down the hill, expecting to be pulled over too. The police ignored them, approaching the driver's side window of Domenico's Charger who was now parked in front of Marty's Falcon.

Max cleanly shifted up to fourth, reducing the Torana's revs to a low throb and they cruised by at a sedate sixty kilometres an hour. By all appearances, it was as if the Boy's in Blue only now noticed the third vehicle, one officer looking up from his chat with Domenico as the Torana passed them, both policemen and drivers giving Max and his passengers a filthy glare.

Darren and Neil cheered and yelled out the passenger windows, giving their unfortunate mates a good ragging, then Darren turned to Max, speaking matter of fact, "See, my sixth sense never fails."

"Bullshit," Neil piped up from the back. "How'd ya get a ticket before Christmas last year then, Donk?"

"Well I'd had a few drinks, hadn't I, cobber. Dulls me gift."

"That's what Maureen said," Max grinned at his friend, then scanned the mirror again in case the cops decided to follow, but there was no movement from the white Commodore.

"Faarrk-off, my donkey dick never fails to impress Maureen."

Max chuckled and Neil piped up from the back, "Except the time when..."

"Hey," Darren cut Neil off, "Shut your fuckin' gob-hole, Nelly, or I'll go tell Rita about the wog sheila from the milk-bar you've been rootin' on the side."

Neil fell silent and Max chuckled. "Youse two bloody lettin' girls complicate ya bloody lives." Coasting, he dropped down through the gears, approaching the roundabout, back to third with revs coming up, tapping the brakes and engine braking slowing them further, then down to second, sweeping through the roundabout, then coasting around the bend towards the waterfront.

"You wait, Maxie," Darren said, "As I keep tellin' ya, there's a girl out there even for a derro prick like you. You'll meet her and fall head-over-heals, then you'll really know how complicated life can be."

"Then we'll call ya Mr Monogamy," Neil added with a chuckle. "Like Donk here pretends to be."

"I'm warnin' ya, Nelly, ya better fuckin' keep that big trap of yours shut."

"Mr Mahogany," Max said, grinning. "I do come from a long line of men who knew their way around axes and wood."

"Faarrk-off," Darren laughed. "Seriously, mate, you'll meet this angel and you'll think the sun shines out of her arse, and we'll laugh at your dopey-arsed eyes when you follow her about, completely whipped and lovin' it."

Max gave a hearty laugh. "Nah, fuck that shit, cobber. If you blokes want to be held down under the thumb, that's your business, but it's not for me. Life's too short, fellas."

"Listen up, Max, remember the challenge I gave ya, if ya have the balls to give it a shot? Next sheila ya pull, you should actually date her. Like, date her properly. Not a one-nighter or week-long fling or somethin' where you have other sheila's on the side, I'm talking about a couple of months dating one girl. Wine and dine her, and buy her flowers and shit, take her to meet your mother and maybe row her in a boat on the Huon like back in the day as you're always going on about, or whatever, but you know, give it a shot. And I bet you a million you'll fall, and mark my words, mate, she'll be all ya talk about. I know it."

"Fucking hell, man, I'm not going to take some sheila to meet me Mum. Did it once when I was eighteen and she got her hopes up I was gonna get married and give her grandkids!"

"Why would you want to do this to Maxie anyway, Donk?" Neil said, adding his two cents. "Or why put the poor girl in question through the Maxie experience, for that matter? She'd only end up heartbroken like when he strung Danny's ex-missus on for a few weeks, or the bar-maid from the Dog House a couple of months back, or with the Chinese girl from the uni last year, and then there's the hot brunette who he was fucking most of last year, the one his brother's now seein'..."

"We don't need a fuckin' run-down of Maxie's sex-life, Nelly," Darren replied, cutting his cobber off, his head turned to the back seat, giving a wink. "We all know the cunt's a man-whore, but he's twenty-one now and even he needs to grow up eventually. After all, if you can, anyone can."

"Nelly ain't grown up," Max said, "Rita could do better, and I'm not even sure how ya pulled such a pretty bird, Nell? Maybe I'll have a word with her about your girls on the side and slip one in meself, eh?"

"Piss off, Max, you bastard," Neil growled.

Darren shook his head. "You're both like fuckin' children. But I have high-hopes for Max meeting his match one of these days, then we'll hardly see the bastard. Which can only be a good thing!"

Again, Max laughed at both his mates. "I reckon Maureen put you up to suggestin' this challenge."

"You got me there," Darren chuckled. "She actually thinks you have a sensitive side hidden somewhere, with all this waxing lyrical about rowing boats on the river and exploring the bush and mountains when you were a youngster."

Max grinned and shook his head, and Neil laughed. "Maybe Maureen's worried Max is a bad influence on ya, Donk?"

"Piss off, I don't need Max's help to be a bad influence, I can badly influence meself, thanks very much!"

They all laughed and Max let his Torana purr slightly above idle, second gear, then turned left into the waterfront.

Her

purring V8 was throbbing music to Max's ears as he pulled into a parking spot beside an old Dodge flat-bed truck, letting the motor idle for a few more seconds, listening to

Her

talk before shutting

Her

down.

Generally the post-match ritual throughout the Tasmanian Australian National Football League season was to head to the clubhouse or pub and get on the piss with team-mates, families and supporters, and the opposition team too if they hung about. However, on this particular day several of the fellas had other commitments and the other team shot through early, so Marty Robinson proposed they race to the Hobart wharves for fish and chips, where his parent's owned both a fishing trawler and a small fish-and-chip shop by the waterfront, near Constitution Dock. His father ran the trawler and mother ran the shop, where it was one of the few shops in town guaranteed to be open on a Sunday afternoon.

"How ya goin', boys?" Gina Robinson greeted them with a cheery smile, placing someone else's butcher's-paper wrapped order in the bain-marie. "Youse had another win I assume?"

"G'day, Gina," Max said with a smile and a wink to Marty's mum. "Sure did, did ya expect anything less?"

"It was bloody close," Neil added. "Those New Norfolk boys are rough as guts, but Maxie here took a crackin' mark right in front with about a minute to go and booted the winning goal."

"Doesn't he always?" Gina said with a smile and wink at Max. "Look at you, like a fine rooster, strutting about in yer singlet and footy shorts even though it's near freezin' out there. They grow 'em tough down where Maxie's from, eh boys."

"You know us Coughlan's, nothin' hurts us."

"Like they say," Darren sniggered, "No brain no pain."

Max laughed, winking and grinning at Gina, who asked, "Anyway, where is Marty? Surely you didn't beat him here?"

Max chuckled. "Ah, yeah, we flogged him. The Falcon's no match for me Torry. He's probably still chugging along by the domain, blown a head gasket or somethin'."

Darren and Neil laughed, and Gina gave them a curious look. "Okay, boys, I'm sure I'll hear about it later. So will youse be having the usual?"

The boys ordered their fish and chips and extra for Marty, Domenico, and their passengers Billy O'Shea and Jimmy Jansen, then walked outside to wait, watching as Marty's Falcon and Domenico's Charger finally pulled into the carpark next to the Torana, the big Ford's V8 and the Charger's inline-6 both throbbing at idle, then shutting down.

"Maxie Coughlan...you fuckin' sly bastard!" Marty called out, storming across the carpark.

"Blown a head gasket, alright," Darren chuckled.

But Max already turned away, facing the blue-grey expanse of the river, and he didn't hear any of their curses and jokes because he came face-to-face with a young woman. In less than a split second it occurred to Max her face was quite beautiful; a combination of softness in her cheeks mixed with harsher angles around her jaw-line and chin and sharply pointed triangle of a nose. Her mouth was small with thin lips, yet everything about her face was gorgeous, all framed by her faded red parka's hood with sandy-blond fringe cutting across the top of her forehead, the rest long and silky-straight, falling each side of her face to converge at her neck and spilling down over her chest to halfway down her front, breezy gusts lifting strands this way and that.

"Hello, sorry, I didn't see you there," Max smiled, stepping out of the young lady's way. "You think I'd have seen ya though, since it's not every day I cross paths with an angel."

The girl, hands in pockets of her parka, sniggered, holding Max's gaze with large almond-shaped eyes, twinkling emerald-green like a cat's. "Get ya hand off it, cobber."

Max laughed, stepped aside and gestured for her to pass. "Beware of these other blokes, my lady, they're not as gentlemanly as me." Strands of her hair blew across her face, and she flicked it aside with her hand and gave him a cheeky smile, and he laughed with a wink, watching her backside move gracefully in skin-tight jeans below the hem of her parka when she walked into the Robinson's shop, and he whispered, "Stunning..."

Pain exploded through his right arm, smashed with blunt force, his muscle corking and nerves sparking, and he turned to face Marty, who bounced on the spot with balled fists ready to strike again. Marty shouted, "What the fuck, Max, you fuckin' knew those coppers were there, didn't ya!"

"Shhh,"Max whispered, putting a finger to his lips, moving his corked arm, flexing it to dull the pain, hoping Marty wouldn't throw another punch, given his cobber's reputation with his fists, or his own fearsome reputation for that matter, not wanting to have to drop the bastard in front of his parent's shop. And not with the beautiful young woman inside, either. "Keep it down, cobber, the woman I'm gonna marry is in ya shop."

"Fuck off, cunt."

"Nah, I'm not talking about ya Mum, dickhead. The sheila in the red jacket. Fuck me, what do ya reckon she is, maybe five-foot-eight, five-nine? Hair like silk. Could be a fucking model! What a...Goddess."

Marty peered through the glazed door and whistled. "Yeah, I laughed when she brushed you off. You've got no fuckin' chance, cock-head. I saw her face, so look at her and then take a good look at yer own ugly mug in the mirror sometime, cunt. You'd never pull her in a million years."

"She's taller than you," Max laughed, "So I have more of a chance than most. Anyway, sounds like the kinda challenge I'd take up."

With Max and Marty still leering, the girl took her fish and chips from Gina, wrapped in butcher's-paper, turned and exited the shop. She caught Max's eye again, giving him a cheeky grin and paying no heed at all to Marty or the wolf-whistles from the other boys, completely ignoring them, wisps of hair caught on the wind and blowing about her hood in the most attractive manner as she walked over to the Dodge truck parked by Max's Torana.

"No fuckin' chance, Maxie," Marty stated, shaking his head with a chuckle.

But Max wasn't listening, his gaze following the young lady, watching her climb into the driver's side of the old Dodge. Impressed, he whispered, "Well I'll be buggered."

"No chance, cobber," Marty said again, this time consoling his friend, wrapping his arm around Max's shoulder with matey affection, pulling him in. "Gorgeous chick driving an old bomb? Doesn't make sense. She's probably from the west-coast or maybe she's one of ya inbred cousins from the forests down south, but she's not a local girl."

Marty turned and walked into his mother's shop, while Max started after the woman.