All characters are over the age of 18.
As always, check the tags. This story features an empty nest married couple getting a little adventurous with another woman. If that isn't your thing, please hit alt-back arrow and head on down the road.
Hot Rod Honeys
The first day of the Autumn Classic Car Show, turned out gorgeous. I look forward to this one all year. It started years ago, as a small local car show, but over time it had grown until it was now a two-day event, with food trucks and kiddie carnival rides, live bands, and a swap meet. People drive in from all over the South. My favorite part has always been the twenty-mile cruise on Saturday evening. We all drove slowly through a couple of neighboring small towns, enjoying the camaraderie and showing off a bit. It was all organized through the town councils and for that one night, the local cops were pretty chill. As long as you didn't get stupid. Open exhaust headers are a hot rod mainstay and that night the locals just lived with the noise, and we all had a great time. I mean, who doesn't love a parade of classic cars and hot rods, right?
The weather had finally started to cool to the point where it wasn't oppressively hot and humid in mid-October. The world had switched to pumpkin spice everything, but for me, it was a weekend to spend with the two great passions in my life. My beautiful wife, Margo, and our hot rods.
I could see her as I set up our chairs and cooler under a big live oak. She was dressed in a pink poodle skirt, and a white button-down blouse. Her lovely dark hair was in a high ponytail, tied with a pink scarf. When we go to a car show, we go all out, with 50's style dress and everything.
She was proudly wiping down her very own hot rod that we had just finished that morning. A 1950 Oldsmobile coupe. It was painted in a beautiful pale pearlescent blue, that Margo just adored. It was a feminine color, but I sure as hell wouldn't have been embarrassed to drive it.
I looked at the empty space next to her Olds and frowned. My own ride, a very traditionally hot-rodded 1937 Chevy cabriolet, sat in its garage with a compression issue that popped up just a couple of days before. Her name was Gloria and Margo would often call her my mistress. But these comments had started to occur less frequently when we started working on her Olds a year and a half ago. Funny how that works.
Margo looked over at me and smiled happily as she gave her car a final wipe-down to eliminate any road grime or splatted bugs it may have picked up on the drive here. Our hot rods are not trailer queens. Seeing her smile made me think of our work that morning. It had been a great start to the day.
***
"I can't believe it, Levi!" Margo said as we pushed the newly upholstered back seat into place. I slapped it down, waiting to feel the latches catch properly. "Easy there now," she said with a smile, stroking the white tuck-and-roll vinyl. "This is my baby, you're spanking."
"Got a name for her yet?" I asked.
Her hands continued caressing the cushion. I'd advised against white, but she was adamant. I have to admit that with the blue paint and chrome, the white interior did look amazing. She was, however, wise enough to go with a royal blue molded carpet. The contrasting colors were quite fetching.
"No, not yet. I'm waiting for an epiphany."
I smiled. I loved that she was such a planner. We're a lot alike in that way. You can't build hot rods, without being such. Everything you want to change; you've got to look at from a half dozen angles. Twice.
I looked over at her and smiled. "It's done, babe. Well, as done as a hot rod ever is."
Margo just beamed at me. "Thank you, Levi."
I shrugged. "Don't thank
me
. You were out here with me, turning the wrenches, running the wires, sanding the body."
"Yeah, but it was
your
know-how that built her, and
your
connections that helped us find all the parts."
I shook my head. "That doesn't matter in hot rodding. It's all about the time, the effort, the bloody knuckles." I ran my hand over the seat again. "It's about the love."
She smiled and her eyes filled up. "Well, for twenty-four years now, there hasn't been any lack of that, has there?"
I winked at her. "No ma'am."
She sniffed and patted the seat. "Climb in. Let me see how you look in the backseat of my hot rod."
I slid in and sat towards the window, expecting her to get in, on her side. Instead, she stepped back and stood looking at me. My heart skipped a beat when her hand came up and started dragging down the zipper of her coveralls. She'd already fixed her hair and makeup for the car show, and she looked really sexy in the coveralls. Like an old-school pin-up girl. Her hair had two big victory curls on top and a ponytail. She'd gotten very good at vintage hairstyles.
Our eyes met and hers narrowed seductively. When the zipper got low enough, I could see that she wasn't wearing a bra. I don't know how I'd missed noticing.
Margo is a curvy little thing, five foot two with a heart-stopping hourglass figure. Her large tits pushed the fabric to either side, revealing more and more cleavage.
"Jezzus, babe, what are you doing?" I nodded toward the open garage door. "Anyone can look in and see you." It was kinda true, but my pickup was parked in front of the bay and the open door of the Olds shielded her pretty well.
As the zipper passed her belly button, she began to sway her hips to a beat only she could hear. "Then maybe it'll be Mr. Crenshaw's lucky day," she kidded, mentioning the grumpy old man who lived across the street.
She reached up and began peeling the coveralls off her shoulders and her tits fell free. I instinctively slid across the seat toward her, but her eyes and a wagging finger stopped me. "Get back, lover."
Reluctantly I did so, glancing out of the garage, looking for anyone who might get an eyeful.
