In Cars

Hello, my name’s Bill (Hi Bill!), and I’m a sex addict. It sounds pretty tawdry when I say it like that, pretty commonplace, like your garden variety pervert whacking off in a gas-station bathroom, but I like to think of myself as more of a connoisseur, an aficionado. I’ve had women, and I’ve had men too, now and then, but what I really like, what really does it for me, is cars. My name’s Bill, and I like to have sex with cars. When I say that out loud, it doesn’t sound tawdry at all. When I say that out loud, a little shiver goes tingling through my stomach and thrums right down into my balls, like a V8 engine revving.

I didn’t even realize that having sex with cars was weird ‘til I was nineteen. At school, every guy had pictures of cars inside his locker, pictures of those gleaming, slutty little sportscars. Every guy collected car mags and just about drooled when a Ferrari shot past, and I always figured it was like an unspoken message – Goddamn, I’d love to fuck the hell out of that tailpipe! If you ask my shrink, it dates back to when I was six years old. I wanted some juice but I couldn’t find my mom anywhere, until I heard these noises coming in from the garage, so I went out there to find her spread across the bonnet of our old grey Ford, getting fucked up the ass by the guy nextdoor. Was quite a time before they even noticed me, and according to my shrink, that’s why I like to fuck cars so much. Childhood trauma. But I don’t think it’s a trauma at all, not when it gives you the best damned orgasms you ever had in your life.

Think about it for a minute, the sex life of the average guy in America. From what I see, he barely gets any sex at all. It comes round in these short, intense bursts, between when a new girlfriend comes along, and when she gets fat and lazy or dumps his ass, and then it’s as dry as a desert for the next six months. Gay guys, they do a little better, provided they aren’t picky, but for your average Joe, most of the sex he gets is with his own right hand – a guilty little shuffle and a quick jizz into a tissue and that’s that. There isn’t any pleasure in that. So that’s what gets me, what I don’t understand. Sure enough it’s hard to find a willing woman, and a woman with a pretty face and nice tits and a tight round ass, even harder. But everyone’s got a car, don’t they? Everyone’s got a nice, willing car just sitting in their garage, with a tight little tailpipe and a whorish parking brake, and if you’re lucky those slick, warm wipe-clean leather seats. If you’ve got a car, and you’re still having cheap little one-hand shuffles in the bathroom, I say there’s something wrong with you. You’re missing out on a whole lot, I’ll tell you that for nothing.

For a while I had a job as a used car salesman, and I was a damned diligent worker, staying after hours every single day, turning up at the crack of dawn, eventually they gave me my own key to the building since I was always the first one on site, and the last one to leave. I had my way with just about every car that passed through that place, and I know for damn sure I’m not the only one of us in this business. If you’ve got a second hand car, if you’ve ever left your car all day at a quiet little garage, I just about guarantee you someone like me’s showed your car a good time or two. Why do you think they always wash your car before they give it back? It isn’t courtesy, we don’t give a shit about courtesy. It’s just to get the semen off.

So anyway, at this job, they had all these cars and I had a tight little thing going with quite a few of them, which is the other nice thing about cars – they aren’t jealous. Cars are as open minded as they come, impossible to offend, up for anything. But my all-time favorite, my sugar-pussy lover, was this slutty red Honda that I always kept in the back of the lot, out in the sunshine. That way, by the time the boss went home and I stayed on late, those slick leather seats were warm and welcoming, and that slutty little car was just ready and waiting. She had a stick-shift, this smooth grey knob, and I’d grease it up good and slip it into my asshole, ride her until I was about ready to come. I’d keep stopping and starting until my dick ached like hell, then I’d dry-hump that slick warm leather until it was wet and slippery with my spunk, and I’d just keep grinding away on it, nourishing her leather with my seed and feeling that whorish little Honda shiver with bliss. She was one hell of a slut, that little red Honda.

For a while I had a heavy thing going with this old grey SUV, he was a big, lumbering, serious looking guy but when the lot closed up for the night and the boss went home, it turned out he could really party. He had one of those aerials, the out-dated sort, great long steel thing with a little knob on the end – they don’t make ‘em like they used to, and it’s a damned shame. Long nights after work I used to climb up on top of him, and I’d suck that aerial off until he was just about writhing underneath me, then I’d slide that smooth slick metal down the head of my cock, feel that little cold lump go deep down inside, and I’d jack off with him inside me. Every single stroke felt like I was about to explode, with that aerial down inside, and when I finally did, I’d slowly pull it out, see my seed leaking out from around it like the filling in a Krispy Kreme donut, and I’d suck every drop off, feeling how warm that metal was from all the fucking. That serious old SUV, he never failed to surprise me. On nights when my cock was too sore, I’d use his tow-bar instead, that smooth, welcoming little dome, I’d grease it up good and just ride it and ride it ‘til my knees were shaking and I couldn’t stand it any more, and then I’d finish myself off with his tailpipe. He used to love it when I came inside of him, that filthy old SUV.

Anyhow, the good times didn’t last, I’m sorry to say. Turns out a couple of the other sales guys found some evidence smeared into the seats and dripping out of the tailpipes, so they got this big old CCTV system set up, without breathing a word to me. I guess they must have seen me fucking the hell out of that little red Honda, because the next day they fired me, told me never to come back, and that was that. It’s not so bad though, really, ‘til I find a new job in the next town over there’s always the scrap yard down the hill, and no one bothers me there. Got a good thing going with this little silver Toyota now, so it’s really not so bad, all in all.

My name is Bill, and I’m a sex addict.