Motorhead

by Kate Gilead

  “A good-paying job that I don’t hate,” I laugh. “But my dad…my family…they want me to stay with Sinclair’s, take some kind of executive position eventually, and keep driving for publicity events. I don’t want to let them down. And I don’t want to be ungrateful, but I feel uneasy about having my life decided for me…handed to me on a platter.” Finished my meal, I wipe my mouth and sit back. “Maybe that’s part of the problem, I dunno….maybe it’s just too easy.”

  Nodding, he crosses his fork and knife on his plate and sits back thoughtfully. “Well, it’s true that people don’t value what they don’t work for. Having something handed to you is nothing like earning it through your own effort.”

  “Exactly! It’s hard to explain that to people sometimes, though. People tend to see me as ungrateful just for saying that I’m not sure what I want. One guy I dated called me a “spoiled little rich girl” when I tried to explain how smothered I feel. It’s like, I’m not even allowed to wonder if working for the family business is right for me. I should just shut up, do what I’m told and be happy about it.”

  Mark listens quietly, his expression so neutral, I worry what he’s thinking. People are intolerant and unsympathetic towards the problems of people with money…and especially, the children of people with money.

  It’s such a typical reaction that part of me is ready to go numb, waiting for Mark to say something hurtful or lecture me about how spoiled and lucky I am.

  “Spoiled little rich girl, huh? Well, your family may be rich but I doubt that you’ve had a chance to accrue much personal wealth yourself. Right?”

  “Ha! Right.”

  “And as far as being spoiled…well, you do have a nice car and a guaranteed job. And a chance to let your inner speed-demon out to play once in a while. Obviously, that’s more than most people get, so yeah…you have things, and… opportunities.” He raises his eyebrows and looks directly into my eyes. “What being spoiled really means, though,” he adds, making quote marks in the air. “…is that something is ruined.” He smiles softly. “What you’re saying aren’t the words of a ruined person. All I hear you saying is that you don’t know what you wanna be when you grow up.”

  His words are so kindly delivered, I’m overwhelmed for a moment.

  I swallow hard and clear my throat. “Thanks, Mark,” I say. “Thanks! I really appreciate that. Most people make me feel like an insufferable brat for this kind of talk.”

  Lifting my hand from the table, he brings it to his mouth and kisses it softly.

  “Ah, sweetheart,” he says, caressing my knuckles with his thumb. “I just hope that when you decide what you want, your decision includes me in there, somewhere.”

  “Well, so far, so good,” I say, and give him a wide smile. The warmth in his eyes tells me how much he likes my smile and my answer. “Let’s clear the dishes away and then get back into the pool.” I pull at my wrap, where it’s sticking to my moist skin. “It’s so muggy! I put on a sweat just eating dinner.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  Ten minutes later, the dishwasher’s loaded, the kitchen tidied, and we’re back outside. I remove my wrap and toss it onto a chair, earning an appreciative whistle from my grinning date.

  He’s standing about half-way down the pool steps. He holds his hand out to me as I approach, and I take it, stepping down onto the first step.

  The pool lights are much easier to see now, in the growing dark. Their soft, colorful lights make the pool look magical.

  “Look how pretty…” I start to say, but that’s all I get out.

  “Last one in is a rotten egg,” Mark interrupts. He grabs me by the waist, lifts, turns, and tosses me bodily into the water as if I weigh nothing at all.

  I come up sputtering and laughing, and he’s right there, coming up beside me, water streaming off him as he chuckles and wipes his face. “Looked like you could use some help cooling off,” he says.

  “Hah! Do it again,” I say.

  “My pleasure. Here, put your feet into my hands,” he says, squatting down in the water.

  With my feet in place, and my hands on his shoulders, he stands up to his full height and heaves me backwards into the water.

  I land with a mighty splash and come up giggling and sputtering.

  We spend the next half hour or so playing in the water, splashing and yelling and trying to dunk each other; racing from one side of the pool to the other; then sinking to kneel face-to-face on the bottom, having a goofy underwater conversation in mime and trying not to laugh.

  Tiring of that, we take a rest, with him taking me into his arms again in a squat, so that we’re both submerged except for our heads. My legs loosely straddle his. He cuddles me against his body and we kiss and nuzzle. “You make a sexy underwater mime,” Mark says, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t quit your day job.”

  I laugh. “Shit! Just when I thought I found my new calling!”

  Another kiss turns into two, and then another, and another…turning quickly into lingering, slow tongue-kisses, kindling that fire again. My hands roam over his broad shoulders and arms, taking in his muscles greedily, his power and strength more of an aphrodisiac than I even imagined.

  He breaks the kiss and, with a groan, pulls me against him, his hands kneading my ass, reaching down towards my cleft but not quite touching me there. Frustrating! I wrap my legs around his waist and hook my feet together at the ankles. His stiff cock presses me, throbbing insistently against my soft core.

  I hear myself whimper as I grind myself against him. I can’t help it! The man is so goddamn sexy!

  “Jesus Christ,” he whispers. “This is torture!” He looks towards one of the islands of bubbles floating on the surface of the water. “Hey…let’s try something.” In two slow-motion strides, he carries me to one of the benches from which a bubbling stream emerges. “I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about this,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck and cheek, “but these water jets feel really good…like a stationary shower massage.”

  Oh God…yes, I just so happen to have a shower massager…but this isn’t my shower head in my private bathroom.

  It’s a lot more naughty and sexy than that.

  His hands steer me to a submerged spot on the bench, and instantly, I feel the soft pressure of the stream of bubbles against my bottom. I look down reflexively.

  “It’s a recessed jet, covered with a plastic grid. It’s perfectly safe,” he whispers into my ear, his big hands holding my hips in place. “Is this okay with you, baby? Hmm? Will you let me help you get you off…right here, tonight…?”

  I can’t speak. I’m so horny, I can only kiss him, my tongue flicking his mouth hungrily.

  “Mmmm,” he murmurs, his voice intense. “Alright…tell me when I’m close…how about here? No? Here? How about here…ahhh, there we go!”

  I gasp and wriggle, the stream of bubbles directly against my vulva now; soft, insistent pressure bouncing directly against my aching clit.

  He holds me steady, breathing hard, watching my face intently. “Yeah…that’s it, sweetheart, that’s it…yes, relax…yeah…is that nice?” I nod, clinging to his shoulders. “You gonna come for me?” His voice is an urgent whisper. “Oh, yeah…come on, sweet girl…come for me…ohhh…fuck yeah!”

  And oh my God…so hot…sexy…his kisses, and his broad shoulders, his big hands on my hips, holding me in place, his deep voice a sensuous murmur. His blue eyes, fixed on my face so intently…full of lust…his soft, insistent, encouraging words, like fuel to the flames.

  The fluttering, delicious pressure of the stream of bubbles against my clit and vulva is like nitro, their licking, flicking stimulation making that aching, luscious pleasure grow…and grow…until oh godohgodohgod… !

  “Huhhnnn…huhhnnnn!” My head goes back, my eyes squeeze shut and I come hard, crying out, my voice hoarse and high with ecstasy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mark

  I hold Mar
ie until her shivering subsides, my cock aching for release. “Oh my God,” she says weakly. “That was so…intense! Oh my God,” she repeats, her face buried in my neck.

  I smile and hold her close, trying to ignore my throbbing dick.

  After a moment, her hand fumbles around the front of my shorts. She gets a brief grip on my dick….goddamn, it feels good…and just for a second, I let her squeeze it. Jesus Christ! I can barely restrain myself.

  But, despite what just happened, I am determined not to rush things with this girl.

  “Whoa, now,” I chuckle, grabbing her hand away. “We fooled around enough for the first date. I don’t want you to have any regrets, Marie.”

  “But you didn’t…”

  “Shh, don’t worry about it,” I interrupt. “That was very satisfying for me, too.” And it was…more or less.

  The feeling of her pert breasts in my hands and the image of her face in the throes of orgasm is going straight into my spank bank, that’s for damn sure. And those nipples…they turn out to be shaped like pebbles; hard, rosy, delicious pebbles that I can’t wait to see more of.

  Soon.

  We head inside, where we each use a different bathroom to dry off and get dressed.

  “I feel weird being here at Freddy’s without him and Darlene here,” I say, when we meet back in the kitchen. “The plan was to do couples stuff together after dinner, like play pool or cards or something.”

  “Yes, you’re right. I feel awkward being here, too,” she agrees. “It’s still early but…I’d like to get out of here.”

  “You wanna go see a movie or something?”

  “I…nah. I don’t feel like going out. I’d invite you to my place, but…I still live at home, so….”

  That sounds like a hint. “Well, we could go to my place. Not to, y’know…um. Just have a coffee or tea, hang out and talk.”

  “Okay, sure. Sounds nice.”

  “Now…my place is, uh…it’s not the usual. It’s above my shop, actually But, it’s comfy. And, I have Netflix. But…it’s a bachelor pad, okay? Not exactly magazine-ready.”

  “That’s okay,” she laughs. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  Wheeling around the back of Mollenkamp Motors, motion sensors set off the outdoor spotlights, illuminating the not-so-romantic garbage bins and vehicles awaiting service back here.

  Home. I park my truck and we go inside.

  “Welcome to my shop,” I say, turning on some overhead lights so she can see it. “Regular old auto service shop. Nothing to write home about.”

  “You shouldn’t say that,” she says, looking up at me seriously. “You shouldn’t say that your business is nothing to write home about, as if it doesn’t matter. It matters.”

  She’s so serious, I’m kind of caught off guard. I look down into her face, not sure what to say.

  “I…heh,” she says, her face reddening a bit. “Kazuko, my Japanese aunt that I told you about…? She always said that the words we use to describe things are important. And this is your life’s work, so, it matters even more.”

  Then she beams that heavenly smile up at me, making me feel like a million bucks.

  “You’re right, sweetie. You’re right. Thanks for reminding me. C’mon, my apartment’s up there.” I point to a set of stairs leading to the mezzanine apartment above.

  Upstairs, I try to see the place through her eyes. The walls are bare brick or unpainted drywall. Some of the ceilings show their joists, but at least they’re tall, giving the place a feeling of space. The flooring is plywood but it’s smooth and clean, painted in a dark, modern shade of grey that doesn’t show dirt. Exposed piping runs up the walls, carrying water and electrical up from below.

  “Did you build this?”

  “No, it came with the shop. I’m not sure it’s a strictly legal apartment but I don’t care. As you can see, it’s not completely finished, but it’s functional and comfortable.

  “Yeah, it’s not too bad. It reminds me of one of those loft condos that sell for half a million bucks downtown,” she says.

  I show her around, which takes about five seconds in the small space. The place came furnished except for a bed, and the kitchenette is stocked with dishes, pots and utensils, everything you need, including washer and dryer, fridge, stove and microwave.

  Behind the kitchen, on a raised platform under the vaulted ceiling, is a bedroom-nook where I keep my king-sized mattress. Getting it up the stairs was an adventure, but it fits in the nook perfectly.

  The bathroom is basic, with a new toilet but an old tub, one of those ancient claw-foot jobs, which, except for a chip in one spot, is in almost mint shape. There’s a shower head too, and the circular shower rod is hung with a curtain that bears the silhouette of a naked girl.

  “This tub is awesome,” she cries. “If it wasn’t chipped, it’d be worth a fortune. This place is really cool, Mark! I love it!”

  I smile, pleased that she’s pleased. “Yeah, it’s comfy as hell and it couldn’t be closer to work.” We both chortle at my joke. “I’m lucky to have it.”

  “You must be saving a small fortune in rent.”

  “Yes. It’s a huge help.”

  “Hey…did that shower curtain come with the place too?” Her voice is carrying a teasing lilt.

  “No, it did not. I picked it out personally. What’s wrong with it?”

  Hell, I hope she’s not the kind of girl to get jealous over a shower curtain.

  “Well, nothing really. It’s just that it looks like she has three boobs.”

  “What? No it doesn’t…where?” I look at the curtain but I only see two boobs.

  “Yes it does. Look!” She points to a bulge that I thought was one of the naked girl’s elbows or something.

  But now, I notice, for the first time, that the both the girls arms are depicted lower down, by her hips.

  That other bulge is just a…well, I don’t know but…now that it’s pointed out, it does look like a third boob.

  “Ah…geez! I think you’re right, Wee Marie.” We both laugh. “I dunno how I didn’t notice that before.”

  “Sometimes it takes a second set of eyes to see things as they really are,” she says, amiably.

  I nod, surprised and pleased at her insight.

  We head to the kitchen, where I offer her a beverage.

  “You have any tea?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re a tea-lover, too?” I open a cupboard door to show her my tea collection. I probably have twenty different kinds.

  “Right now I really love this apple-cinnamon flavor,” I say, opening the box so she can smell the fragrant mixture.

  “Mmm, smells great. I’ll try a cup.”

  Soon, we’re settled on my couch, sipping the hot brew.

  “Listen…now it’s my turn to ask you,” she says. “What’s your five-year plan? Do you ever think about, you know, getting married? Kids?”

  “I do. I’d like to find the right woman and have a bunch of kids. “

  “A bunch of kids? How many is a bunch?”

  “As many as my wife will give me. I’d love to have a big family, like yours.”

  “It takes money to raise a big family.”

  “Of course.”

  “Having a lot of kids might drive you nuts. And obviously, you’ll need a woman who wants the same.”

  “Right. So…how do you feel about it? I mean, I’m just wondering…no pressure or anything.” He pulls a goofy face.

  “Heh. I’ve always wanted a big family, too. My parents had six kids. I think that’s a nice-sized family.”

  “I think that’s a nice-sized family, too. “ I lean forward and kiss her sweet mouth. The way she presses my lips with hers makes my dick take an interest again.

  “I see. And do you intend to start another automotive family dynasty like my dad did? One to rival and compete with Sinclair’s?”

  “I’ll need to build a good business to suppo
rt a wife and six children, don’t you think?”

  “I love how ambitious and determined you are.”

  “I’m a man. Any man worth his salt feels the same.”

  “Worth his salt…yes, maybe. I know lots of guys who don’t think about that.”

  “Not all men have ambition, true. But not all men are high-quality men, either. Or, maybe they are, deep down, but they just don’t know they are.” Pause. “Maybe.”

  “Okay, fair enough. So, what about the business, then? How do you intend to set yourself apart, to grow it and make a name for yourself?”

  Clearing my throat, I say, “By attempting to win over all the high-end repair and restoration business in Columbus.” I pause to grin and sip my tea. “All the honchos, as you call them, will be bringing their vehicles to me.” I give her a wide smile and lift my cup in a salute, bold as day.

  She stares at me, a glint beginning to sparkle way back in her eyes.

  “You know that Sinclair’s has a lot of that business…right?”

  “Do they? Huh.” I keep my tone casual but she knows that I know it’s true.

  She laughs, her eyes gleaming brightly now. “You’ll need equipment. Computers, hydraulics, God knows what-all.”

  She obviously noticed that I’m lacking a few items of equipment in the shop when we were down there.

  Sharp little thing, she is.

  But all I say is, “Yep.”

  “And you’ll need to hire more than one technician.”

  “Yep. I have it all planned.”

  “You do? Okay, this is really none of my business, but…you need money for all that. If you plan to make the money as you go along, it might take you longer than five years.”

  “True. I’ll need money and help. But not just technical help. I’ll need…well, I hope to have,…a partner to do all the administration. Take care of the books, the computer systems, deal with the banks, run promos and all that.”

  “Yes, you’ll need that kind of help, too,” she says softly, looking at me speculatively.

  I wonder if she’s thinking what I’m thinking.

  Nah…probably not. It’s too early still. We’ve only had one date. But the stuff we’re talking about…it seems so natural.