The Triumphs Of The Past Ch 01

Can inanimate objects have feelings, emotions, thoughts? Self-evidently not, you would have thought - the clue being in the words, 'inanimate' and 'objects,' but what about Herbie, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, KITT or the Hal 9000? So, fair enough, the last two are artificial intelligence machines but... but a Triumph 2500 Mk 2 is not one of those. Anything but, you would have thought... but I am getting ahead of myself.

Let's start at the beginning. My name being a good place to start:

Name: Eric Vincent Ackroyd

Sex: Male

Age: 37

Occupation: Motor mechanic (classic cars a speciality)

Marital Status: Divorced

So, I am 'into' cars; have been since a kid taking after my father and my grandfather, actually. You've seen the Brighton Run, 'Genevieve'? Well, there's a lot of their work to be seen there. Me, I'm more 60s, 70s, though I'll do later or earlier work if I'm paid.

I had a friend, unfortunately the emphasis is very much on the 'had' as he is dead now. A tragic story which I shan't go into. At least he was a lot older than me. You can't say 61 was a totally bad innings but it was nowhere near a good one. He left a widow whom I really did not know. Had met Jane a few times but whilst Rob and I were great mates, Jane had not really fitted into what we did. Rob and I went around the motor shows together, you know the thing, loads of blokes (and they are mostly blokes) drive to a field somewhere and look at each other's motors and buy bits and pieces, anything from a drive shaft to a gear knob. Rob said he had taken Jane a few times with him, but she had been bored out of her mind.

So, there Jane was without a husband, shocked and grieving and with a big double garage full of car parts, work benches and a couple of classic cars. A roadworthy Triumph 2500S Mk2 estate and a Morris Minor estate. Rob liked estate cars. We all have our little foibles and quirks! Useful to put stuff in but not exactly sexy! The Morris was in bits, but the Triumph motored nicely. I had been in the Triumph. Indeed, had gone to Rob's last show with him in it. It'd gone well up the motorway, cruised nicely in overdrive. I liked that neat switch atop the gear knob. A flick and into overdrive. Not too bad fuel economy either. We talked a lot about the car and what Rob needed to do to it. He'd asked me what I thought about the interior trim, whether he should keep it as is or replace. The brown leather seats (an extra - not standard) were pretty badly faded and stained.

"I'm a bit suspicious of some of the stains - on the back seat you know. I wonder what previous owners got up to in him?"

I remember his words and the surprising pronoun. 'Him?' Surely cars were 'shes' like boats? I can remember joking with Rob about it. 'Not given 'him' a name, have you?' I said, or words to that effect, 'what gives with the he?"

"Dunno," he'd said, and had indicated the huge gearlever-knob with that overdrive switch mounted on its top. Got a pretty big knob hasn't he?" That unnerved me a bit, seeing Rob grasping it and changing gear. It was vibrating away even in overdrive. Awful gearbox you know; sometimes vibrating so severely you can barely grasp the lever to change gear. The idea of it as a great big cock didn't sit well with me. Not the sort of thing I would want to grasp! I'd made some joke about it being a bit homo-erotic and he had laughed and done something a trifle crude with his finger and thumb and the gear-knob.

"Dunno. Just always struck me since I bought it, that IT was a 'he.' No name, Eric, just I see the Triumph as a he not a she."

Happy days, happy banter and with no thought that would be the last journey...

Anyways, back to Jane. She was stuck with all this 'car stuff.' She was sentimental about the Triumph and Rob's love of cars. But,

"He's too big for me."

I kept a straight face though the phrase had amusing connotations. It was not the time for humour in any case, nor to notice that, for a woman of fifty, Jane was not unattractive. What I also noticed was Jane repeated the 'he' pronoun in respect of the car.

"Rob used to drive the car, not me. Fact I've hardly been inside. Very much his car, when it was on the road. We used the Mondeo for holidays and the like."

She looked up at me. Yes, not an unattractive woman at all.

"What I'd like," she continued, "is to have the Morris Traveller to drive and... I'm loath to sell the Triumph, Rob was so fond of him but... I wonder if you'd take the Triumph and restore the Morris in exchange? Then I can still see him - the 2500."

I'd lose on the deal, the Morris Traveller needed a lot of work both time and parts, to say nothing of assembly, but I'd liked Rob's Triumph and certainly wanted to do the right thing by his widow.

"Deal."

And that is why I found myself driving Jane up the motorway, some weeks later, in the darkness before dawn in the Triumph 2500 Mk2, the engine purring and that gear lever vibrating away to itself - in overdrive. We were off to an owners' club autojumble to buy parts for both the Morris and Triumph and a 1966 Austin A 40 Farina Countryman (an estate again!) I was restoring for a client, but Jane did not know about that. Why was she with me when I knew she hated such meets? It was because of Rob of course. A feeling she should do it instead of him.

"I like the smell of the leather, you know, can I have that in the Morris?" she had said as she had settled into the old seat beside me. Old but generously sized and comfortable. Jane was asleep before we even reached the motorway.

He was good on the motorway, the 2000 Mk2s were better than the Mk1s in this and the 2500S better still. Good for cruising, not really sporty like other Triumphs - your Dolomites, Stags or TR6s - but good as a largish sedan, nicely set out, more cachet than a Vauxhall or Leyland's Princess and not just a tarted up run of the mill saloon. The twin SU carburettors had most of the power of the not too good 2.5P.I. petrol injection model, all of the torque, but better smoothness, and it had higher, more relaxed, gearing than the 2000s plus decent levels of economy/reliability.

We were up early, middle of the night really, to get to the autojumble just as it opened for business and therefore get first crack at what would be on offer.

As the light grew in the sky, I took the occasional glance away from the windscreen and the curving walnut dash at the figure asleep to my left. Because I could. Jane was fast asleep, I could tell, but restless. She was probably dreaming: but of what? Certainly not me! I wondered what Rob and she had been like in bed. Had he been a good lover: was she? Funny thing for me to be thinking of, given our age difference, yet she had something about her. Sexy, severe and uptight was how I saw her. Perhaps she mellowed in the bedroom; perhaps she had mellowed with Rob. I liked her rather boxy face, the way her - what colours do women call their hair - yeah, to me, 'old leather' coloured hair, was styled, curling in under her cheeks and with a long slash across her forehead over to her right, half obscuring her almost black eyebrows. Brown eyes, not that I could see them as she was asleep, and really rather appealing wrinkles around them; a nice mouth with a wide smile and I could just make out her pierced ears with their pearl earrings and attached lobes - I was making a bit of a close inspection! I returned my attention to the road - and rightly so.

But then Jane moaned. It was the sort of noise women make when... It was that sort of noise aroused women make in bed. Don't ask me to describe it but it most certainly was! I glanced to my left. Jane was still fast asleep, but her denim clad legs were actually rubbing together. I swallowed, my thoughts suddenly exceptionally male. Jane was clearly having a rather pleasant dream, if she'd been a bloke it might well be what is referred to as a 'wet dream.' I knew all about those - was having them again quite frequently since the break-up. Was she wet inside those jeans, at the top of those rather shapely legs - jeans do tend to mould to women's thighs, don't they? Were her nipples hard? I had not really looked at Jane's chest but now my thoughts were about what her breasts looked like. At fifty they would sag a bit but by how much - natural and, you know, perhaps sexy - certainly there seemed plenty of the pair. Her thighs moved again. Would she be natural or shaved - part shaven perhaps - the colour of old leather or almost black like her eyebrows?

Not good thoughts. I was driving up the motorway with my cock as hard and upstanding as the Triumph's gear stick and knob. Constrained, it was not vibrating in the same manner. In reality my cock did not vibrate much at all - cocks don't - though if it was receiving the same vibrations the gear lever was receiving from that not ideal gearbox I'd have creamed in next to no time! As it was, I had to sit there for miles and miles with a permanent hard-on trying to concentrate on the road and not the occasional moans and sometimes thigh movements next to me. It'd have been worse had Jane been wearing stockings - there might even have been crackling and blue sparks of static as the nylons were rubbed together; her skirt might have ridden up revealing a glimpse of white thigh above stocking tops with suspenders pulling at the nylon and taut against the soft flesh.

Fuck!

And I wanted to pee! Sexual arousal plus that other erection inducing sensation - a full bladder - did nothing to help me. I was really rather uncomfortable. Both aroused and uncomfortable. I should not have had that second cup of coffee before we set out.

Jane woke with a start as we bumped across the field of the autojumble, a momentary audible, "Phew..." marking, I suspected, the join of her recent erotic dream to reality, "...we're here."

A visit, first, to the bogs. I don't thing Jane noticed me walking uncomfortably but why should she suspect I had just been fantasising about her, rather than just in urgent need of bladder release?

It was a good and successful day. Not only did I buy the parts I wanted but I met lots of my motor 'chums.' Even Jane, despite what Rob had said about her aversion to such things, seemed to meet a lot of wives of Rob's friends whom she knew and seemed to be not bored at all. We met again for lunch and she was even a little forthcoming about her feelings, being there without Rob. Perhaps her guard was a little down. Perhaps it was a sign she was enjoying the day.

I wasn't worried about the return journey. Jane would not be doing 'that' again. She was going to be driving in any case. The usual 'turn' approach. I had driven there.

Now some people do drive with their hand on the gear lever. Bad practice because you should keep both hands on the wheel: yet how many people do you see driving along with an elbow resting on the open window or with just a single finger on the steering wheel? Jane did not at first but after a time her left hand settled on the gear knob. I wasn't going to tell her off - I might have got a sharp retort to that! What I wasn't prepared for was when she began fondling the knob. She was staring out at the road in front of her, occasionally glancing at the dash and the rear-view mirrors - all very proper driving habits. We had started the journey back talking about the day, but the conversation had dried up - probably when I had launched into a long explanation of the welding jobs needed for the Morris and, a little, to the Triumph. Had I been looking at the road too I might not have noticed her hand, but the reality was I was transfixed watching Jane's slender hand moving on the gear lever as if it was an erect penis - and of course it was almost instantly matched by my own, only nobody was touching that.

I wouldn't have said the 2500's knob was particularly phallic. Not like on some cars! It's a bit difficult to avoid the shape really - its the sort of shape that fits well in the clasp of your hand, though I'm sure designers go to great lengths to try and make it not look like there's a great big prick sticking up from the transmission tunnel: not so sure some don't go a bit the other way too.

The 2500's knob certainly has a nice shiny chrome corona to it, an impressive flare if you are being particularly penile, though it then has a sharp, concave curve down to the stick which is not really penis like at all. Nor is the flat top, with the overdrive switch mounted in it, penis shaped, glans penis shaped - leastways not like mine - but the thing entire is a big knob, and Jane was most definitely running the circle of her thumb and forefinger slowly up and down it. Moreover, her thumb was occasionally lazily stroking, with its ball, the overdrive switch. I imagined it lazily stroking over my urethral opening, the ball of her thumb moistened or lubricated with what I could already feel as a small wet patch in my boxers. It was not vigorous wanking but the sort of slow, teasing movements your girlfriend might do to you, if you were luck, before you really set to at the old 'rumpy-pumpy.'

I swallowed and looked up at Jane. She was staring straight ahead but had her bottom lip between her teeth. It came to me that she was aroused, just as she had been in her dream of the morning. Aroused again? What was happening? It was hardly going to be my presence.

A stop at the MSA (motorway service area) for coffee and a sandwich and then back on the road again. Me driving this time, and with my hand only holding the gear knob when I needed to. I almost winced when I flicked the overdrive switch. There had not been a hint of anything in the MSA, no touch to my arm or anything like that to suggest an interest in me - a sexual interest. Yet once back in the car and heading onwards I could see Jane's jeans moving and her thighs rubbing.

"It's warm in here isn't it?" she asked, or said, opening her window.

I wouldn't have said so but...

She was definitely restless, even muttering to herself.

"Tired?" I ventured, and she acquiesced to my suggestion to rest. She let her seatback down and tried to go to sleep whilst outside the sky began to darken. Miles further on I noticed, to my astonishment, she had begun to massage her groin through her jeans. Out of character or what? On I drove with the unusual feeling (again) of having a gear lever in my own jeans.

Flustered, not quite herself she made her 'goodnight' and hurried into her house leaving me to unpack the Triumph in her garage, load the stuff for the Austin into my car - I only got to keep the Triumph when I'd finished the Traveller. It was not yet mine, only promised. Turning from my car I looked up at the house and saw just a bedroom light on. Jane had not wasted time in going to bed. Given her performance in the car I very much wondered what exactly she was doing in bed. Not reading an Agatha Christie I rather thought! What was she wearing - perhaps nothing, just warm and damp from a shower. Was she lying there under the covers with her thighs apart frigging herself thinking of gear knobs, big thick gear knobs with chrome coronas? Unsurprisingly I walked a little stiffly back into the garage and looked at the Triumph 2500. What had been going on there - what had been going on in that car?

I unzipped. Yep, I got my cock out, there and then in my old friend's garage workshop alongside his pride and joy of a motor car. No chance, leastways very little indeed of Jane returning that night, and I had been cooped up with a 'raging' hard-on much of the day. Frankly it was good to get it out of my fly and into the open. Free, unrestrained and, yes, peeled. What would Rob have thought? Had he got his cock out and had a wank in his garage? I sat down in the driver's seat of the Triumph, my cock sticking up as it had been whilst I drove but now out in the open. Had Rob perhaps sat there and wanked? Men do funny things. Sex incites odd behaviour. Perhaps he had, perhaps he hadn't: all men wank, and you have to do it somewhere. Yeah, of course in bed; perhaps sitting at the PC (and we all know why); perhaps down the garden, even in a shed; or out in the country on a walk, quietly and privately feeling the warm sunshine on 'it': so why not in the workshop or car? Perhaps some of the stains on the leather seats were Rob's. I opened my legs and looked down at the leather past my cock and balls. Well, if some of that staining was Rob's semen I hoped it had been a 'good one.'

I wasn't going to stain the leather; I got back out of the car and walked across the workshop with my cock still at attention out of my fly, a little surprised at what I was doing, and ripped off a couple of sheets of the workshop blue roll; perhaps Rob had done the same from the very same roll for the very same purpose. It was an odd sort of feeling of oneness with my old friend. I hoped he didn't mind me having a wank in his old car, in his old garage and with his roll of blue paper: moreover, thinking about his wife as I did so. I settled back in the car and my hand grasped my penis, as Jane had grasped the Triumph's gear knob, and did very much the same thing, my fingers sliding over my dark purple corona as hers had slid over the chrome.

My cock did look more like a penis - it was one after all - but the Triumph's knob was bigger. I reached and held it, even stroked it as Jane had done before returning to my own. Probably the most gay thing I'd ever done - yes really! I had to accept he, the Triumph, had a thicker cockhead!

Positioning the blue sheets strategically I settled back and thought of Jane. Haughty, perhaps a bit cold, but sexy in spades: I really wouldn't have at all minded if we had f...d. Had she been wearing a dress that day in the car and had undone it and let her boobs out, perhaps pulled the dress upwards and removed her knickers and just frigged there and then, wouldn't that have been good? I'd have enjoyed watching - not good when driving though. My hand moved happily up and down my cock. Could I have helped her, just a bit, taken my left hand off the steering wheel for a short while? What if she had reached across as I drove, her free breasts wobbling and let me out. Got my cock out from inside my jeans and done what she had done to the gear knob or - my hand moved faster at the idea - dropped her mouth over my knob and sucked. Made me cum as I drove down the motorway, unable to do anything but cum in her mouth - forced to cum!

And cum I did, dollops of the stuff splashing all across the blue paper, showing as darker, rounded patches - and plenty of them. My mind full of the idea of being fellated. Around me the silence of the workshop garage with just the sound of my heavy breathing and the pattering of semen onto the blue paper. I dropped my cock and sat there a little stunned and breathing hard. If Jane looked out of her bedroom window, she would wonder what I was doing and why my car had not yet gone.

"Sorry Rob," I said out loud. Perhaps he had done the same right there, but I certainly had not got any of my stuff on his leather or even on my jeans. I wrapped up the blue paper, popped it in my pocket and readied myself to leave, tucking my dick away as well. It had all been a bit embarrassing really. Not the sort of thing I did - well, yeah, I certainly wanked, quite often, but not in somebody else's car and garage. Rob, though, sadly was not around to embarrass me. Imagine that, being caught openly wanking in a car!

Thunderstruck! There was no other way to describe it: well, I suppose there are a lot of words or phrases - 'well, fuck me,' or 'blow me down,' might have done - but I was astounded. I had come around to Jane's to work on the Triumph again, had a key to the garage, but I had not needed that as the side door had been open and I had just walked in. I had not seen her, not appreciated anyone was there and had just come up the near side of the Triumph and casually looked in. Perhaps I should have noticed the windows were wound down, but I didn't.