His hand wrapped around my hip and pulled me closer, his other slipped just inside the waistband at my low back to caress the little dimple that's there.Or the one that would be there, if I lost a little weight, but I'm a sensitive plushy type who likes cooking good food I also get to eat, so let's just pretend it's there;). I had no hesitation about allowing his advances and feeding it back in my own way, by warmly pressing my hands to his chest, as if to connect myself with his heart, directly.
Weird I know, but palm to heart, as you push out the affectionate feelings you have and the acceptance you offer, just feels beautiful to me. Plus, something about him felt comforting and safe to just give in. What can I say, I'm a hopeless romantic type.
When he leaned in to press his lips against mine, my body pressed back instinctively. Hoping for his lips to not just lightly peck mine as a gentleman would, and as he was certainly aiming to be. But to completely own my mouth as if it was made just for him and he was done with the pleasantries, now he just wanted what was his, me. He tasted so sweet and addictive to.
I look for the gentleman.. I love the gentleman... I prefer the gentleman, but sometimes I feel that even a gentleman should be allowed to have passionate, reckless moments when he finds the right chemistry for them, and I was only too happy to encourage and support him in feeling that way with me. I'm a touch kinda girl, shy and selective of who I share it with, but when I do it's super-charged with love, acceptance, passion, and a desire to please and fill with so much light. I immediately felt that level of connection with Deputy Marx and it was amazing. Even though we technically just met....
But let's start this story from the beginning, shall we?...
I've always had to have complete control over myself, my surroundings, and my life in order to survive it. To some degree this hasn't changed still. I'm an orphan, by choice, unfortunately, so alone is my main setting. I'm also disabled and a romance writer with a hopeless romantic heart and an independent mind, so I've been surviving alone in many ways for nearly 7 years now, since escaping my family and building a little life for a new, safe, and healthy me.
Hyper-controlled, is my basic foundation.
She's a 2005 PT Cruiser Convertible Turbo, and I loved her, but she was a finicky bitch. Every little fix I gave her, something else went wrong. I have yet to experience a full month her running smoothly... or at all. I knew right away that I was buying a used car with hidden issues the seller was lying to me about. I could tell he was lying as the words left his mouth, but I couldn't help the immediate love I felt for her, the car. So, I bought her anyway. I took on the 'beast that would set me back and put a dent in my wanting to find romance cus who would wanna date a girl with no transport?'.
My hope was that I could work on her as I could afford to. And I chose to use that work as a tool to also repair me. I'm a dork about always seeking some growth and looking for the positives so I don't get stuck in the deep dark void. I saw my healing the cruiser, while having space and time to also heal myself, inwardly, lent to trying to heal my super high driving anxiety too. I three birds, one stone type of thing, I like being productive.
I remember I used to love driving, but it got scared away over a decade ago, and getting my car working feels like chipping at the fear inside, bringing me closer to finding that love again. Closer to being confident about driving and therefore able to. Today was the next chip. With the help of some borrowed parts, my saving up for a new converter, and bribing my bestie to assist, I replaced my catalytic without left over mystery parts to worry about, and now needed a test drive. The stress has been high for over a year, the work dirty, so before that test drive, I took a long hot shower to recalibrate. Then I got into comfy clothes and pulled my hair into a high pony. And as I tightened the scrunchy, getting that hair pull I love, I had an idea... Maybe my test drive can be a pleasurable one, not just a necessary one.
It was sunny and hot out, so I decided to drive out past town into the foothills. Where I could cruise some of the empty roads safely, out of sight, and completely free to do it topless. It was liberating, but only just. So, once I found a long stretch that seemed pretty clear, I pulled over and also put the top of my car down to drive converted. I wanted to feel the sun kissing me the entire ride. Deciding for once, to listen to those intrusive thoughts wanting to know what it's like to be a little fearless and bold, to let nature caress my breasts as the breezes comb their fingers of warm atmosphere through my hair. Letting go of my own control just a little and being bad, experiencing a slight reckless, wild, and free drive.
The only things I wore as I drove, were a pair of flip flops and a very flowy and short skirt that I had to pull tight at my thighs, so the gracing breezes didn't blow the fabric up and leave me topless as well as bottomless, considering I dressed sans panties too. I have a full bottle of sunscreen with me, but I just didn't want to feel that oiliness yet. Any barrier from the sun felt like an invasion, so I left it under my passenger seat in the drawer built into the frame where my top was secured as well, to keep from blowing away.
As I drove, I discovered many things. First, I learned that I love the little bumps in the road, but only when driving like this. Because they caused my breasts to bounce and jiggle in just the right way that it felt freeing and even a bit pleasurable. I love feeling my tits bounce and jiggle, the harder they do, the more this spike of need shoots into my nipples and the whole tit lights up in pleasure. There were sexual and non-sexual pros that far outweighed the cons of driving topless in a convertible on an open and safe road. Only way it could be any better is if it was a man making them bounce and jiggle while he loves on them, but this was next best thing, considering how long it's been since I've found a connection worth sharing myself with, let alone my tits.
Blepziiip!
I drove for half my playlist, when out of the blue I heard a chirp behind me, and checked my mirror.
A cop.
Shit.
Pulling over, I retuck my skirt frantically, making sure to cover as much of my pussy as possible, knowing I couldn't help the top situation just yet with it being stuffed in a drawer under the seat. I tried to control my breathing, to calm down, and to hold my arms around my front to cover myself as best I can. Worried about the one thing that always sits at the front of my mind as to why I'm shy. I don't want to force my sexuality on another, or my body, and I was about to do that. The cop came up to my door and looked at me.
"License and... Oh." He said, then looked away as fast as possible.
"I'm so sorry, I have a shirt under my passenger chair, if you'll allow me to grab it and put it on? I didn't want to just reach for it, in case you thought I was going for a gun or knife or bazooka or something." I quickly over-explain. Did I mention I'm on the spectrum and tend to over-speak?
Yeah. I hate it too.
He giggles, "Uhh... I have to ask; do you have a bazooka I should be worried about in there with you?"
"Ha! Of course not! Way too big to fit under my seat! Promise, scout's honor, there are no weapons here, though in all honesty I only made it to Brownie level. I like pointy things too much and kept cutting my fingers on my Swiss army knife, so I never leveled up, but I totally promise no weapons are in here." I cross my hand in an X over my chest, meaning I got into my panic moment, let go of my tits and flashed the nice authority figure dude. I gasp when I notice this, "Uh, can I get my top now?"
"Oh, yea, please." He laughs a little harder. He watches me as I move to get my top, and I can see strain of wanting to look at my biddys, but trying hard not to, as I slowly lean forward and reach for my drawer. I'm fairly large chested, plus-sized, as mentioned before, so I have to let him see one of my tits as I reached. Being too large to cover up easily and completely. I slip the shirt on and look up at him again, he seems lost in thought for a moment then shakes himself,
"Right, ok um... I pulled you over because your temp tags are past due."
"Yes. Um, here's the thing, I've been working on fixing my car all year and ran out of the allotted allowance for temp tags. I can't get real tags because I can't pass emissions, so I replaced her converter and I got her running again so that I could get her tags after passing the test but at the same time, she has another issue and can't keep a charge in her battery. I needed to both test drive and charge the battery, in order to do a new Emission, get legal tags and then work on the battery charge problem. So, I was chancing it by just going out to an empty road, I'm sorry but I really needed to get the drive done." I over-explain, again.
"Ok, well, while I can't condone it, since it's still illegal to drive on expired tags like this, plus illegal to drive while inappropriately exposed, I will just give you a break because it sounds like you could use one. I'll issue a warning and insist you finish quick and get those plates, also... road rash is nasty painful so... keep the clothes on, deal?"
"Yes, Sir." I smile.
He was handsome. Tall(yea, I'm one of those girls), dark, and had that look about him. The kind that screamed; Noah Calhoun in the streets and Massimo from 365 in the sheets. His eyes pierced me with desire, and I had trouble looking in them, like I wasn't worthy of such beautiful eyes to even notice me. I had an immediate crush.I didn't trust he had any desire for me, it was just a feeling, and I entertained it, liking it very much, but knowing how reality is and who I am, it was only in my head.
Deputy Luca Marx. Broad shouldered, lean but with a little thickness, and the length of beard perfect for burning my thighs just right. He had the kind of lips you could tell made him proficient in sucking, and his hands.. have mercy! They were large, strong, and had a power in them that made me salivate. It's a graceful type of power, but a masculine one. He wasn't stiff and angry, he moved with a flow, like water. He used his muscle in a sense of fluidity as he expressed with his hands.
In noticing that, my flesh tenses in excitement.
