Promises Tr-3 Ver. 02

Ver 2.2 © 2018 Literocat

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Promises! They often lead to trouble, pain and rarely to pleasure, my son. This is a true story — well, most of the exciting, or life threatening parts are true. Years ago, after I took a college friend for a thrill ride in my beautiful, legendary sports car, a Triumph TR-3, he bought a TR-4A. Not a 4 that was on par with my 3, no, but a 4A-IRS with five horses and 5 mph on me. He always was competitive!

I guess he preferred civilized roll-up windows to the primal fortitude of having to store windows in the trunk, the fool. My TR-3 and I agree on 'form follows function,' yet we also agree that the low-sculpted doors' curvaceous beauty is worth the small sacrifice vs. the TR-4's boxy body style.

Two years and many adventures later, I was rebuilding, or rather consolidating two TR-3s into one in Brooklyn and Queens. The rejuvenated function of one meant the quick death of the other Triumph. While I was thrilled with the result of my labors, I mourned the passing of the other beauty. That rebuild took the entire summer. I had no way to know how short the beautiful Franken-Triumph's life would be. That is yet another story.

Mid summer, my friend, Ken, took pity on me and brought me to a college party

far upstate

in Westchester County in his TR-4. Despite watching random hookups at this make out party, it was uneventful and somewhat boring for a stag, shy outsider like me. That changed when the lights dimmed and an athletic, tall, beautiful girl with waist-long, brown-streaked-with-blond hair hit on me. Me? Her confident, sultry, deliberate walk told me a great deal. The predatory look of her eyes and down-tilted head told me more. This girl was trouble, spelled with a capital T. I gulped and sighed at once, my eyes wide in terror, and thrilled anticipation.

As she sauntered toward me, my gut clenched and my eyes flittered to her, entranced like a moth to a flame. Though strapping, she was pleasantly curvy with great big . . . brown eyes. Her shapely D-cups didn't hurt either. She oozed sex appeal.

"Hi stranger," she purred as she seductively wrapped my hair around her finger, leaned her massive, soft breasts against my arm and, with no introduction, assertively kissed me. After some brief, inane conversation neither of us really heard, we shared some intense yet vigorous, umm, osculating, and petting.

I'm only mentioning the party since that was how I met Kira. We were both twenty. Most of those details are not for your ears, son. I promised her an exciting ride in my renewed TR-3 at the end of summer. Shyly, I hoped my implication of looking forward to another, more personal ride, was understood. We sealed the promise with an energetic kiss - several times - before I crossed second base on my way to third. She looked conflicted and confused.

The predator suddenly looked so doubtful, I wondered what had changed. I thought I was very clear and restated it more formally. "I

promise

I'll come back and take you for an exciting ride in my Triumph TR-3, mmm, before the first snowfall - maybe before the end of summer." Her response surprised me.

"Sure. Whatever!" Her vixen facade cracked. She looked as vulnerable as an angry child who's been disappointed yet again on Christmas day. Someone, maybe multi-someones, had lied and hurt her too often to allow her to easily trust again.

One look at her chin-up expression of ire and defensive resolve reminded me that I cared too much about this stranger, this likely simple hookup. I recalled my own disappointments in people and their insincere, socially polite promises. As much to ameliorate my own outlook as hers, I had to fortify my promise.

A single, silent tear slid down her nose. My heart ached and I gently kissed away the salty testimonial. Obviously, my promise hit a nerve. My mind raced wildly, like a new born colt with his mom, stumbling, hopping yet sticking close to her. "What if I put it in writing? I'll agree to any terms you like since I

know

I won't disappoint you. Well, nearly any terms!" I teased and grinned.

Bitterly, she said, "Right! You'd sign an agreement, like uh, a contract? There's no need to make promises you don't intend to keep."

I sighed. Overruling my shy self, I'll simply say we came to an agreement I'm sure she marshaled. She played me perfectly! I countered with, "Kiss me again you naughty girl." What a

great

party!

At the end of August, I apprehensively called Kira to say my TR-3 wasn't ready. However, I could borrow Ken's TR-4 so I could still keep my promise. When she eagerly agreed because she

'loved speed'

, I gulped and took that as a challenge. In preparing for a hard ride, I did a safety check of the car, topped off the oil and pumped the tires to the max suggested pressure.

When I pulled up topless, the car, not me, for our

speed

date in that hot and humid twilight, I asked if she knew of a winding road where I could open up the throttle on the sports car and release all 105 wild horses.

She

wore enticing, light, shorts and a snug, ribbed and cropped tank top that strained to contain her. Before heading out, we shared a tentative, then prolonged and promising kiss that pumped and fueled me.

Just for her pleasure, I held 70 on the dark rural route to reach the fun road. She directed me to turn onto a two-lane, shoulder less, unlit road that cut tightly through some dense woods. She guaranteed it was clear for many miles and was hardly ever traveled. The asphalt, serpentine road, barely exposed by my brights, twisted and flowed unevenly. Triumph and I finally merged and I felt its calm confidence in the eye of the storm around us. We became one.

I firmly gripped the wheel, adjusted my posture and sped past 80, beyond the eye. My focus narrowed to my task as my adrenalin pumped, my breaths deepened and my nerves calmed. Her long hair slapped me and briefly pulled my attention from the fast curves. She leaned back comfortably in her seat; both hands cupped her hair that flapped wildly in the gale winds. Her wide, calm grin betrayed her pleasure, but it was her hard nipples, attempting to shred her top, that captured my stare. Maybe she was enjoying this much more than she chose to say?

Despite the brief, tempting distraction, I had to stay focused! We hit 100 and she still smiled indulgently, saying languidly how much . . . she loved . . . speed. Now she was being annoying! Her tank top flapped and lifted above her thick, bared nipples. She was making this so hard! Focus! I floored it and we hit 5200 rpm, redline, flat out at 110 mph; the road melted under my Pirelli tires; the tight curves challenged me to find and follow the fastest, safest line. The ominous, nearby trees were blurry shadows waiting to take a bite out of us. She was still smiling. Damn!

For miles, I stayed focused on the feedback I needed: the road shape and surface, the proximity of the lethal trees, any bits of road debris, suicidal woods creatures, the sounds of the tires and the engine,

not

the sighs of the beautiful, half naked girl next to me. At 110 mph I went into a hard left turn and rode a slight rise in the road. At that speed, it was no longer slight! The road tossed the car off the ground and removed all steering feel. The wheel whipped around, and the road kept arcing away from me as I kept flying straight toward the trees.

She

was giddy, and far too relaxed.

Quickly remembering where it was before the Triumph became a flying missile, I reoriented the wheel, stole a last glance at the seductress next to me and prayed to touch down on the road, not a tree. We did. The tires gripped, the Triumph pulled us confidently and safely around the tight turn, still going 100 +. As usual, I stayed calm in the emergency and trembled

after

the fact. She was happily imperturbable, everything was fine, but the oil pressure was near zero.

I slowed to half my speed and took her home, adrenalin still pumping gallons. I'd fulfilled my promise. We kissed energetically in her parent's driveway, next to their car. Did they see us? I didn't care. Now it was

her

engine that red lined and she showed me how much she enjoyed the ride. Sometime later, I made my exit, quickly replaced all five quarts of oil I'd burned through and never saw her again!

==== 13 hrs 1300 1/31/18 === 1484 words ====

seminal image 5/6/17: Prompt: in 20 minutes, write about a bit player in your life. Include a powerful human need: small, vital, self-contained incidents: smoking, TR-3

In the 20 minutes allowed, I left out some useful details. In ver 1.2 I added them; in ver 2 I expanded it. After critique I enhanced it in ver 2.2.

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Comments: "OMG, I felt the tension. You put me in the car next to you so vividly I was afraid and felt the speed as you climbed past 70, 80, 90. I like that you 'never saw her again.' "