Slick 50

I sat across from the service station in a trendy, corporate coffee house sipping shitty, expensive brew and wondering whether my morality was enjoying the extended vacation it seemed to be on. A shiver of anticipation fanned out between my shoulder blades.

Most men were easy pickings. That was the problem. I didn’t want easy. I wanted a challenge. At the moment, my current challenge occupied bay three of the service station across the street from where I sat pretending to enjoy my cuppa shit. Eight slim solid gold bracelets jingled down my wrist when I lifted the cup to my mouth.

Ugh, enough.

I left the unfinished coffee on the table and made my way to the parking lot. My car chirped twice in greeting. I got in and kicked off my pumps. The cool interior raised goose bumps across my skin. With the door closed, I adjusted the rear view mirror so I could see across the street to the service station.

A silhouette flashed across the bright backdrop of the open work bay door. Joey. I popped an Altoids, trying to ease the dryness in my mouth.

Good lord, I had to be crazy. Picking up guys in a bar was one thing, but this? Jesus.The kid who lived across the street from me? Except he wasn’t a kid, he was a young man and he was a huge fucking tease. All summer he’d worked on that ancient El Camino parked in his driveway, shirtless, an ever-present cigarette in his hand. Tempting and taboo.

The vehicle occupying his bay pulled away. No other customers waited.

I cranked the ignition and popped the transmission in reverse. With a glance behind me, I tapped the gas and backed up in a tight arc. The gods of the traffic lights were with me. Red lights at the major intersections north and south left the road in front of me clear to cross over to the service stations driveway.

I slid my car toward his bay and waited. He waved me into the slot.

I buzzed my window down at the same time he bent, preparing to speak to me. He launched into his spiel and met my look. His words stopped short as recognition set in. The blue of his eyes startled me. I’d fantasized they were brown. At least I wasn’t the only one breathing hard.

“Hello Mrs.?”

“Johnson,” I said.

“Good morning, Mrs. Johnson. My name is Joey and I’ll be handling your service today. Tim, our mechanic, will be doing the actual oil change. Will this be Visa or MasterCard?” He pretended not to know me but couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over my breasts. I held out my credit card, the jingle of my bracelets making me smile.

“It’ll be Visa, Joey.”

He took the card, careful to avoid touching my fingers.

“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, soda, water?”

“How about a bottle of Perrier?”

“I’ll go get that for you.”

He stood up, leaving me with only the scent of him and a deep roaring excitement in my belly. While he was away, I slid my seat all the way back and reclined it. I lounged against the luxurious black leather with an anticipatory sigh.

He made his way across the shop, a green tapered bottle in his hand.

“Here you are, Mrs. Johnson.” He leaned down to my window and held the bottle out.

“Just put it right here.”

I indicated that he should settle the bottle between my bare thighs. His eyes darkened and he did what I asked. The frigid glass made me jump as it slid along my skin. I put my hand over his and pushed the fat side of the bottle up the short hem of my skirt. Cold seeped through the front of my panties. He snatched his hand away and resumed his sales script in a shaky voice.

“Pull the—” He cleared his throat. “Pull the hood release, please. Your oil change will be starting shortly.”

I sat forward and popped the latch. The chilled bottle pressed against my throbbing clit. I bit my lip and leaned back. The cap of the water came open with a quick twist of my fingers. Bubbles fizzed against my lips when I sipped. I returned the Perrier to its place between my thighs.

He propped the hood open and called out a few things to the disembodied voice of the oil change mechanic in the bay under my car. The cold from the bottle burned against my skin.

Joey materialized at my window. He seemed to have regained some of his composure.

“Would you like to have Tim install a special oil plug on your car to make your next visit to Oil Stop quicker?” he asked.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. I’m not so sure I want this to be a quick service.”

I gripped the neck of the Perrier bottle and used the fat side to stoke myself. He struggled to keep from looking.

“You sure keep your drinks cold here,” I said.

I twisted the bottle out from between my legs and set it into the cup holder. Sliding my hands past the edge of my skirt, I ran my hands up and down my inner thighs, warming my icy skin.

He lost his battle to keep from looking, his eyes traveling to my lap.

I hooked the hem of my skirt and drew it up, exposing the front of my panties. He watched while I touched myself through the damp material. My bracelets jingled to life.

The oil change guy’s voice drifted up from beneath my car. He yelled out twice more before Joey was able to get himself moving again. He stood, the tented front of his dark work pants advertising his thoughts.

While I waited for Joey to return, I kept my bracelets a-jingle. My soaked panties slid like velvet against satin under my fingertips. A loud ringing clatter echoed through the service station. My bracelets went silent. A warm thrill bloomed from the base of my spine. Few things are as exciting as masturbating in a public place.

The jingling resumed.

Joey squatted down next to my window, a big metal clipboard in his left hand with all the paperwork clipped to it and a pen in his right. The pen shook.

“We recommend having the transmission fluid changed every 25,000 miles. Shall I tell Tim to perform this service for you today?” he asked in a low voice, his eyes glued to my fingers.

I hooked my panties to one side, giving him a quick peek. Bare, silken skin slid under my fingertips thanks to a recent wax job. I trapped my clit between two fingers and began to stroke.

He groaned softly, his eyes closing.

“I’m only here for an oil change today.”

The jingling tempo sped up sliding me closer to the edge.

When he opened his eyes again, I slid my panties down to mid-thigh and parted my knees. He waited, still as a statue, just watching.

The bracelets began a slow, rhythmic chant. I slid two fingers of my free hand into my pussy. A sharp gasp exploded from my mouth. My muscles tightened around my fingers. The leather under my ass grew slick making it hard to stay in one place.

My consciousness leaped to the next plane, narrowing my focus to my impending orgasm. I fought to keep my eyes open as the image of him fucking me flashed through my head.

Stormy, gray bedroom light. His naked shoulders silhouetted by the open window. Twin ribbons of gauzy sheers rippling in the breeze. Steady sound of rain. Sweat-slicked skin. Hot mouths. Flash of lightning at the moment of release.

“I’m coming,” I whispered.

For the first time, his eyes shifted from my hands to my face. His desire to watch me come made it impossible to tell whether the sound I felt was my orgasm or the machine gun chatter of the pneumatic impact wrench stuttering through the station.

My thighs snapped shut over my hands as I came and came. The leather seat squeaked against my jerking body.

“Oh, fuck!”

The wave flattened, rippling out to ease my rigid muscles.

Tim’s voice shouted up from below my car one last time. “Service complete!”

“I’ll get your bill, Mrs. Johnson.” Joey stood up and trudged away on unsteady legs.

While he finished my paperwork, I sat up, head buzzing, and worked my panties off my legs. The scrap of soggy material did little to help me clean up. Somehow, I doubted the leather would ever be the same. I moved the seat back into driving position and adjusted my clothing, trying to slow my breathing.

When he came back to the window, he didn’t lean down or look at me, just handed me the clipboard with my Visa card and the credit slip clipped to the top.

I signed the slip, took my copy and my card then clipped his copy and my panties onto the clipboard before handing everything back to him.

I fired up the engine and drove out of the bay before he had a chance to say that I should come again soon.

© 2009 Alice Gray. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Alice Gray is a stay-at-home mother with a passion for writing erotic fiction. Her work has appeared in Clean Sheets Erotica Magazine. Her stories have also appeared on the ERWA website, including the 2009 Treasure Chest. She lives in San Francisco, California with her husband and two young sons. For more of Alice’s erotic fiction, visit

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