Perverts 'R' Us

The Car

By Danyealle ( M/F, legend )

It was one of those things that, from first sight, he knew it had to be his. To everyone else it was just a pile of silver painted junk, but to him it was love at first sight! It was a 1955 Porsche Spyder, in horrendous shape, to be sure. It actually wasn't even all one piece; in total there were 11 pieces to it, but he could see what it would look like if it were put back together. The twisted pile of aluminum was on its way to be crushed and sold, but he couldn't allow that. So for $25.00, he bought it.

That night it was in his garage, put into a basic order of where everything went, like a giant jigsaw puzzle. He walked around it quietly, trying to envision what it looked like when it was new. Then he stepped back and took stock of what was there, making notes on paper for what he thought he was going to need to "bring it back to life," so to speak.

A life-long obsession/love of cars had turned him into a mechanic by trade, but restoration of classics was his passion. Many times he had found cars like this one, but never before one in nearly as bad a shape, and brought them back to life. Above all else, that is what he loved to do. So when his workday was done and he had stopped to get a few things he knew he would need, he headed home. First things first, he took it all apart as far as he could, cleaning the parts and seeing what was the worst damage to it. Then the reassembling and fixing began.

It took him months to get things to where it even remotely resembled a car. As he started to put the pieces together, it became more of an obsession than anything else had ever been. It was as if the car was calling to him, wanting him to fix it. While he usually had an active social life, as he got more and more in-depth with this machine, that fell to the wayside. Every minute he wasn't at work was taken up with this machine that seemed to have its own personality.

Not only was the obsession itself changing him, but other things started to change about him as well. Like most mechanics, he was at home in jeans and t-shirts, but he began to take on a bit more of a rebellious look, adding leather jackets and black motorcycle boots to the ensemble. The guys at work started teasing him about the new look, asking if women liked it. He grinned and shook his head, but said nothing. What he couldn't tell them was something he didn't understand himself; it was like this was calling to him in some way, that by wearing these kinds of clothes he felt 'right'.

Every night he spent hours with the Porsche, lovingly putting it back together piece by piece, fixing what he could putting new in the places he couldn't repair. As crazy as it sounded, it was as though the car was 'talking' to him while he did this. No, not real verbal words, but he got the sense that it had a spirit and that was egging him along.

About six months into the project, it actually once again resembled the sleek sports car it had been at one time. It had the symmetrical lines of a car that was aerodynamic and built for speed. But in the six months, James had also changed. Now it was more than just the clothes. His hairstyle had changed - he had gone to what they used to refer to as a duck's ass style - old-fashioned, and his personality was a bit more intense and surly. There always seemed to be a bit of a scowl on his face. While most of his male friends thought it was just a macho guy thing, women seemed to love it! They were almost dripping off of him at this point. There were other minor things as well. For some reason unknown to him, he had switched from his normal Marlboros, which he had smoked since he had started, to Chesterfields. Also, he seemed to be a bit more moody than he had been in his life. While all of it was odd, it didn't worry him much. He was just changing as he grew older is all.

Within a year and a half it was done, restored once again to its former glory. Sleek and beautiful, a wonderful shining silver in color, it spoke of times long past and cars that once existed, but were edged out for the more modern, fuel efficient ones of today. To him, the modern cars had no personality and soul, but this one did.

As he put it together he found the numbers "131" on the doors and what looked like "Little Bastard" painted across the back of it. That rang a bell somewhere in him, but he couldn't remember where it was from. On its first test-drive, the machine showed its power. While he cruised along well above the speed limit, the car seemed to want to go faster, and the road seemed to call to him.

While he longed to make the engine unwind and see how fast it could go, he didn't - not wanting to take the chance of hurting what had taken so long to rebuild. So instead of racing it like it had originally been built to do, he took to cruising around in it, liking the attention it brought to him.

Women, in particular, LOVED the car, and his newly acquired bad boy looks attracted them in droves. They all said the same thing; he reminded them of someone, but couldn't quite place whom. From his point of view it could be anyone, he was fairly common looking. Not really tall, only 5'8', or 5'10" in his engineer boots, blue eyes, about 155lbs, give or take a few, and dark blond hair that seemed to be perpetually messed up. He was common, nothing special about him, just looking like thousands of other guys.

A couple of months after he finished the car, he was out one night at one of the local bars having a couple drinks and seeing what was going on. It was September 30th, and the chill was in the air. The local football team was on a roll already, and a lot of people were out celebrating, so the crowd was raucous. Sitting in a corner of the bar, he sipped his beer, watching the crowd when a good-looking woman came over and sat down beside him.

She was about 5'6", and she had the most beautiful, longish chestnut-colored hair he had ever seen - thick and shiny, almost making you want to run your fingers through it, with brown, expressive eyes, a cute perked nose, and sensual lips. She was small, maybe 115lbs at the most, and she was bundled up in a pink sweater and a longish wool skirt. Like a gentleman of course, he bought her a drink then made small talk with her. It wasn't long before they were deeply engrossed with each other, talking as though they were alone and not in a crowded bar.

As the time grew late and the crowd got more drunk and rowdy, he offered to take her home. Escorting her out to his car, he held the door open for her and then slid behind the wheel. Instantly she seemed to be as enamored with the car as he was, asking him all about it. Instead of going to either his place or hers, they drove out to the local teenage lovers' lane and parked on the bluff overlooking the city. As they gazed down at the twinkling lights, she slid over the best she could and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Putting an arm around her shoulder, he leaned down and kissed her softly. Letting his hand slide behind her head, he pulled her closer, the kissing becoming more passionate. The car was a two-seater, so nothing was going to be easy to do in it, but with a bit of grunting and shifting around, he slid into her seat with her on his lap, arms around his neck, kissing him. Slowly, he let his hands slide up under her sweater and pushed her bra up before letting them explore her smallish, well-rounded breasts, the nipples hard and poking gently into his hands. While her mouth was locked onto his, her fingers slowly entwined in his hair.

The more passionate the kissing became, the more aroused he got, his cock hard, long, and throbbing in his pants. Almost animalistically he devoured her mouth, grinding himself up onto her, trying to relieve the pressure that was growing between his legs.

Holding his head with one hand, she let her other hand wander down and grip him through the tight fabric of his jeans, roughly massaging his crotch. Groaning into her mouth, he ground himself onto her hand, feeling his cock throb madly. With a sleight of hand that was almost magic, she had his jeans undone and his cock out within a minute, rubbing it softly. Then, shifting around a bit, her skirt bunching up around her waist, she held it to her slit, rubbing it around before holding it still and lowering her sopping wet pussy down onto it.

Groaning loudly, he arched up, driving himself up into her all the way, feeling her tight walls surround his turgid flesh, tightening down on it. Shifting around to get herself comfortable, she positioned herself on her knees and started to move up and down on him, holding onto his shoulders for balance. Pulling away from the kiss, she gazed into his eyes, panting, while she rode up and down on his thick cock.

Holding onto her waist, he thrust upward in sync with her, his cock throbbing madly in her pussy. Panting heavily, she looked into his eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Within a couple of minutes, both were thrusting harder and the car was filled with the slap of flesh on flesh and their grunts and groans. Slamming herself down onto his rock-hard cock, she ground her hips in a slow circular motion before letting out a loud whimper and cumming, her pussy spasming around his cock. After a couple more animalistic thrusts, he came, flooding her walls with his seed.

After dropping her off at her house and making sure he got her number, he headed for home with a big grin on his face. So lost in thought was he that he didn't realize he was going over a 100 MPH. After topping a hill and cruising down it the car sped up, heading for an intersection. It was too late when he saw the car in the middle of it. Though he put the brakes on, he couldn't stop in time and T-Boned it, throwing him free and killing him on impact. Once again, the "Little Bastard" had perpetuated the curse.