Back Seat Driver

I drove into Center Street Car Wash at 2:00 in the afternoon. Yes, I was skipping out of work. There were just a couple guys there, washing a big off-road truck. I pretended not to see them as I put my coins into the machine, and then took off my suit-jacket. I knew the guys were still watching me, no doubt hoping to see me get all soapy and wet as I washed down my car, my tight black skirt riding up my thighs like something out of a music video. Whatever, let them look. I wasn't in the mood for flirting. This was a very serious moment: possibly the last time I would ever wash Ginger. Someone had answered my ad.

I didn't exactly want to sell Ginger. But I had room for only one vehicle at my condo, and I was beginning to realize that an early 70s muscle car wasn't the sort of vehicle that petroleum executives were expected to drive. Sure, it consumed an obscene amount of gas, but it didn't project the right aura. I had already gone down to the Mitsubishi dealership and picked out a shiny black SUV. I hated the conformity of that: an SUV. But it had to be done. Some guy was coming by at 7:00 to have a look.

My parents had bought ginger for me in 1990, when I turned 18; they got her from some estate sale for a fraction of what the car was worth. She's a 1970 Mercury Cougar, a beautiful orange with a black stripe down the side, rear spoiler, and a 428 CID V8. I knew nothing about cars when I got her, but I learned, mostly because the car was a magnet for boys who knew about cars. They'd ask me questions and I'd blush in my bookish way, and then the nice ones, when they realized that I didn't know what they were talking about, would explain things to me. Like how the 1970 was really the last year of the Cougar as a muscle-car. After that, Mercury began to move it over into the luxury car market.

The guys watching me were car guys. Maybe they weren't watching me at all, maybe they were watching Ginger. It was hard to tell, sometimes. I began soaping up the hood and the front grill. Yes, my skirt was riding up my thighs a bit. I turned my back to them, and bent all the way over, stretching out to reach the far side of the hood. Then I shook my head to snap out of it. This could be the last day that Ginger and I had together; I needed to focus on the sacredness of that moment.

I had driven Ginger three hundred miles to get to college, and then drove her home again just about every weekend because I was so homesick. But you can't go home, of course, once you've left. Soon I began to look to the drive home more than home itself--out alone on the road, straight across the prairies to Regina. I'd stay off the #1, even with it's higher speed limits. Instead, I took all the backroads through little towns and farming villages. It made me feel tremendously strong and independent. The pressures of college were really getting to me the first term--not academically, but socially. At some point, I was going to have to overcome my awkwardness around boys--I hadn't even kissed one, to that point. Yet I was tremendously attracted to just about every guy in my class and a couple of my teachers. Meanwhile, my roommate--an asian girl named Lily--was having loud, noisy sex with her vast legions of boyfriends--sometimes, several at once. I wanted some semblance of romance, though.

But one ride back to college, I met a farmboy who was a few years older than me, out hitchhiking along the highway because his tractor had gotten stuck in a wet patch in the field. He was greasy and tanned, with blond hair and blue eyes, and seemed innocent enough, but before we had driven five miles, he put his hand on my thigh, smearing it with a bit of grease. I was so overcome by the touch, the gesture, that I couldn't think to do anything but pull over. Predictably, he took that as a sign of willingness on my part, and even before I had put it into park, he had slipped his hand all the way up, touched his fingers against my crotch and leaned across to kiss my neck. I still didn't know what to do, so I just sat there, hands still on the steering wheel, letting him touch me. He turned my head, and kissed me on the lips, and I let my mouth open for him, let him slip his tongue inside. I tried to remember what made a good kiss, so that I could kiss him back, but it was hard to concentrate with his finger slipping beneath my panties, stroking me where I had grown moist. He made some awful pun about getting stuck in a wet spot. I wanted him to tell me what to do, I wanted to ask him what I should do, but I was terribly shy about it. Pretty soon, he decided I must not be into it, so he withdrew, and said that he should be getting home. So I turned Ginger on and drove him home.

When I got back, I told Lily all about it, and for once I was incredibly thankful to have this experienced roommate. She cancelled her date, and proceeded to tell me everything that a girl could possibly know about sex. She even gave me some very in-depth instructions on kissing, which got me really excited. She used a banana to show me how to go down on a guy. The next day, she took me to her doctor to get me started on the pill. The next time I drove home, I took the same route, hoping to see the boy in the field again. He wasn't there, but I drove slowly past the farm, and waited a mile down the road. A pickup came along a few minutes later, with my lovely blond farm boy. He said that he didn't think he'd ever see me again. And I explained how I was a virgin, how I wanted to do more, but was too shy. Then I climbed into the backseat, and he followed, climbing over me to get between my legs. His crotch was directly above my face, and I could see his young prick through his pants. So I undid his belt, his zipper, and he reached down, easing his jeans down. And then it was against my face. So I put it in my mouth.

It was a good experience, him pulling my panties down to my knees, placing his lips against my pussy, licking me. It wasn't so great that I came, but it was good enough that every time since then that I've thought about that young blond stud eating me out, I have had a tremendous orgasm. After the cunnilingus, he had me sit in his lap, my back to him and his hands around me, cupping and caressing my large breasts--larger breasts than a shy girl should have. I held him against my pussy as I rocked back and forth, eventually taking him inside. It was a revelation; it felt better than the touching, the licking. It was almost embarrassing how easily it went inside--I felt that he would doubt my virginity. Virgin sex is supposed to be awkward and tight. I bucked my hips against him, as he kissed my back, eventually feeling him tense and cum inside me. And so I lost my virginity.

That certainly wasn't the only time I've fucked in Ginger's backseat. Once I got back to school, I let guys come for rides with me, and I Lily and I sometimes dated, sometimes even swapped guys. I was never outgoing. I would always let them come to me--I still always get shy and quiet as soon as it became evident that a guy was interested in me. Sometimes I said no--I wasn't completely promiscuous. I did fuck my way out of a speeding ticket, once, though. And usually I said yes, letting them sit in the passenger seat as I took the car out of town, out onto the empty prairie roads I would love so much. Inevitably, they would reach over and start fingering me, each and every one of them. I would just drive faster. I loved squeezing my thighs around a boy's hand while pushing hard on the gas at the same time...

Anyway, that was years ago. I was a respectable businesswoman, now. I had said no to both the men who had asked me to marry them: the first man, I doubted I in love with; the second one, I doubted he was in love with me. I liked my job, it kept be busy, and though my sex life consisted mostly of masturbation, it still felt completely satisfying.

I was waxing the car, looking over my shoulder at the guys from time to time. They had long since finished washing their own truck, but they were still there, watching me. I climbed inside the car with some paper towels, beginning to wipe the dash down. When I finished up and turned Ginger out onto Center Street, they got in and followed me. They followed me right to the edge of the city, pulling up beside me at the very last stoplight. They were rough types, tattoos and awful music on the stereo. The guy in the passenger seat was looking down at me, making some sort of catcall. Yeah, I could have them if I wanted. I could let them follow me out of town and then climb up on the hood and spread my legs. So many years of my life had been that way. It wasn't that I didn't want sex. I wanted it desperately. But for once I wanted to be the pursuer. I didn't want to fein a chase and then roll over at the first chance. The guy was revving his engine, like he would stand a chance against me.

The light turned green and I was across the intersection. First, second third, fourth... Ginger can go from one to sixty in a little over five seconds. I can take her up to 100 in about fifteen. By thirty seconds, the assholes in their big truck were gone from my rear-view mirror. I didn't let up.

"So," I said outloud. "Our last time together." I hiked my skirt up. It got me off, driving fast. I thought of that first boy, the blond. His dick was nice and thick and juicy. I never got the chance to taste his cum, but I imagined it thick and sweet. I put my driving mix cassette in the tape player. Joni Mitchell: perfect. If you're driving into town with a dark cloud above you, dial in a number who's bound to love you...

I moved my hand from the volume dial down to my pussy, the volume of the former amplifying the tremors of the latter. I had gotten myself so wet. I slipped my fingers right inside. No foreplay: I was all about the penetration. Sixty miles out of town, I came hard almost blacking out a little, but staying on the road. At eighty miles, I came again, thinking about Lily and the first true bisexual experience I had with her. I had this little crush on her ever since she taught me how to kiss, and then when wed take our guys out, shed get on her back in the backseat, and Id straddle my guy in the passenger seat, and sometimes we would look at each other, just before our orgasms. But we never went beyond that, until I drove her to her father's funeral in Vancouver, and I drove for fourteen hours and just about fell asleep at the wheel, so we curled up in the backseat together, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world for us to begin to touch each other. When we got home, we just started sharing the same bed, and we even swore off guys for a while. Now she lives in London Ontario, and she sends me Christmas cards with updates about her husband and children and her disturbingly mainstream life.

By the time I swung the car around on a gravel road out past Drumheller, I had less than an hour to get back to the city for the meeting with this guy. By the time I got home, he was standing on the front step, a very young man in a corduroy jacket that likely came from a vintage clothing store. My first instinct was one of hesitation. I had hoped to sell the car to someone who knew a thing or two about them. Not a teenager.

"Sorry I'm late," I said. "You must be Leon. Imp Jane."

"No worries. I just got here a moment ago." He came down the steps towards me. "So this is it. Looks like its in great condition."

"Yeah, at its age, it needs a lot of care."

"My brother has one of the 73s. It's in the butterscotch, which is an ugly colour, but it's a good car."

I nodded. How old was he? Eighteen? "So do you have a car now?" Had he crashed his last one? If he's crashed a car, no way I'm selling him Ginger.

"No, I just moved to the city, and I didn't realize how spread-out things were. I need a car for getting around."

"Well, it's not exactly a car for city driving."

"No, I go up to the mountains a lot. Just to Banff, or Lake Louise. It would be great for those sorts of drives, too."

"Yeah." I popped open the hood.

"Oh, is that the 429?"

I shook my head, impressed that he almost identified it. "No, the 428. 335 BHP, so not quite as much power as the 429, but then the 429 is probably the most powerful engine they ever had in the Cougar."

"Ah. Must be great off the line."

"Yeah, zero to sixty in about five seconds."

"That's great power."

I opened the door for Leon. He seemed a little shy around me: the sort of guys I liked but would never hook up with because they never asked me out. He sat down and put his hands on the steering wheel, and I walked around to close the hood. I could see him imagining the speed, the power, as he gripped the steering wheel. Ginger was seducing him; I could see it in his eyes. He wanted her.

"Do you want to give it a test drive?"

"Yeah!"

I slipped into the passenger seat. It was a new perspective for me.

"So why are you selling it?" he asked.

I sighed at the question. "I don't know, I feel the need to conform a bit with the job I'm in. There's not that much practicality to a woman like me having a muscle car. I work in the petroleum industry so it fits the criteria of being a gas guzzler, but its expected that we all have shiny new cars."

"Ah. That sucks."

"Yeah," I nodded in agreement. He had just turned the car down an empty street, pushing it up to sixty, seventy clicks. "You'll never get a feel for it here, you should take it out on the highway."

"Okay, I don't know the city that well..."

"Turn left here." I gave him instructions for getting out of town, and then closed my eyes.

"Can we listen to some music?" he asked. I put in my driving tape. The heavy rumble of Steppenwolf's most famous song greeted our ears: I like to dream yes, right between my sound machine, on a cloud of sound I drift in the night, any place it goes is right, goes far, flies near to the stars and away from here, well...

I looked across at him nodding his head and mouthing the words. I was doing it, too. He looked back at me, and we smiled. It was a nice moment. I closed my eyes and listened the engine beneath the radio. He was handling the clutch well. That put me at ease.

"How long have you had it?"

"Fifteen years. Ever since I was eighteen."

I saw him doing the math in his head. "No way... you're in your thirties?"

"Don't remind me."

"No, it's just that you don't look it."

I didn't acknowledge the compliment. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Hmmm."

Something about this was perfect. I looked at this nice, nervous teen and saw something of myself that first year that I left home to go to school. Was he still a virgin? I closed my eyes and leaned my head back in the sun. A distinctive guitar riff came through the speakers, and then Gordon Lightfoot's baritone: I can see her lying back in a satin dress, in a room where you do what you don't confess...

I closed my eyes and let myself imagine a boy reaching across and touching me, hand on my thigh, all the way up to my panties as I drove. Except that I was not driving. I was the passenger, and it was up to me here to do any seducing. But I was not a seducer. Ginger was a seducer. Lily had been a seducer. The many men I had known, they had been seducers. But I was the seduced.

I opened my eyes and looked across at this boy. He was too young. Much too young for me: 11 years difference. What was it they called women who seduced younger men? Ah yes, cougars. The irony of the word had never occurred to me before, mainly because I had never thought of myself as that sort of woman.

"So, what do you think of the car?"

"I love it! Its wonderful to drive."

"Yeah. And it'll be great for picking up girls."

"Well, I don't know about that."

"What, you got a girlfriend?"

"No..."

"That surprises me," I said. It was hard, initiating the flirting. The guys all did it to me with so much ease. Coming from my lips, it sounded awkward and forced. And Leon looked awkward, but that was exactly the reaction that the seduced always has. That's how I always felt.

"Well, its just that I never dated any girls back home, really, and there are some cute girls at school, but I've only just moved here."

"Well, the back seat is a little cramped, you know." He was blushing, and I was starting to feel more confident. "You wouldn't be interested, though."

"Its none of my business, really."

"Well if you're going to buy the car, its important to know its history, right? It has a rather extensive history, that way."

He swallowed hard and nodded.

"I lost my virginity in the backseat here when I was 18, your age. And I have had about nine guys in total in the back. My friend Lily had about four. And I've had four in the passenger seat. I've been fingered by at least a dozen more, but those don't really count." I was approximating the numbers, maybe exaggerating them a bit. "And lets see, about three on the hood."

"Wow."

"Yeah, Ginger and I have had quite a past. But I should explain that pretty much every guy I've ever had, I've had in this car."

"Ginger?"

"Oh, that's my pet name for the car."

"Ah. My brother called his car Roderick. I don't know why, I think he just thought that it looked like a Roderick. It did, kinda. And this car, it definitely looks like a Ginger..."

He was babbling a bit--I was loving his nervousness. I put my hand on his thigh, and closed my eyes again. Listening to the sound of the engine. He was quiet too, probably completely uncertain about what to do. I stroked his thigh a bit, running a finger along the inside seam of his jeans. Then I traced up the other side, and he gasped as my finger ran across his cock. It was nice and hard.

"So, I've told you my sexual history."

"Yeah."

"Are you gonna tell me yours?"

"Ah... well... there really isn't much to tell."

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" I asked.

"Ummm..."

"Its okay, I think that's really hot."

I ran my hand up over his stomach, and then down into his pants, right down, beneath the underwear. He gasped again, and I heard him lift his foot off the gas a bit.

"Keep driving," I said, feeling the heat of his cock. Then I pulled my hand out and began undoing his pants. "You don't mind, do you?" I asked.

"Uh, no."

I undid my seatbelt, and leaned across. His cock popped up as I pulled down the elastic of his shorts. It was nice and thick and swollen. I moaned a little sliding one hand up my own thigh as I gripped his cock and put my lips around his cock. I'm not one for a lot of licking and teasing. I love to get it right in there while it's still a little soft and get used to it. He put a hand on my back, stroking me a bit, unsure of what to do. I pushed down until his head rubbed against the back of my throat. I heard him moan, and I came up for air.

"You like that?"

"Oh yeah..."

"Mmmm, I love sucking your virgin cock." I said. I ran my hand up to my panties. "I've gotten all wet, sitting here thinking about you..."

"Oh god..."

We hit a bump in the road and my head bounced down hard against his cock; I gagged a bit, but kept going, keeping a fast pace. It was intense, fingering myself and sucking him while he drove my car. My mouth needed a rest though, so I took him out, and focused on his balls, just gripping his staff and taking one off his little cahones in my mouth. He moaned loudly. It took only about ten second of that until he came. I didn't realize it at first; otherwise I would have taken him in my mouth. Instead, his cum squirted out over my face, and landed on the steering wheel.

"Oh fuck," he said.

"You like getting sucked off?" I asked, cleaning off his cock with my lips and tongue.

"Oh fuck, I can't believe it."

I sat up, then noticed the cum all over the steering wheel. I pulled his hand away, leaning in to lick it off the imitation leather. "Mmmm, you've got tasty cum." It wasn't bad, a touch bitter, but every guy loves hearing that their cum is like manna. And really, I love tasting a guy.