A long time ago, circa 1999, at the tender age of 17, I was a slightly chubby, awkward girl with an obsession. I had a thing for you- and your big, soft hands that were so skilled at working on your classic car- and I used to walk the streets at night, singing Riverdales tunes, over to your neighborhood just to see if your bedroom light was on. On one such occasion, I took my pet rat with me and, emboldened by the still and quiet night, I opened the door of your 1965 El Camino and slid inside. I slumped down in the seat and was nearly caught by your father when he came out on the porch. A few minutes later, he was back inside and I was shimmying my pants down on the fake leather seat of your car-truck. I set my rat loose and started to pleasure myself right there in your driveway! The faint smell of you was still in the car, and I could picture your dark eyes and your bright smile... When I was finished, I pulled my pants back up, put my rat back on my shoulder, and dissappeared back to my own neighborhood, and you were never the wiser. But anytime you would give me a ride in that El Camino I would blush thinking about what happened in there, inspired by you, that you would never know about.
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