I could smell the grease and petrol fumes long before I got to the garage that day. It was a smell I’d always loved. I’d breathe it in, and it intoxicated me, the way expensive perfume and platinum plastic tended to intoxicate my moneyed college friends. I could smell the difference between WD40 and 20/50 oil at a dozen paces – some claim to fame, I know! They could distinguish Chanel from Yves St Laurent. Each to their own.
I’d dawdled by that yard so often that summer that I could describe how it looked better than I could my own bedroom. The couple of flash cars on the oil spattered concrete that was the forecourt, glittering expensively in the sun. The pile of old junkers hidden out of sight round the back, with tyres flattening themselves into the earth, looking for all the world like they’d grown there, freakish wrecks of metal, with torn seats sprouting springs and stuffing – exotic blooms indeed.
Back out front, the square whiteness of the wall surrounding the roll-over door made an innocent frame for the gaping black maw of the workshop within. Off to one side the faded paintwork on the customer door, and the dust-darkened glass of the office window bore testament to the fact that this outfit didn’t care too much about the look of the place.
Inside though, if you cared enough to look, ah,
then
you saw what the drivers who cared about their cars came here for, in preference to the big chains, with their Yessir! smiles, and their clean overalls and their pristine floors and gleaming spanners.
Same reason as I came here.
Stevie.
Of course, they came here for his skills as a mechanic, because there was nothing supposedly he couldn’t fix. He knew engines, gearboxes, suspensions and hydraulics the way politicians knew half-truths, avoidances, loopholes and statistics. They were in his blood, second nature to him. All he cared about. I smiled to myself. Till
now
that was!
Fact was, I wanted Stevie. Wanted him so bad I could think of little else. Trouble was, half the girls in college wanted him too. But none had had any success getting him so far. They’d begged for a ride in the flash sports cars he worked on, and they’d just been shown the door. They’d flirted and giggled, worn next to nothing, and still they’d been ignored. The sour grapes started then of course. Vanessa said maybe he’d show some interest if she grew wheels and soaked her nails in Waxoyl. Steph just shook her long blonde curls and said he just didn’t know what he was missing, and he was probably a retard anyway.
I carried on walking home the long way, and taking in the view. It was awesome. Blond hair, worn longer that was fashionable, with streaks of sun, and more often than not, streaks of oil where his long fingers had flipped it out of his eyes. His skin was tanned, so obviously he didn’t spend all his time cloistered away in the dim innards of the workshop. In fact, he was often outside, with his overalls pushed to his waist, bent over an engine, tweaking and tinkering. Those were good days to drink him all in. His muscles working, sweat beading down his back… I would have sponged him down in an instant. I fell to imagining him tuning me up, and often had to step hurriedly into the shower on arriving home, and give myself some relief with the shower spray and my fingers. Christ, some days I got so wet just thinking about him touching me that I made a puddle in my pants! I’d let the shower play over my aching boobs, and I’d rub a couple of fingers frantically between my legs, and then I’d be shaking so hard that I’d have to be sure and have the radio on loud to drown out my moaning. It never took me long to come, imagining all the things he’d do to me. I’d never come with a guy before – although I had had sex.
A friend of a friend, bit older, very flash, loads of money. We’d gone to the beach, a big group of us, and had had a barbeque to celebrate my 18th birthday, coming of age and all that, and I’d had way too much to drink. I’d felt very privileged to be seen with such a catch, and had let things go too far. My fault, not his. I hadn’t said no, then again, he hadn’t asked, but I bore him no grudge. He’d been very solicitous when he’d realised it had been my first time, and I thought that was kind of sweet really. It hadn’t hurt all that much, but then it hadn’t really done a lot for me either. It just seemed to be a bit messy, and very quick.
Since then I’d learnt a bit, and Mr Ideal Boyfriend Material had transpired to be unusually small in the important down below department, so I guess that’s why he drove such a big car – he obviously had to compensate somehow!
I knew things would be different with Stevie.
I could just picture him, taking me in his arms, kissing my face, murmuring how beautiful I was, then he’d sweep me off to a glamorous hotel room, and caress me softly, whispering words of passion, before making gentle love to me all night long. Oh yes, I was sure that was how I wanted it. All I had to do now was make it happen.
So, back to the day in question and there I was, sashaying my way towards the garage. Last year’s white blouse strained to contain my blooming flesh, clearly hampered by the black lacy push up bra that was giving me a cleavage nearly reaching my throat. I’d grown rather a lot in the last year, and the strength of the thread holding the buttons in place was being sorely tested. My skirt was even older, a relic from my school days, and while the waist fitted as easily as ever, the length would have left something to be desired in terms of school rules! But that’s ok; I was playing by my rules now. I was rather proud of my legs; long, smooth and tanned, the skirt barely reached mid-thigh, although my black lacy panties were discreetly covered – as long as I didn’t bend over too far. I thought my white ankle socks and sneakers a rather cute addition to my outfit, emphasising my innocence yet at the same time accenting the athletic muscle tone of my legs – plus making walking easy! I had toyed with a pair of high heels, but I didn’t really want to fall at his feet and make a fool of myself. Although - I quickened my pace as my brain went into overdrive - it wouldn’t be so bad… he’d pick me up, and cradle me in his arms, brush the hair from my face and hold me close…
I shook myself back to the present as the object of my desire came into view. Oh yeah, there he was, oily white t-shirt stretched tight across his back and wearing thin, faded and equally smeared jeans today, making a change from his usual overalls. He looked good, very male, surrounded by the big boys’ toys of cars and tools. I swallowed, suddenly conscious of being a little nervous despite my outward bravado. My heart stopped for a beat as he raised his head and looked at me, right in the eyes for a second, before letting his gaze travel the length of my tightly packaged body. Head up I smiled at him, unleashing a 1,000 watts of perfect dentistry.
“Hiya Stevie, great day!” I called, wondering to myself just where I should stand.
His non-committal grunt wasn’t the answer I’d been hoping for, so I went and stood by the front bumper, where I could see him at work, and he could see me. I tried again, trailing my finger lightly up the wing as I spoke, imagining skin rather than metal. “Nice car… are you taking it out for a test drive?” It was lame, but I was new to the art of verbal flirting, and was doing the best I could.
“Nope” came the brief reply.
I pouted, and bent to rest both elbows on the car, cupping my chin in my hands and sticking my ass out.
“Shame” I said, “I could do with some wind through my hair, it’s so hot today…”
There was no answer to this, so I sighed and ran my fingers through my long locks to emphasise my point. I was getting irritated at being so blatantly ignored, and tossed my head a couple of times. I saw him look sideways at me a couple of times so presumably he had at least registered the fact that I
was
