Thursday, 15 September 2011

The Duchess And The Truck Driver (Part 2 of 4).

Gertie studies the ape-man for a long time before replying.
“Well, my car seems to be having some engine trouble, and I don’t know the first thing about how to fix it. I don’t suppose you know anything about car maintenance, do you?”
As she expects, the ape-man shakes his head sadly.
“Sorry miss, I just drive the things, don’t know shit about the way they work, pardon my French.”
“That’s quite alright, I’m used to it.” Gertie takes out another cigarillo, and attempts to light it with an expensive Zippo. Click, click, click. Nothing. How dreadfully embarrassing. Just then, the ape-man steps forward, proffering a cheap plastic lighter and wearing a grin as though he’d just discovered fire. Holding his hand to steady the flame, she gets a strong whiff of chips. She loves chips. She always used to have them before…sex.

She sure is looking at him oddly, Terry thought. Maybe he has something stuck in his teeth. He glides a tongue over them, which the woman raises an eyebrow at.
“So, where are you headed to, anyway?” Terry says, slipping the lighter back into his pocket.
“To a dinner party hosted by the Earl of Margate.”
Terry rocks back on his heels, whistling appreciatively. “Didn’t realise Margate had an Earl.”
“Better that you don’t, the man’s a fuckwit –
Terry glances up.
- pardon my French”, she adds, walking over to where his truck stands like a slumbering giant, ready to be awakened at the slightest touch.
She runs her manicured finger along the gleaming paintwork and flashes him a saucy little grin. It’s a lovely smile, the kind that works like emotional Viagra. She certainly reminded Terry of his mother.
“Is this your truck?” she breathes.
Terry puffs out his chest with pride.
“Certainly is. Do you like it?”
“Mmm. It’s awfully…big, isn’t it?”
He steps up behind her and whispers in her ear.
“I can handle it.”
She turns and their faces are mere inches apart. The threat of sex hangs in the air like a sticky mist, and they can both sense it.
“Can I see inside?” she says, looking up at the cab with wide eyes.
“Of course, let me help you.”
As she clambers up, Terry gets a sneak preview when she momentarily opens her legs. Wasting no time, he reaches forward and slips a workmanlike finger up the leaky valley, then whips it out and sniffs it guiltily. She squeals like a naughty schoolgirl and scrambles behind the wheel, pretending to drive the truck. Terry climbs in and, no sooner has he shut the door than their faces instantly seek one another out, like mouth-to-mouth missiles.

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