Şubat 22, 2021

Grease Monkey Business

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Babes

Another new story. I was thinking about the old line… ‘Fast cars and fast women’, and gave it a little twist for the modern world.

Having said that, introducing and developing these characters does take time. I ask for your patience. If you’re looking for a quickie, then you’d better look elsewhere. If you are willing to go for a little ride, well, by all means, let’s go.

I hope you enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have an admission to make, and it’s a little embarrassing.

I, um… I don’t know much about cars. New ones, anyway.

Yes, I know that really goes against the whole male stereotype, and I also know that it’s not that unusual, in today’s world, where engines are computer controlled, and the average engine compartment looks like a plumber’s nightmare of hoses and pipes.

Now, several years ago, I considered myself quite knowledgeable about engines and cars. My father had a race car, and I was an occasional helper in the shop. A lot of information just rubbed off on me, and stuck. To this day, when I hear about the adjustments being made to improve a car’s handling during a race, I understand what they’re talking about.

Modern cars just baffled me, though, so I just left the maintenance to the pros.

Which is how this whole thing started, about a year ago.

***

Maintenance. I could be wrong, but it seemed to me like most people don’t believe in it. They get a new car every three years anyway, so why bother, beyond the stuff the dealership gives you free for the first few years? Expensive attitude, but that’s part of our modern, disposable society.

I tend to keep cars for longer, so a fifty-dollar oil change that saves a thousand-dollar repair down the road, is a wise investment. That’s how I met Julie, even though I didn’t find out her name for months afterward.

My car was out of warranty, and while I wanted to take care of it, I didn’t want to pay double to do so. With that in mind, I headed for my neighbourhood SuperLube shop. There, they would give me a newspaper, and a cup of coffee, while I sat in the car and they did their thing.

The first few times I was there, I didn’t really see Julie. Well, I suppose that’s not really true… I saw her, under the hood of my car, but didn’t talk to her at all, and barely realized it was a woman under the coveralls and grease smudges. I paid my bill each time, and left without giving it a second thought. I would be back in 5000 kilometres, give or take a few.

When I did return, it was with a coupon, as a ‘valued customer’, that saved me 25 percent.

And this time… Julie wasn’t under the hood. She was doing the concierge role, still in coveralls, but much cleaner than the previous times, which, as I said were a fuzzy memory.

She was cheerful, and pleasant, but unremarkable. A few strands of blonde hair had strayed from under her backwards facing ball cap. Safety glasses obscured her eyes somewhat, but I did notice they were a nice icy blue colour, and quite large. No makeup, of course, but a happy smile, and attractive lips. Sitting as I was at a different level than her, it was difficult to gauge her height, and the coveralls did nothing to hint at her figure. All in all, she really didn’t impress, other than being a woman in what was normally considered… right or wrong… a man’s job.

Helping out with the last few tasks under the hood, she came out with a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose. It was cute. I pointed it out, and she just laughed.

“I always do end up with a kitty kat nose,” she smiled, and didn’t even try to fix it. “Not a glamorous business, this one.”

“Probably why the uniform is coveralls, and not bikinis,” I laughed, “although I’d like to see that.” Yes, I was just that clumsy at flirting. Fortunately, she was better.

“Ooooo, I’m not sure you would. These guys don’t have the body for it, and I can’t do everything!” she winked. She had a clipboard in her hand, and flipped over the page to make a notation on the back, before handing me my receipt.

“Okay, Mr. Dickinson,” she began, and ran down the list of things they had checked. Finished her compulsory dialogue, she had just a few additions. “I guess we’ll see you in another 5000 kilometres, unless there’s anything else you need?”

“I think that covers it,” I smiled, “and please call me Red.”

“Red? I’m sure there’s a story there,” she giggled, “since your hair is brown. I’m Julie,” she said softly, offering her hand after wiping it clean, “and please… Call me.”

I’m sure the confusion showed on my face, so she clarified.

“My number is on the back of your receipt. If you want, maybe we could meet for a coffee, or…” she let the sentence hang in the air. “Have a good day, Red,” she smiled, and hit the switch to open the overhead door.

I was a little stunned, but pulled out, and into traffic. At the first red light, I flipped over the receipt that lay on the passenger seat. There it was: Julie Stroud 538-2436, after 7. She put a little heart in bahis firmaları place of the dot on her ‘i’.

I said she didn’t impress, but that was before I talked to her. She had a sharp wit, and was obviously a confident woman. I could do a whole lot worse.

***

I almost didn’t call. Yes, I’m that stupid.

Well, there was a part of me that was picturing her in her coveralls, at dinner. Ridiculous, I know. Fortunately, that part was small, and overcome by common sense; here was a woman, interested in me, while I had no better prospects.

I gave her a few extra minutes after 7 before I called, just so I wouldn’t appear too eager.

“Hello?” I heard on the other end of the phone.

“Julie?” I asked. The voice was different somehow. Smokier. Sultrier.

“Yes,” she replied. “Is this Red?”

“Yes it is,” I answered. “How was the rest of your day?”

“About as good as any day at work can be,” she laughed. “I met this man…”

“Really?” I laughed, playing along. “Someone you’re interested in?”

“Maybe. It’s pretty early to tell, but I’m glad you called,” she purred.

“Wow, Julie, you sound different away from work,” I noted.

“So I’ve been told,” she replied. “That’s my work voice. I’m sure you’re different at work than away from it, in some way.”

“No doubt,” I nodded. “I like it. Your voice, I mean… very sexy.”

“Thank you, Red,” she breathed. “Why do they call you Red, anyway?”

“Ah, yes, well… my full name is Richard Edward Dickinson. Richard becomes Rick, or Dick, and Dickinson does the same. Growing up I got all manner of Dick jokes. Double Dick. Dick Dick. Dick Squared. When someone came up with Red, for my initials, I jumped on it,” I laughed. “It was so much better than the alternatives.”

“Yes, kids can be cruel, can’t they?” she said. “I had my own similar problems growing up.”

“What did they call you?” I asked.

“Hmmm… perhaps someday I’ll tell you,” she giggled. “I have to maintain some semblance of mystery, don’t I?”

“Fair enough. Are you still interested in having coffee?” I queried.

“No. I’d rather have something more substantial. Dinner. Wednesday?” she suggested. Her directness was refreshing. She was a modern woman, and didn’t need to play games.

“Sure! Where do you want to eat?” I asked.

***

I arrived early at the restaurant she suggested, and got us a table near the windows that looked out across the street. It was the only view available, and I watched the people passing by while I waited for Julie. I suddenly realized that I really didn’t know what to expect. I’d never seen her away from work, and unless she showed up in coveralls, I might not even recognize her.

While I peered out the window, a shiny new ‘Bullitt green’ Mustang rumbled past, and turned to park halfway down the first row of the parking lot. My attention was pulled away for a few seconds, and when I looked back, a flash of red caught my eye.

It was a blonde, with long, flowing hair. The red was a long, matrix-style leather coat, nearly down to the middle of her calves, flying open in the breeze. Tall, high heeled boots were on her feet. Intervening traffic kept me from continuing to watch her.

“Wow,” I muttered, looking at my watch, “someone’s a lucky guy.” She should have been here by now. Maybe I was getting stood up? I looked out the window again.

“Hi! Sorry I’m late,” I heard from behind me, and turned to see… Her! Holy shit! I’mthe lucky guy!

My chivalrous side was temporarily derailed by shock, but I jumped up to get her chair, just in time.

She was tall, nearly six feet in those heels. I stepped around behind her and helped her take her coat off, marvelling at the hair that tumbled in loose waves well down her back. It’s amazing she could get all of that under her hat.

“Thank you,” she smiled as I took her coat. I was stunned at the buttery softness of the red leather as I helped her into her seat. It must have cost a fortune.

The coveralls were gone, and boy, had they been covering all. She was very curvy, wearing a classic black dress. I quickly took my seat.

This can’t be the same woman, I thought. The Julie who changed my oil was unimpressive, but this?…This woman was anything but. She was gorgeous, and built, and had a Charlotte Mckinney vibe to her. How could I have missed it? How could I have missed… Those?!

“I know,” she giggled, flashing a brilliant smile at me. “I look different without the grease.”

I gawked at her in befuddled silence for a few seconds.

“Different. Yes, you could say that. Different. Oh my god! Julie? First the voice, and now this?”

Yes… Oh my god! The cleavage that was beckoning my eyes was truly spectacular, displayed so nicely by her dress. I was trying not to stare, but… Jesus! Talk about a surprise! I almost couldn’t believe it was the same woman.

I suppose it was natural. She worked every day, in a very un-feminine business, covered with grease, dirt and grime. For kaçak iddaa our ‘date’, she had swung the pendulum as far in the other direction as possible, going all out to be as overtly female as she could. She had certainly succeeded; there’s no way anyone could possibly mistake her for anything but a woman, and a very attractive one at that. My mouth was still offering itself as a home for flies, hanging open. I gathered my wits.

“Julie, I just… I don’t know what to say,” I babbled.

“That’ll do nicely,” she smiled, batting her eyelashes demurely. “Your eyes are flattery enough.”

“I’m sorry, just… Well, I was expecting Julie Stroud, mechanic, who looks cute with a smudge of grease on her nose. Julie Stroud, unbelievably beautiful woman with perfect blue eyes and… ” I caught myself before I voiced my opinion of her full, round breasts, but inadvertently made enough of a gesture that I may as well have said it.

Julie snorted, and laughed, flashing a thousand-watt smile at me.

“Thank you for noticing,” she giggled, “although, that has to be the strangest compliment I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, I wish I hadn’t phrased it quite…” I repeated the gesture, “…that way. What I meant to say, in my own inept way, is that you are just so beautiful.”

“Much better the second time,” she smiled. “Now, what looks good for dinner? I’ve never actually eaten here, but heard it’s good.”

I silently thanked her for changing the direction of the conversation, and saving me from inserting my other foot in my mouth. With menus open, we quietly perused our options for a few minutes, until the waiter returned to take our orders.

I was happy to hear her order a steak. Since my wife left me, I had only had a few dates that amounted to anything approaching a relationship, but I always held out hope that the next one would be the one that stuck. Hearing her order actual food crossed one potential conflict off the list, and in my mind at least, increased the odds. I don’t think I could be with someone who viewed my eating habits with contempt.

With drinks and dinner ordered, Julie sat back and watched me looking at her. I was still gobsmacked by the vision sitting across from me.

“Red, you’re making me feel self-conscious,” she warned.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “What made you become a mechanic? With your looks, you could have been a model or actress,” I laughed.

“Mmmmm. Thank you again,” she smiled, brushing her bangs back with her fingers. Those impossibly blue eyes sparkled at me. “Well, my Dad was a shade tree mechanic, and part time racer. My brothers were always into cars as well. I guess I’m just a tom-boy at heart. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty, and always liked figuring out how things worked. Does that answer your question?” she shrugged.

“Yes, I suppose it does,” I nodded. “Is it sexist that I’m surprised my mechanic is such a beautiful woman under her coveralls? I’m not complaining. Just surprised.”

“I’m sure someone might find that sexism, but I don’t,” she giggled. “So, what sports do you like?”

No woman had ever asked me that. It seemed to me that most of them would rather the answer be ‘none’, so they didn’t have competition for the attention of their partner. Julie asking me made her feel more like one of the guys, until I looked at her, and was reminded that she was most definitely not.

“Oh, the usual I suppose. I play golf, so I enjoy watching it. I like the strategy of football and baseball. Hockey of course,” I replied.

“Racing?” she asked.

“Yes,” I nodded. “Some series more than others, but yes. NASCAR. Indy. F1.”

“Sports cars?” she probed.

“Yeah. The bigger events anyway. Ever since the Speed channel went off the air, it’s hard to find coverage, but I like LeMans. The Rolex 24 at Daytona and Sebring too.”

“Hmmm,” she smiled. “Well, let’s see how this goes. I might have a proposition for you… I mean, an opportunity you might like,” she corrected herself.

Yes, let’s save the proposals for later, I thought.

We talked a little more about me… my job (boring), my hobbies (photography)… and I kept trying to steer the conversation back to her, but she wasn’t having it. It wasn’t until I mentioned that my father also did some racing that she opened up.

“What class did he race in?” she asked, leaning forward anxiously. I couldn’t help my eyes dropping to her cleavage, as her breasts rested on the edge of the table.

“Um, they called it Limited Sportsman. V8’s under 300…wide tires… open wheels… typical short track stuff,” I explained.

“My father ran something similar,” she smiled. “What engine did he use?”

“Chevy 283, bored out to 292,” I remembered. “350 heads, windage tray. That’s about all I remember. It was fun. I worked in the grandstands.”

She sat back, and tapped her fingertip against her lips, as though weighing a decision, then smiled.

“Red, do you want to do something crazy?” she asked. “I mean, crazy for a first date? Wait… make that a second date. kaçak bahis This is our first, isn’t it?”

I was mentally crestfallen, but just for an instant. When she said ‘crazy for a first date’, my mind had begun undressing her, then that undressing came to a screeching halt when she corrected herself.

“That depends,” I laughed. “Crazy is legal, right?”

“Absolutely,” she nodded. “It’s just kind of quick, but I don’t control the schedule.”

“Then yes. What did you have in mind?” I smiled.

“I’m driving down to Portland for the 8-hour endurance race,” she explained. “Would you like to come with me? We’d have to stay overnight before and after the race ends. I know that sounds funny, given we just met, but I think you’d have fun.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “What are the sleeping arrangements? I’m not trying to be an ass, just setting the boundaries.”

She leaned in again, and I swear she gave her upper arms a little squeeze inward, making her tits bulge even more noticeably.

“Let’s just leave the sleeping arrangements flexible, shall we?” she giggled.

With impeccably bad timing, our dinners arrived, leaving me to digest her comment without further input. Flexible. Flexible is good, I guess. It beats an outright ‘no’.

I cut my steak, and watched her plump lips as she pulled a piece of her own off the fork with her tongue. She caught me gazing at her, and grinned.

“You’re doing it again,” she smiled.

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I don’t mean to stare, but I’m still having trouble believing it’s really you. You just look so different.”

“Would you prefer me in my coveralls?” she asked, a playful smirk tickling her lips. She knew the answer.

“Um, no,” I laughed. “No, I’ll take my chances with this version. You really clean up well!”

“Thank you,” she giggled, stabbing a mushroom and popping it into her mouth. “The coveralls really don’t do much for my figure, do they? And I wear a more comfortable sports bra under them, too. I do like getting dressed up, though. Victoria’s Secret and the whole package. You like the dress?”

Since she was no longer fighting me on my appreciation of her beauty, I assumed I was permitted to continue.

“Oh yes,” I sighed. “Yes, the dress is just… Mmmmm hmmm… so good.”

“Good,” she breathed. “Glad you like it. I do too.”

Like it. Yeah, that’s an understatement. What’s not to like? It only fits you like a glove, makes your ass look fabulous, and shows enough killer cleavage to get a priest’s attention. Like it? Hell, yeah!

The rest of dinner was uneventful. We chatted, and joked, and learned a bit more about each other. That learning continued, as we went for a walk. We were only a block or two from the seawall, so a stroll along there was a natural next step.

Of course, she was wearing her coat now, and the breeze was blowing both her hair and the long, red leather behind her.

“I feel like I’m walking with a superhero,” I laughed, gesturing to the flapping garment. “You’re sure your name isn’t Supergirl? There’s no big ‘S’ under there, is there?”

“Hmmm, wouldn’t you like to know,” she giggled, striking the ‘hands on hips, looking into the distance’ pose. The breeze obliged, making her ‘cape’ flap heroically. She held it for long enough to make her point, magnificent chest thrust out proudly. I visually caressed those curves again.

“You should probably wear glasses,” I smiled, “to complete the disguise.”

“I do, at work,” she smiled. “Safety first.”

She was right about that. The safety glasses she wore at work most definitely did disguise those striking blue eyes of hers. Other than her figure, the eyes had been my biggest surprise. She had a few more for me, though.

Our walk circled back to the restaurant, and the parking lot, where she stopped.

“This is me,” she smiled caressing the spoiler of the car lovingly. It was the Mustang I saw earlier, and now I got a much better look at it.

“Wow! You really are a car chick, aren’t you?” I gasped. “Bullitt?”

“Yes! You know the movie?” she asked, smiling widely.

“Oh yeah. Love that car chase. Steve McQueen,” I said, proving I had seen it.

“Well, if Steve was alive, he’d want this car for the sequel,” she said softly, almost reverently. “Jack Rousch did a little work on this one. Stage three, supercharged, with the track pack on it; Race suspension, bigger brakes. It’s a beast.”

I walked around the car, checking out the impressive lines. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised that a mechanic had a great car, but Julie held one surprise after another. She started the engine, and I heard the whine of the supercharger. She closed the door, and her window went down with a whir.

“Friday, 4:30. I’ll pick you up. Pack some rain gear, just in case,” she advised. “It’s a long race.”

She put her hand on the gear shifter, then paused, and crooked a finger at me. I leaned closer.

“Come here,” she smiled, urging me closer still. Her hand reached out, and grabbed my lapel, pulling me that last few inches, while she leaned out the window. She kissed me. Her lips were so soft, and delicious, and her eyes so lovely up close. “I had a great time. I’m very happy to know you, Red. See you Friday.”

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