Mustang Sally

A self abusive teen and his fantasy car.

    She walked the length of the masculine Royal Maroon painted car. The fingers of her left hand caressing the body lines as they glided over the contours from just above the headlight, over the fender, tracing the outline of the rear-view mirror, the muscular curve in the quarter panel and finishing with the rear spoiler and elongated tail lights of her crimson lover, the new 1969 Shelby GT500.

    The black tuck-n-rolled bucket seat cupped her perfect body. Her visage, represented in the windshield, reflected the light and shadows accentuated her own beautiful curves. In the angled safety glass, she saw her own heavy breasts lulling below perfect shoulders and framed by the seat back.

    Now her respiration became faster as her left hand explored the studded wood steering wheel while her right hand palmed her devil’s white knob. She now made a dry run through the gears. Her head thrust backwards, right foot pressing the wet clutch to the floor. Her neck muscles strained and her eyes closed as her red lover took her swiftly away.

    She slowly relaxed her grip on both wheel and shifter as she came back. Her thighs burned and she smiled at the ceiling. A perfect pink tongue then parted two perfect pink lips and re-moistened the already glossy O. She then glanced into the mirror to see her long gorgeous red hair framing….Mom’s face!

“Salvatori!” his mother screamed at him from his bedroom door.

“Whatta you do to your’a body?!”

“Maa! Get out of my room!” the seventeen year old yelled back at his mother.

“You’a dirty boy and’a maybe go to hell.” she said in her strong immigrant accent, then pulled the door shut with a slam.

His loafer hit the door after.

    Salvatori Maggio fell back into his pillow and fingered a cigarette from a soft pack and lit it. He blew smoke rings and smiled as he stared at his Mustang poster pinned to the ceiling just above his head.