Hot Rod Honeys

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.

She stepped out of the slip-on sneakers she wore in the garage and the coveralls hit the oil-stained concrete. Aside from her makeup, she was as naked as the day she was born. Her pussy was nicely trimmed, and her dark hair shone in the morning light.

Her eyes fell to my crotch, and she gave me a "what are you waiting for" look. I pushed myself up and slipped my sweatpants down in a hurry. Margo's eyes widened at the sight of my hardening cock. She bent and slid into the car with me.

She motioned me into the center of the new seat and then straddled my thighs. "You sure are one crazy dame," I said with a smile.

She kissed me roughly, pushing her body against mine. "You bet your ass, mister. Would you want me any other way?"

I wrapped my hands around her waist and pulled her towards me as I slid my ass towards the edge of the seat. The new angle brought her pussy over my cock, and I could feel her dampness. "Not a chance, babe."

She smiled and stretched to lift herself. Her hand reached for my cock, and I felt it rubbing against her vulva until it was parked at the entrance to her pussy. She leaned forward and kissed me. It was hard and passionate.

She pulled back and her mouth fell open in an O, as my cock began to slowly slide into her. She sagged against my chest, enjoying the initial feeling of being filled and stretched. I reached up and squeezed her right breast bringing a gasp from her beautiful, red-painted lips. She began to roll her hips, building the friction between us.

Margo leaned back a bit and brought my face down to her tits. I kissed her breastbone between her two lovely globes before making my way to a hard nipple. She moaned and encouraged me as I locked my lips around it.

"Yeah, baby, that's it. Oh, that's so good," she whispered.

Her pussy was so wet and slick, it felt wonderful as she rose and fell on my cock. She pulled my head into her chest tightly. "Now this is how you christen a hot rod!" she moaned loudly. I could only nod a bit and give her an 'mhmm!' around my mouthful.

After a while she leaned away from me, folding herself backwards until her back hit the front bench seat. I reached out and grabbed her big, full tits and began pistoning my hips up into her. Margo was a former collegiate athlete and kept herself in good shape, but I knew at age forty-four this wasn't a position she could maintain for long.

I reached under her and lifted her, swinging her onto the seat again on her back. Our eyes met as I began pistoning into her hard. "Yes! She cried out loudly. "Give it to me! Fill me with that wonderful cock!"

It always gets me going when she screams for it, and I redoubled my efforts, hammering as hard as I could. She slid on the vinyl until her head hit the armrest, and her hands came up to brace herself in place. Our breath came in gasps, and I felt my orgasm overtake me and without a moment to spare, I pulled out and pointed my cock over her vulva, firing my cum over her stomach and mons.

She lay there breathing heavily, looking down over her cum covered body. "Good boy. You remembered."

I grinned, "Yep, I can be taught." I knew that Margo is usually down for a quickie, even if we're headed out after. But I know she doesn't like the feel of a load of cum leaking into her panties the rest of the morning. And we had a long day ahead of us.

I leaned over her and kissed her tenderly. "Shall we head to the bedroom, so I can finish you off?"

She shook her head and patted the new seat. "No, I'm way too excited to get out there with my new baby. Besides, this was part of my 'thank you', for all your hard work. Hit me up tonight and I'll give you some more." She gave me a wicked smile. "But you

can

get me a clean shop towel so I can get out without dripping

cum

all over my new seats."

***

Margo must have seen my expression at the show because she walked up and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm sorry about Gloria, hun. Think it's serious?"

I shrugged. "It could be a blown piston ring, a bad valve, or a blown head gasket." Margo grimaced at the last possibility. She didn't know a lot about engines, but she knew a blown head gasket wasn't good. "Luckily, there's no coolant in the oil."

"Don't worry babe. We've got money in the kitty for such things."

I smiled but didn't mention the fact that rebuilding a 401 cubic inch, Buick Nailhead engine from 1960 wasn't going to be cheap. I sighed, hoping the dreaded swap to a more common and cheaper engine wasn't in the cards.

She leaned into me and kissed my jaw. "The band has started." I nodded, hearing a twangy electric guitar and a thumping bass drum. "Are you going to dance with me today?"

I switched to a happier thought and smiled. "You bet your ass."

She turned and grinned, shaking her rear at me. "You mean this ass?"

I opened my eyes wide and admired the lovely posterior. Poodle skirts are traditionally worn ankle length like they were in the 50's. But a couple of years back, Margo had taken a style cue from some of the tattooed rockabilly chicks and had shortened it to just above the knee. It was cooler, and a lot sexier. She wore black patent-leather Mary Janes, with a three-inch wedge heel that made her legs look terrific. Most of the women who dressed up wore wedge heels or else risk a twisted ankle walking on grass all day.

Damn, she looked great. "I wouldn't want to waste all the time and effort we put into those dance lessons." Back when the kids were in high school, we'd taken dance lessons together. To be honest they were mostly for me because Margo was a terrific dancer who could pick up anything in a flash. We learned swing dancing, the Lindy, the Bop, the Cha-Cha, and of course the Twist. This car show always had a live do-wop or rockabilly band and put down a plywood dance floor, where we could strut our stuff. Margo always looked forward to it.

Margo reached up and unbuttoned my vintage garage mechanic coveralls a couple of buttons, showing my white tank undershirt. Most guys at these shows dress like the classic hood from Grease or West Side Story, with dungarees and a white t-shirt. The detail-oriented fellas would add a pack of Camels rolled into the sleeve. I try to be a little bit different. Since I'm a mechanic by trade, vintage coveralls are perfect. With my hair slicked back with a little Brylcreem, I'm good to go.

Taking a last look at her Olds, her dark brown eyes met mine. "Let's go have some fun."

***

As I mentioned, it was a beautiful day. There was a lovely breeze and nothing but light wispy clouds in the sky that held the promise that perhaps there wouldn't be any afternoon rain. Margo and I walked arm-in-arm, and she was just beaming. We arrived at the bandstand, and she immediately pulled me up towards the checkerboard-painted plywood dance floor. We sat in the grass, until the band finished its number, and the master of ceremonies came out and welcomed us all and introduced the band.

Much to my wife's joy, he then introduced an out-of-town dance troupe that immediately came out on the floor in pairs. They were all dressed in 50s-style clothing and the band immediately cranked up and opened with Ritchie Valen's

La Bamba.

The couples all spread out on the dance floor, and immediately got into some very advanced swing dancing. If I'd even tried tossing Margo around like those men were doing, we'd likely both end up in traction. The dancers were all ages, from teens to folks older than us, and they were just killing it up there. Margo was on her feet clapping and cheering. After three numbers, the band jumped into Chubby Checker's

The Twist

and the dancers all split up, walked into the crowd, and started pulling people up to dance.

The couple that was closest to us, zeroed in on Margo and me, and before I knew it, I was paired with a very attractive older woman with dirty blonde hair and an athletic build. She was dressed in what Margo refers to as the 'Rizzo' look, referring to the character from Grease, played by Stockard Channing. She wore tight capri pants and a curve-hugging, black V-necked blouse with a zipper and a popped collar. She made eye contact and gave me a very alluring smile. She was a terrific dancer.

I glanced over at Margo who was getting down with a lean fellow about twenty-five years old. He was very good, and Margo was just in her element, having a great time. Not to be outdone, when the band began Chuck Berry's,

Johnny B. Goode,

I grabbed my lovely partner's hand, and we started swing dancing. She smiled widely when she realized I could at least hold my own, and she started putting the moves on me, even mixing in a little hand jive.

After the second verse, my partner spun me back towards my wife and went back into the crowd for another bystander. I grabbed Margo's hand, and we kept right on.

Swing dancing is pretty damn athletic and by the end of the fourth song, we were winded. We collapsed onto the grass in each other's arms, laughing. Her smile made my heart sing. "That was great, baby," she nearly shouted over the music and the clapping.

I rolled onto my knees and offered my hand to help her up. "We're not done yet. We've got some more boogie-woogie'n to do as soon as I catch my breath."

***

"She was pretty hot, wasn't she?" Margo looked up at me while we walked back to her car. The car show judges would be coming by soon and she wanted to be there to answer questions.

I grinned. "Who are you talking about?" I said, knowing full well who she was referring to.

She elbowed me in the ribs. "Don't get coy with me. That total smoke-show you were dancing with."

I felt no apprehension of answering honestly, Margo has never been the jealous type. And I've never given her a reason to be. "Yeah, she was very attractive. And how about that guy

you

were dancing with? He had some moves."

As usual, Margo merely shrugged and gave me a "whatever" expression. She did it to make me feel good whenever I mentioned another man. I know she looked around like anyone else and I couldn't blame her for enjoying the scenery. I'd often call her my 'wingman' as she was never shy about pointing out a good-looking woman. It had long been a suspicion of mine that there were some bisexual leanings there, but whenever I mentioned it, she'd deftly sidestep the subject.

We arrived back at the car, and she turned to me and stepped into my arms. "You've done your 'good husband' duties for today. You may be excused to wander the car show to your heart's content. Trophies are awarded at four o'clock."

I kissed her lovingly and donned my faux-vintage Brooklyn Dodgers ball cap. With a wave and a smile, I walked off to start my tour of the car show, but not before reminding her that there was still some more "good husbanding" to be done after we got home. She smiled playfully and shooed me away with her hand.

My tour of the show often took hours, and I enjoyed every minute. When we first started going to shows together, Margo would walk with me but after a while, she was just bored to tears. It's not that she didn't enjoy the cars, she did, but I like to stop and talk to the other owners. I have a book full of contacts I have made with other locals in the hobby, and we support one another, helping out when we can. "You need headlight bezels for a '39 Chevy? I might know a guy." That kind of thing. That sort of networking is priceless, and smartphones have made it a hundred times easier because I can call

the guy

on the spot, and then he can send photos of what he has, in minutes.

But doing that at a car show with eight hundred or more vehicles is time-consuming and after a while, Margo was ready to call it a day. So, she likes to sit near the car with a paperback and iced tea and let me have my fun.

I'd been walking for about two hours when I spotted Margo at one of the food trucks. She was talking animatedly with another woman. To my surprise, it was the woman I'd been dancing with earlier. She was still wearing the same costume and seeing them together was very intriguing. I had some very naughty thoughts at that moment. As it turns out, it wasn't the first time I had.

***

I got back to the car just before 4 pm to find that there wasn't any ribbon or award notice sitting on Margo's Oldsmobile. I walked around it, prepared to find a crestfallen wife, as I knew she'd been hoping to win one. But I found her sitting in our chairs with the same woman. She was smiling and laughing, and they both seemed like they were having a good time.

The woman looked up at me and smiled, and Margo turned. She looked at the blonde conspiratorially and they both rose to greet me.

"Did you enjoy your walk?" my wife asked.

I nodded and my eyes were drawn to her new companion. There was something familiar about her.

Margo grinned slyly. "Sweetie, do you know who this is?" she asked, indicating her companion with her hand.

I studied her and again found something familiar, but I just couldn't place it. I shook my head.

"Honey, this is Gail." She said as if that should have cleared everything up. I shook my head again and looked at the lovely woman. She pursed her red-painted lips and blew me a kiss, without the hand gesture. My jaw dropped and it all came rushing back.

***

Early in our marriage while I was still learning my trade, we lived upstate for about five years. Our kids were still in grade school, and we lived in a rather plain townhome somewhere between the suburbs and the poorer communities. Our next-door neighbor was a single mom named Gail. Her son was of a similar age to our two boys, and they got on famously. Gail was a pretty thing, a couple of years older than us, with a tight athletic body and a gorgeous face.