๐ Falling
by Dudley Stone
an engine gets a bit too steamy
We pull into the mechanics. My engine revs.
Charlie pats my hood; my buttons push reflexively.
โItโs weird! The gas light keeps flickering on.โ My driver shrugs.
Iโd gaslight anyone to get to you, Charlie.
His voice is smooth as oil. โSheโll purr like a kitten when I'm through with her.โ
Mmm-mmm. I hope so.
Weโre finally alone. Rough hands caress my strong Swedish frame, appreciating the familiar lines of a mature Volvo.
My carburetor rattles as he slides through the driver-side door, coveralls molding into the contours of my seat. Ever the gentleman, he disregards the faint smell of spoiled milk and Cheerios crushed into my upholstery.
The key sinks into my ignition, sparking fire in my soul. I respond with a display of dashboard delights.
โNow, why would your gas light be stuck on?โ He whispers.
Because, lover, I need your touch!
His fingers glide across my bumper to lift my hood. His tools tantalize my transmission, tickle my fuel injection, and toy with my master/slave cylinders.
Hoisted on the hydraulic jack, he strokes every inch of my undercarriage, wiping with a supple shop cloth.
My dashboard clock seizes. Iโve lost all sense of time. Iโฆ shudderโฆ radiator steaming.
Purrrrr.
Sated, I flick off the gas light.
โGood girl.โ Charlie lights a cigarette.
The heat from my motor flushes my ventilation system with a sigh.
My driver interrupts my rapture. โThanks for taking care of the old gal!โ
Charlie puffs smoke through a wolfish grin. "My pleasure."

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