Monday, December 16, 2013

Porsche Stories Vol. 2

Alright, I've finally done it. No corny introduction is needed here. Give it a read and tell me what you think. 

 I woke up in a downtown apartment, on what I knew was an Ikea bed, she was next to me. We had already begun the awkward yawn and stretch. I swiveled my view and saw her bedroom was large, dotted with veneered, self-assembled, pressed wood furniture. She crawled out of bed, her ever so slightly fleshy frame, no taller than 5'6", slinked it's way across the floor. Each leg moving in front of the other, feet tapping the carpet toes first. She slid into the bathroom and peered around the door frame, those steel-blue eyes just as vivid as the night before. The baby face that held those eyes was framed by wavy brunette hair. 

She rolled back into the bathroom, as I slowly materialised her name: Iliana Mitchell. I heard water begin to run into a gentle mist in the bathroom. She peered out the door again, waving her index finger for me to join her inside. The steam surrounded us in a warm cloud as I ran my hands down her slick hips. It felt just like the humid day I was outside the dealership scrubbing away at brand new Carrera S, white over red. Rick slowly made his way down the steps to me. 

"Looks good!"

"I try."

"With the money we've been bringing in, you should have one of your own."

"What about the Ferrari? Doesn't that count for something?"

"I forget about that, how is that thing anyway?"

"My mum borrowed it for the day."

"Come inside, we gotta talk."

We went inside, and he explained the way that the world worked. Every used car dealer in this town was either a crook, or sold cars for fun. Rick was a crook, a drug trafficking crook. With that new knowledge, I was about to join all the fun. We went back outside, the key was thrown into my hands. 

"You drive."


"The airport."

I didn't question it. I reached for the left side of the dash, and as I turned the key I could hear her moan. She was pinned against the wall of the shower, my hand grasping the fullest portion of her ass. My hands turned into the hands of a high school football player named John Conroy in the back of a 1994 968
John wasn't exactly a catch, but he paid me the type of attention you could buy. And buy he did, when he handed the man cash for that beautiful white 1984 911. I felt so obligated to him that I ended up going to the same college. John was one of many mistakes I've made in my life, all of them managed to advance my position in life. I could feel his hand run down my inner thigh, my eyes opened. 

As we lounged in our towels I couldn't help but ask Iliana more about herself. There was something mysterious in those eyes, they reminded me of xenon headlamps actually.

"So you said you work for Porsche, is that at a dealer..."

"No, I work PR for them. Well I mostly just travel to car shows now, hand people brochures, and smile."

"The way you drove last night, I would've swore you were a factory test dri-" 

"I was, kind of."

"Do tell."

"Let's save something to talk about at brunch."

"Brunch? Okay, sure."

I felt like I agreed to do more than eat a meal by the somber tone that slipped between those pale lips. I decided to get dressed instead of pressing on the story. Comforting her didn't quite feel like the thing to do. I didn't even quite understand why I was still in her house, other than how beautiful she was. As I buttoned my cuffs I asked a simple question. 

"So you mind me driving you?"

"I think we should have a little race."

"I think we had enough of that last night."

"So you can't keep up now?"

"You KNOW I can keep up."

"You know where Bistro La Bon is?"

"I practically live in Plaza-Midwood, of course I do."

"Good. I'll see you there."

"Oh, it's like that?"

She was already pacing to the door before I could get the sentence out. The time crept just past 10:34 on my Submariner, as I chased her through the hall. It was akin to chasing a small dog off its leash. I was running into the unknown really, and I didn't care. 

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