I was trying to find a picture online of the first car I drove (easier than digging through old photos and scanning) - but had no luck. If memory serves me correctly, it was a 1970 Mustang Grande Coupe, pumpkin orange with one of those black vinyl fake half roof thingies (technical term). It wasn't mine - it was mom's (an automatic) and it was the car I learned to drive in and was lucky enough to get to drive to school my last year of high school. It actually had an AM/FM radio and I listened to (and stuck a bumper sticker on - wish I still had it) this radio station...
Okay - so fast forward to present day - here's a piece I wrote a few years ago, then recently revised - from my car's point of view.
I make her pulse race. She gets wet when she lays eyes on me across a crowded parking lot. Thinks I have cute eyes, but doesn’t mind if I wink at others of my kind. She knows I’m hers. In truth, I know she revels in the longing, lustful glances I get. Loves to overhear comments people make when they don’t realize she’s with me. Yes, I know she’s possessive, doesn’t like to share. I like it that way though.
She bathes me lovingly, won’t allow other hands to do this intimate job. Takes warm soapy water, gently washes off the grime that comes from long days on the road. Then she rinses me in clear water, cool as it runs down my sides. Takes a towel to me, tracing my curves with such attention, I can’t help but shine. She’ll lift my bonnet, wipe my plugs and play with my dipstick. It tickles when she pulls stray leaves out of my grill. Sometimes she gets down and dirty, rubbing between my spokes to clean off brake dust. Sometimes she reaches up into my wheel wells, getting at places others can’t see. And I love it when she polishes my chrome tailpipe. Inside and out.
She frets over small blemishes, evidence of an active life. But they are just on the surface. Underneath, I am healthy and virile. But oh … when she comes inside, sinks into my hide, turns me on, gets me hot. When she takes off the brakes, goes all out. Well, that is when I truly come alive. Sometimes she is gentle with me, coaxing me with subtleness. Letting me take my time. Sometimes she pushes me to go fast, pull a few Gs around some tight corner, then presses to go even faster. When I do eventually slow down, as I have to sometimes, I find myself burbling my regret at having to ease up. But I always stop when she tells me to.
Yeah, that's mine...
quite a story too