Filthy Dirty


It’s funny what the memory will cling to as we age. For me, it is the brief incidents and random missed chances that dig themselves into my brain. Last night one of them decided to come out and roam a bit and play in my land of dreams…

“Nice car,” she said as her eyes travelled from the front fender to the rear quarter panel.

It wasn’t really. Oh sure, it was a ’69 GTO Judge 4 speed, but the body had a dent here and there, the paint was dinged and scratched in a dozen places, and the hood didn’t quite line up or close right. Of course, as I was thinking this I did a double check. You don’t usually hear a female voice at an emissions checking station.

“Thanks,” I said as she came over to retrieve my paperwork. Her brownish blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail that disappeared into the back of her heavy work overalls. It was impossible to judge anything in that outfit as it hid even hints of any curves. Her face had a couple of grease smears, one on her forehead, which looked mildly like a third eyebrow and another that slashed down across one cheek all the way to her neck. Her eyes were a brown, maybe leaning toward hazel. Her hands were more of a mess, despite wearing gloves. Her fingernails were short, and there was dirt or grease beneath all of them. If I had to choose a word at that moment, it would have been “plain”. Not ugly, but certainly no model, just your average girl. I looked back up to her face as she finished entering my information into what passed for a computer at this place and as she moved toward me she smiled. All thoughts of dirt, grime, and plainness vanished under the force of it as it pierced through my early morning haze.

I probably stared at her the whole time as I got out of the car so she could run it through the test. She handled the manual transmission flawlessly, I noted. I’m sure that is probably a required job skill for a place that emission tests hundreds of cars every day. But the manual transmission of a 60’s era muscle car is not the same as anything being built 30 years later, and she never missed or slipped a shift. After the computer guided test had run its course she got out to close the hood. When it didn’t cooperate and simply descend straight down, she frowned briefly and then looked up and beckoned me over.

“Either the hinges are misaligned or they just need replaced,” I said apologetically. I gently rocked the hood back and forth once to get the hood to close.

“It’s still a nice car,” she said as she moved over to the next computer to find out the test result and print it out. I got into the car and pulled up beside the second computer as directed so the next car could move into the test area.

While the printer was working she leaned on the side of my door and asked, “what’s better, a ’69 or an ’88?”

I had never heard this one, so I rather nicely fell into her trap and gestured at my car and said “well obviously I think a ’69. It’ll be a while yet before an ’88 is a classic.”

“True, but an ’88 is still better,” she said with another great smile that seemed equal parts innocence and mischief. “Know why?”

“Uh, no,” I said slowly figuring out I wasn’t getting something. I hate missing my morning caffeine.

“Because you get 8 twice,” she said as her smile widened into a rather smug, satisfied look. I smiled finally, but I don’t think she saw as she was turning back to the computer as she delivered the punch line.

She tore off the paper from what looked like a dot matrix printer that had somehow managed to survive the 80s pc boom and came here to retire. She leaned into to my window and handed over the paperwork.

“Congratulations, you passed,” she said enthusiastically. They always said this. I have no idea why. Last year when the car failed, I pulled up in front of all the lanes, removed the air filter, leaned out the fuel mixture and retested and still got an exciting “congratulations, you passed.” My mind was obviously trying to wander, but her eyes were holding me as she handed me nikki bella says i do izle the printout. “So when are you taking me for a ride,” she asked. I was a little more alert now, so I let the silence hang and allowed a small smile spread across my own face. I knew it worked when she started to blush and blurted out, “in the car I mean”. I looked at the passenger seat, and then very pointedly and slowly looked in the back seat. She punched me in the shoulder and said “stop that”. But she was smiling, and so was I.

“What time is your shift over,” I asked.

“Three,” she answered a little hesitantly.

“I’ll be back then, and help you get off,” I answered with a perfectly straight face. Again I let the silence draw out before finally finishing with “off work, I mean”.

She laughed a little and then said, “don’t be late”. I headed back home to switch cars before heading to work. I was never the outgoing type, heck I was pretty introverted and shy, so my own behavior was a bit of a surprise to me. My work day passed in a blur, and it seemed like her smile and her eyes were there with me the entire day. Needless to say, there was more than a little anticipation built up by the time I left work. I got the ’69 out and made sure to unlock the back door and the gate to the back yard before I left. True to my word, I arrived back at the emissions test center not just on time, but a few minutes early. Apparently the story of our exchange had been passed around the shop as there were more than a couple whistles and catcalls as she made her way to my car. She was blushing furiously as she got in.

I pulled away quietly giving her a moment to recover. The sun was low in the sky so she lowered the passenger side visor to cut the glare. I guess the mirror there reminded her of what she looked like after a day of work.

“Oh my god,” she said as she raised up off the seat, as if she was suddenly too dirty to sit in car that spent most of its time gathering dust. “You have to take me to my apartment and so I can shower and change. I’m filthy dirty and probably ruining your seats.” I suddenly wondered how old she was. She didn’t look like a teenager, but her face and voice held an adorable youth at that moment. My anticipation was starting to turn into want and desire. I really hoped she wasn’t all that young. Those work overalls continued to hide any hints I might have gotten otherwise.

“They’re vinyl. A little dirt won’t ruin them,” I assured her. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” which made her smile thankfully.

“Oh really,” she asked in a teasing voice. But I heard something else in there as well, an undercurrent that matched my own. At least I hoped I heard it. It’s not the sort of thing that goes well if you imagine it.

It was thankfully, a short 15 minute drive from the center to my house. At 29, I was doing ok with a career in computer programming. With a little help from my parents, I had gotten out of the renting treadmill early. As I opened the garage door, I reminded myself that maybe it was a little better than ok.

“Ok, now you’re just showing off,” she said as she looked at the other car. It was another ’69 GTO, this one light blue with a white interior, and a convertible. It was in similar condition to the other, needing just about the same amount of work, but it was an automatic with A/C, so it got driven more.

“It’s just my garage,” I said. “I can’t be accused of showing off just because I park my cars in it.” I pulled in slowly. The house was not large, and the garage fit two cars comfortably as long as you didn’t mind slithering out of the one you were in. “Both 69’s though, so at least you’ll still get 8 twice,” I quipped as I pulled in.

“Is my ride over already,” she asked playfully as I turned off the engine.

“Well, you did say you wanted to clean up. And since I have options, I thought you might want to pick the vehicle,” I elaborated. We got out and she started looking over the other nolly izle car. She asked a couple of questions about it that answered a few of my own. The girl knew cars, knew them like a mechanic, which meant she knew more than I did.

After the third or fourth one, I grabbed her hand and led her out of the garage and toward the gate to the back yard. “Come on, you can play with the toys later,” I said mockingly. It was the first physical contact I had with her. My fingers seemed to develop a mind of their own, caressing her hand even as I held it. She noticed, then seemed to remember how dirty they were and tried to pull away, but I firmly held on and smiled.

She stumbled after me a little reluctantly. Once in the back yard, her focus had a new target. The pool. “Oh,” she said. “But…”

“You don’t need one,” I interrupted quietly as I took a step toward her. The want was strong now, and I was hoping I hadn’t misread her. She blushed, but there was a small smile on her face.

She looked at the neighbor’s yard hesitantly. A big city suburban area might have walls and fences around each houses yard, but neighborhoods were almost always closely arranged on small lots. “Are you sure,” she asked as she glanced around.

“I doubt they are home, and even if they are, let them look,” I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. I immediately started undressing hoping the discussion was closed. As I pulled my shirt over my head she said, “ok, but you better be good.” I nodded in response and continued removing my clothes. I never considered myself attractive, and always felt I was distinctly average in every way. I was already aroused by the time I got to my underwear, but rather than feel self conscious, I was strangely at ease. I even turned so she could see me before I dove in the pool. I surfaced in time to watch her remove her bra. I was right about the overalls, they hid everything. But my original estimation was right, and like me, she seemed pleasantly average. Being young she still had a fairly flat stomach and nice waistline, so the curves were there, and my arousal quickened. Her breasts were on the small side, probably a B cup, but still firm with a nice shape. Her bra and panties were very utilitarian, not at all fancy or frilly, probably due to the type of work she did. She quickly removed them and tossed them aside and I saw her best feature, a beautiful round ass that I immediately longed to grab. While many would still say she was “plain” or at best “cute”, I found myself incredibly attracted to her, and not for any reason I could easily point to.

She quickly dove in and we leisurely swam circles on opposite sides of the pool from each other. “This feels wonderful,” she said as she dived toward the bottom of the pool, giving me another glimpse of her lovely ass. Being distracted, I failed to watch where she headed and she soon surfaced and splashed me. This spawned a splashing fight of the sort that happens in every pool everywhere, with lots of laughing and shrieking. As with any such playfulness, it eventually led to grabbing, pulling underwater, and not quite accidental caressing. We ended up on the shallower end of the pool with one of my hands on her waist on one of hers on my shoulder, both of us breathing heavily.

I reached up and wiped at the smear of grease on her cheek. “Shouldn’t you stop goofing off and get cleaned up a little,” I asked.

“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “I must look an absolute mess,” she said as she reached up to smooth her disheveled hair. She was so adorable at that moment, that I reacted immediately before she could say anything else. I pulled her toward me and kissed her. I couldn’t think of the words that would reassure her, so I tried to tell her with that kiss. I could feel myself stiffen against her as this kiss went from gentle probing to lingering exploration and ended at hungry consumption. We were both breathless when we finally separated. I pulled her chin up so I could look in her eyes and said, “I normal people izle think you’re absolutely beautiful.”

She smiled that radiant smile again and went back to kissing me. She started guiding me toward the stairs at the shallow end of the pool and before long the water was only waist deep. My hands started to roam, caressing her arms, back, sides, continually drifting closer and closer to naughtier areas. I stopped kissing her long enough to whisper in her ear, “I thought I was supposed to be good?” As I said it my right hand drifted down her back and over her ass, and then pulled her tight against my erection.

“You’re being VERY good,” she whispered back teasingly. At that very moment one of my feet hit the bottom step and I stumbled back and sat awkwardly down on the steps. She laughed at me and said, “good, but not very graceful.” She stood there with her hands on her hips, water running down her body, and I was struck again by the overpowering attraction I felt. “Wow,” I said quietly.

“That’s better,” she said with a smirk. She moved up a step and slowly slithered down my body until she was sitting on my lap. We went back to kissing and both our hands began to wander freely, exploring and probing. It was eerily quiet, with only the occasional gasp, sigh and groan to interrupt it. We drove each other further and further into our desire and lust, until the need was palpable and almost painful. Finally, she reached back between her legs, guided me toward her pussy and eased onto me in one slow but firm motion. We both grunted when she hit bottom. The teasing was over, and now we both knew where we were now headed.

She rose and fell with a slow and steady rhythm, driving us both firmly toward release. Every slide drove both of us a little mad, but she maintained the pace, determined to make it last. I could tell that was not to be… she shuddered more with each thrust and her control over the pace started to slip. I assisted with my hands and hips, and she started to pant with the effort of holding back.

“I… can’t believe… I’m doing this,” she panted as I started driving her faster. Something in me was determined to make her cum.

“I can’t… believe it… either,” I replied. “We just… met today,” I said as I pulled her closer and tighter. “We barely… know each other,” I whispered as I looked into her eyes. I could see the same hunger in her eyes that I felt inside. I accelerated the pace again, and increased the force with which our hips met. I knew she was close, so I timed my words with each thrust. “You’re… such… a naughty… slut.”

“Oh fuck,” she groaned as our hips met after the last word. Her entire body convulsed on top of me. I have no idea how I did not explode with her. I can only assume it was because of just how hard she clamped down on me. All I managed was a twitch after her third convulsion, which only seemed to set her off again, accompanied by another “fuck”, this time louder. Finally, as her orgasm began to subside, she collapsed against me and nuzzled into my neck. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say,” she said breathlessly.

“But it worked,” I answered.

“That it did. Your turn,” she said and started moving on me again.

“So hot,” I groaned in response. “This won’t take long.”

“That’s even better,” she said and nipped my ear playfully.

“God I want you. Do it,” I begged. “Make me cum.” I looked at her and noticed a touch of apprehension in her eyes. She seemed to hesitate. It was brief, but she soon restarted my march toward orgasm. As I approached the edge, she stopped, with just the tip of my cock still inside her and she leaned in close to whisper in my ear.

“I want you too,” she shuddered. She rose and fell again, keeping me on the brink. “I want you to cum… inside me, and…” She rose and fell one more time, her body quivered as she hovered over me. She leaned her forehead against mine and shuddered. The next was barely audible. “I’m not on birth control.” Want and need don’t do justice to my reaction. It felt like I pondered it for a long while, but in truth, it was probably only a fraction of a second. Something primal surged out of a place deep inside me. I grabbed her hips and thrust her down on me once, twice, and on the third time I exploded, pushing myself as far into her as I could.

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