The Triumphs of the Past

It might seem a surprising idea - classic cars as a 'babe magnet' but I've certainly seen the phenomenon at shows. Some cars do just seem to attract the babes. The E- type Jaguar jumps straight out of course: did Enzo Ferrari, the founder of Ferrari, not call it 'the most beautiful car ever made'? It's not just the Jags., more usually its the sporty jobs with soft tops that appeal: Austin Healeys (perhaps more the bigger ones like 3000s, rather than Spridgets), MGBs and MGCs and, of course the Triumphs all the way from TR2 to 6. In tin-top format almost all Aston Martins seem to do the trick. Perhaps the Triumph GT6 and, bizarrely, the Ford Capri and certainly the big American jobs like the Ford Mustang and Chevrolet Corvette. It's size that matters sometimes - oversexed and over here indeed!

Triumph 2500S as a babe magnet? I seemed to find it worked for me. There was something deliciously erotic, without anything being said or probably realised by the 'babe,' at being invited to sit on the Triumph's old leather seats; perhaps the better if the 'babe' is in a skirt or shorts so the back of the thighs touch the leather. Nice to watch the 'babe' hold the steering wheel and reach for the gear knob if sitting in that seat. They always want to sit in that seat, always reach to hold the gear knob and cannot resist flicking that overdrive switch. I've even seen 'babes' fondle the knob like they might a penis. Subconscious? I don't know. I've seen the odd one redden when she has seen me looking. And, seeing that touch and fondle... well, it does for me.

And when I say 'babe' I don't just mean the young things. I recall a very nicely spoken woman, greying hair and a surprisingly smart outfit for a show, a blue two piece skirted suit indeed, settle into the driver's seat, the skirt riding up and showing still very shapely knees and tops of lower thighs, me watching them moving as she pushed at the pedals, and then glancing at her hand, complete with wedding and engagement rings, as it settled atop the gear knob, as she said,

"I wouldn't mind a ride in this," and turning and smiling at me as her hand fondled the gear knob. There was no question the statement was not meant other than ambiguously, a double entendre sticking up in the air like the gear lever and its big knob. Her husband came up behind me, a big burly bloke in tweed and with a most remarkable moustache, and the three of us talked cars for quite a time as the woman sat there, fondling the knob. Did he notice her actions, was he as much erect in his tweeds as I was in my corduroys? Was there a manly fellow feeling at wanting our knobs fondled?

Nothing came of it that day, but I have often thought how good it would have been to have given her a ride. Perhaps alone, perhaps for her to suggest we parked up somewhere 'quiet,' perhaps to have sex in the back seat or, as I had with Jane, slip off into the countryside and find a secluded spot. Frankly, I would not have said no to giving them both a spin in the car, nice to imagine her becoming more and more aroused as she sat next to me, perhaps fondling the gear knob in a most suggestive way, my eyes flicking to it and perhaps, her husband, in the back seat becoming more and more aroused himself as he stared through the gap between the seats at her mobile hand. The suggestion finally made and me nosing the car into some secluded field gate or, better still, a track. Not my usual thing to have a 'threesome' but there's always a first time. Probably all a great surprise to the husband, but how good to have a bit of variety, and how nice for the woman to be serviced by two men as she lay in a pose of abandonment across the warm bonnet of the Triumph. Completely naked, of course, undressed by two men, her sex so exposed. Two men taking it in turns to 'poke' her.

I had seen, indeed experienced, the seeming effect of Rob's old car on both Jane and Heulwen but confirmation of my suspicions that it was, indeed, the car came when a new client appeared. I had always had a bit of a thing for those 1960s/70s girls in white mini-skirts and white leather boots jumping into or out of little sports cars. Mrs. Emma Peel and her 1965 Lotus Elân Series 2, Tara King in that 428 Spider, the closing credits of Dee Time - OK, all before my time but if you're interested in classic cars of the period these things come up on 'You Tube' etc and I like the images! It was not, quite, that Susannah York drove into my garage, but it was certainly one sexy 'babe.' Literally drove in as I'd left the doors open - another hot day.

Not twenty, not eighteen, not twenty-four, more like thirty but with a figure as if twenty or so. Not a mini skirt but a mini-dress and, yes, white boots and a gold chain effect belt around her waist. Seriously Retro. Sex on a stick - and she knew it. A flash of white panties as she got out of her little sporty number. Somehow, I did not think she had not been taught by her mother how to get out of cars in a skirt - that was deliberate.

I'm not one for feminism, rather the opposite really. No problem with equal pay for equal work but average salary comparisons between the male and female workforces of a firm? Get real! Fighter pilots, coal miners, girls playing Rugby in a serious way? All a bit odd if you ask me. And there is so much cake and eat it about it all. One moment you have some woman complaining about being treated differently - as a woman - the next you have them using their sexuality to their advantage, twisting things their way by very clear flirting. This was a case in point. I rather thought the young lady was going to encourage me to offer a good price for the work she wanted, simply by being so very feminine. She was right of course, I would offer her a good price, I would be very happy having her turn up as a client! A woman's wiles work for me.

Very nice to stand and talk to her about her MGC. Very happy to take a look and quote for the work. Could she leave it with me, and I would let her know? Most enjoyable just to talk to her, Fiona Prentice was her name. I like talking to women particularly pretty women and was she that! Blond to boot, blue eyes, full lips, just so right and her hair worn in that Sixties way with a curling inwards either side, the 'Lovely' Aimi MacDonald came to mind. Good to talk and be amused by how she was twisting me around her little finger, and I was very happy to be twisted.

It transpired she had not really thought ahead about getting back from my workshop and she talked me into giving her a lift back to her workplace. She could get a train home from there. It did not require much talking me into taking her. I was more than happy to see her get in the Triumph beside me, see that white dress lift further up her long thighs, almost showing those white knickers.

"Nice car," she patted the old leather seat, "do like the walnut dash. What's that switch on the gear knob for?"

I glanced over at the MGC. They had overdrives as an optional extra - hers didn't. So, I explained. Nice car, the MGC, big 2912cc Austin C-series straight-six engine so a head-on rival for the TR5 during its production life. There was work to do: those big chrome bumpers had seen better days and I could foresee several hours to be spend bent over in the engine compartment under the raised power bulge bonnet.

I was more than happy to talk about the Triumph as we drove. Watched her walk away a little longer than was really necessary, but good to take in her rear view - and that was enough with a few 'thoughts' to give me an erection. I even let it out of my overalls as I drove back and gave it a few tugs as I imagined her leaning over and sucking it. I was rather getting into the idea women did that, you know. I opened the workshop doors like that (with it hidden away again, of course). I stood looking at her MGC and then got into it and sat where, half an hour before, she'd been sitting. That didn't really help, thinking about her shapely bottom on that seat, perhaps wriggling a little. Fuck, she was quite something! In my head the thought of cumming in her mouth or 'giving her one,' knickers off and lowering herself in that dress onto my upstanding gear knob. Out of my overalls came my cock once more - exposed and rigid in her car. Yeah, 'turgid' is a good word - it was that. An interesting violation of her space - perhaps. Across the workshop a roll of blue paper towels. Should I? Or should I really get back to work? I was a good boy - work won, perhaps because the blue paper was out of reach, and I examined the MGC in detail preparing the quote.

"How long will it be?"

I smiled, my thought that it would be quite long! I always enjoy a double entendre intentional or unintentional. I was pretty sure this was the latter. "Really it's going to take me a fortnight. Getting the parts, re-spray..." I was talking on the 'phone to Fiona that afternoon. "You could have it back now and bring it in when it's more convenient, but I wouldn't leave it too long.

"Could I have it back for the weekend and then let you have it Monday morning?"

I'd be very happy to have 'it' Monday morning! Another possible double entendre. I arranged to pick her up after work and bring her back to the workshop. It would be good to see her seated in the Triumph 2500 again.

"Mmmm, I do like this car," Fiona said as she got in, "I liked my ride this morning."

On your boyfriend, I wondered... riding cowgirl?

What a nice little wriggle as she settled herself on the leather seat.

"A really comfortable ride. I like a comfortable ride," she said when we got to the workshop.

Now that was intentional. I was sure of it, and equally sure the Triumph 2500 had a lot to do with it. He was a naughty boy!

I was half way through the job on the MGC when I next had the next real contact with Fiona. Yes, I had seen her when she had dropped the car off on the Monday, but I had been with a client, had just briefly spoken when she had driven it in and had seen she had someone else take her on to work. Another woman, I saw, in another sports job, a nice little MGB. Fiona just turned up out of the blue on the Saturday. One moment I was alone in the workshop, next she had walked in. Was it the same dress or a similar one? I was not that sure.

"Just dropped by to see how things are going." The car was not ready to be driven, not with so many bits and pieces sitting on the steel workbench in the corner. The respray was booked for the following week. I rubbed my oily hands on blue paper and talked to her about it. My estimate held. The work was about what I had thought. I was interested to see Fiona seemed in no hurry to go. Indeed, I saw her hands a couple of times caress the yellow paintwork of the Triumph 2500. Was 'he' up to his tricks again? Something was coming. I was not just a visit to see progress, I was sure.

"I wonder, might you let me have a go in this?"

"Take it for a spin?"

"Mmmm. Not for sale is it?"

No fear! My answer clear: "It was a friend's: I'm rather attached to it. If you want to have a run, I'm happy for you to borrow it. But sale, no. I don't need it until, I suppose, five-ish if you want to go somewhere."

I could see the excitement. "Oooh please, could I?"

The keys in her hand, the yellow driver's door open, Fiona paused and then got in. I averted my eyes, not by choice but she was looking at me as she eased herself into the seat. That dress really was rather short: had I been able to look I am sure I would have seen more than I should have done.

"I do love these leather seats." She patted the leather, "I like the feel on the back of my legs."

I turned my head back to her. Up my spine a tickling sensation, not fear, not that at all, something quite different, a frisson of anticipation. That was a sexual allusion if I was not mistaken. I said nothing, just looked at her as if I expected Fiona to say something more... and she did.

Such a nice little wriggle of her shoulders, a coy, rather captivating smile, "it feels sexy, like an older man's skin."

Oh, crikey, where was this leading?

"Would you mind awfully if I didn't wear panties, just had my bare bottom on the seat so I could feel the leather... please?"

"If... if you like," I stuttered.

"Oh, I like."

Did she, did she actually, purr?

"Well... you'd better be going." Was I embarrassed to watch, I certainly did not turn away this time, as Fiona reached within her short dress, lifted her bottom and lowered a pair of white knickers. Done demurely if anything like that can be done demurely and in such a short dress, but suffice it to say, I did not learn whether she was shaven or unshaven down below. The foot pedals, on the other hand, would have gained a lot more information from their line of sight. She wriggled on the seat, not just a little wriggle at that.

"Would you mind looking after these for me?"

Fiona reversed out, her hand on the big flared knob - I didn't miss that; and left me standing there in my oil stained overalls at the garage door with a pair of white knickers in my hand, watching Fiona changing into first and driving off. I closed the garage doors and looked at the flimsy white cotton in my hand. They were warm to the touch. It would though be a good idea to put them down, somewhere not oily and get them out of my hand with the risk of getting oil stained finger prints over them. Phew! I knew just how much I would like getting oily fingerprints over what they had contained just seconds before.

Warm to the touch - warm against my cheek. Warm against my nose with the scent of woman. She would know - know as she drove - that I would have done that - would probably know the sudden urge I had to whip out my cock and tie the cotton around it. Yeah, and wank with them, the soft cotton caressing my engorged prick. She would know the effect on an almost forty-year old, oil stained mechanic. Was she expecting to find her knickers soaked with semen on her return?

She might have been, but they were untouched by ejaculate, I did not risk that embarrassment. In fact, she did not even ask for them back on her return. They were in full sight, carefully placed on a clean footwell paper sheet, had sat, pristine white, on my workbench all day to the evident surprise of one client whose forehead had furrowed when she had seen them, but had said nothing. I'd certainly have tucked them away in a pocket if I'd thought Heulwen would be coming around,0 but I knew she was away.

Fiona returned about four o'clock, was gushing about the car, clearly in a state of sexual arousal and talked about how well it had driven, about her day, said she had even parked up on the Hogsback and sat and looked at the view from the hill. I wondered about that after she had gone off. Had she indeed admired the view or been rather unfocused with fingers in her dress playing with her 'bits,' having a nice little feminine 'wank' in the T2500. Had she perhaps looked longingly at the gear knob and thought what she might do with it in a (probably) less public space? Of course, once she went, I was on my hands and knees examining the driver's seat leather for new stains. I hardly need to be that close. The wet patch, the oval wet patch was as obvious and visible as the Triumph's yellow paintwork when out on the road. Tempting to get out of my overalls and lower my hanging balls slowly down onto the patch as I settled into the driver's seat and then roll my cock in the wetness. That was probably as close as I would get to Fiona's snatch. I had hoped she might want to move my gear knob on her return and get me to check her fluid levels. But not a bit of it, she would not even stay for a mug of tea, had things to do. Perhaps she was off to meet a boyfriend - well, he would be in for a busy time!

The knickers came home with me and whilst they did not end up soaked in semen, that did not mean they did not get tied around my cock, that they did not become a masturbatory aid or that I did not sleep with them warm inside my pyjamas. No, I did not put them on.

"I wondered... I've been telling some friends what a nice classic car you've got, whether you'd mind giving them a spin? We were thinking of having a picnic on Saturday if it's nice, so would you like to come if you're not doing anything else?"

Fiona and I were speaking on the 'phone mid-week. The MGC job was going nicely and she could probably take it away on the Saturday. Could I spare the time to go for a picnic with Fiona and friends? Better if it was just her but that was a bit of wishful thinking. It would probably be a good day and I liked showing off the T2500. It might even be amusing to see it work his effect on Fiona. Work on the cars could wait. It was a Saturday, after all. I was happy enough to both come on the picnic and drive. What I hadn't appreciated was there would be four of them, nor that all the friends would be female. A bit of a squash in the back seat but, alas, I was in the front.

A new thing for me driving a party of girls, well Fiona's age girls. Gone her mini dress but denim shorts and tee shirt, instead, showed her legs to advantage. Fiona in the front, the other three in the back. Don't girls talk! But I was happy to listen and drive - and take the occasional glance at Fiona's long legs. It was a hot and sunny day, I drove with the windows open. No air conditioning of course.

Could he handle four at once? Was the old T2500 up to it? Was he going to work his - 'magic,' was it? - upon all four at once? Would I notice, even? The four girls were seemingly excited just at the prospect of the picnic, the day out and being together. They were animated enough as it was. Would his effect be slow and, it might be said, insidious? A lovely idea, four young quims gently and subtly moistening all around me, skin drawing back to breasts as nipples hardened - all eight of them. Might legs start rubbing together or, instead, knees part and then close repeatedly as nether lips swelled and the wetness flowed?

We stopped on a piece of heathland, parking the car and all getting out to stretch our legs. The girls went off one way and me the other to 'spend a penny,' and then there was a couple of picnic rugs and the prepared picnic to unload from the back. Pleasant to watch the girls applying sunscreen to their arms, faces, necks and long legs. I was more than happy to watch girls stroking oil onto their bare flesh. I took a few photographs. The girls would probably be pleased to have a record of the day, I could upload them and send the location to them all by email and it would also be pleasant for me to have the photographs as well to review and contemplate at my leisure (very possibly in my pyjamas and, who knew, perhaps some of that workshop blue paper towelling to hand...).

Not a very long walk found us sitting under a few pines, admiring the view and unpacking the picnic. Eating al fresco has a certain something about it and the day was perfect for it. Gloriously blue skies, a slight breeze making it all pleasant rather than hot and, I have to say, these girls knew how to make a picnic. Good to sit with them on the blankets. I always find sitting on the ground slightly awkward and uncomfortable - not that I was in any way complaining that day, the girls though had that natural grace women have. Fiona sitting with her long legs half tucked under her, another sitting cross legged in her shorts, another in a stripy summer dress sitting with her legs straight out and ankles crossed, the third sitting like Fiona and the fourth kneeling. I can recall because, again, I took photographs.

"What shall we do, this afternoon, a walk?"

It was an excellent place to ramble, plentiful and clear paths through the heather and gorse, the prospect of a wooded valley not far off for shade. I would enjoy that.

"What I'd really like is a swim."