Hi Folks. As I warned you last week this story is kind of out there. I'm prepared already for the "But it wasn't her fault," chorus. And the "violence is not the answer," choir as well. Normally my stories tend to be in the middle, neither BTB nor "let her get away with it," stories but this one is on the crazy side. It bears absolutely no resemblance to anything I'd suggest or admit to in real life so let's look at this as kind of a "What if" fantasy. Those of you who don't like violence or BTB and all of her friends stories should probably skip this one. If you choose to read it anyway, you don't get to whine about it, because I did warn you. Thanks as usual to mikothebaby for editing this story with her usual skill and sense of humor. Once again try to remember this is only a story.
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"What's the last thing you remember?" asked the voice. The lights in my eyes were so bright that I couldn't see who was barking the questions at me. I had a feeling that something bad had happened though.
Throughout my life, a lot of bad things had happened to me. They always say that God never gives us more than we can handle. The problem is that God thinks we can handle hurricanes, floods, cancer and losing the people we love most.
"I remember so many things," I said.
"Let's just start with this evening," he spat. I heard a touch of a southern accent. And the voice was raspy like a guy who'd spent too many nights nursing scotch while smoking.
"I had a date," I began. "I met her at the restaurant. First dates are weird. You never know what to expect or whether or not there'll be any chemistry. But I wasn't interested in chemistry with this woman. You see I knew that she was a whore just like the rest of them."
"I didn't always feel that way. It took me a long time to realize it. But once I did, it was an epiphany of sorts. I knew I had a calling. That was when I realized that I'd been called by the Lord."
I noticed then even through the haze and glare of the lights that they were looking at each other.
"I started out life as plain old Aidan Williams. I was married to my high school sweetheart and we lived in a nice house. I worked as a CNC set up man for one of the largest automotive after-market parts companies in the state. I guess you can say that I'm average. I'm just not the kind of person who stands out in a crowd. I kind of blend into the background."
"Over the years, I've tried to do things to make myself stand out more. Some of my friends told me that the reason I kept getting passed over for promotions and things like that at work isn't because of my work. The quality of my work and the quantity of it seems to suggest that I should have advance far beyond my station years ago. My personality, or lack of one, is what's holding me back."
"Bill, my friend, told me that I didn't necessarily need to change my personality, I just needed to do or get something that people would remember so they'd remember me. He told me that at several of the manager's meetings when positions came up, they could never remember that I'd be perfect for them. He said that it was mostly because they simply didn't remember me. I was like a chair or any other piece of furniture. I was extremely necessary to have around but no one spent a lot of time thinking about furniture."
"I racked my brain trying to think of something to make myself more memorable. Finally I decided to ask my wife, Wendy, what I could do."
"She just smiled and ran her finger across my arm. Her face and her touch radiated so much love that I could feel it even when we weren't together. Wendy's not a world class beauty. She's just a typical suburban housewife. She's more of a MSOGF than a MILF. She's not a troll but she's not one of those Victoria's Secret models turned moms either. She's short and kind of chunky. She has big boobs and a big butt and she wears glasses. She can look pretty good in a tight black dress, but I suspect that most women can, if given the right motivation."
"I'm not trying to downplay her attractiveness because to me she was the best looking woman, ever. I loved her and I still do. I'm just trying to be honest about what she looked like. Wendy told me to just be myself. She said that I was a nice guy and sooner or later, if I just kept on doing the right things, good things would happen for me."
"Wendy," I said. "In my whole life, only one good thing has ever happened to me."
"What's that?" she asked.
"I got you," I said. Her smile brightened up the room and she came over and hugged me. She rubbed those huge boobs of hers against me and I was ready.
"Calm down cowboy," she said. "We're going to have to wait until later for that. Two other very good things that happened to us aren't asleep yet. We don't want them to hear their mommy grunting and moaning like a slut and begging to be fucked, do we?"
"I shook my head but my dick got even harder when she said that. I went outside and worked on my then current home improvement project. It seems like I'm always doing something around the house. Anyway, as I worked, I thought about what I could do to be more noticeable, maybe not to my family, but to the people at work."
"And it finally hit me. It struck me like lightning. And it was something that I wanted anyway. The Mustang would be perfect for that. Every day, as I made the drive to work, I passed a car dealership. For the past week, I'd noticed a bright shiny yellow Mustang on the lot. It wasn't a brand new car. It was a couple of years old. It was a 2009 GT. I wanted it badly. It was the car of my dreams. Sometimes as I sat there at that red light, I imagined myself driving it."
"Until that day, imagining was as far as it had gotten. I knew every single reason why I couldn't have the car. It was expensive. The car, at north of thirty thousand dollars, though inexpensive for a dream, cost almost twice what we'd paid for our Toyota."
"It was also impractical. There was no way that, my wife and I, plus our two small children were going to fit in that car. Even though our children were barely school aged we just wouldn't all fit. Then there was the cost of gas. Instead of my fuel sipping econo-box with its tiny and very practical four cylinder engine; that beast was powered by a gas guzzling V-8 that until it was tamed, would shred tires as quickly as it drank fuel."
"Somehow just the thought of the car's ungodly shrieking as I smoked the tires and left a trail of blackened road surface behind me at a stop light made me giddy. I imagined myself as I flipped down my sunglasses at the next light and apologized to the driver next to me."
"Sorry, this thing gets away from me sometimes," I said to her with a boyish smile.
"Shit, I'd have to buy just the right sunglasses for that," I thought. "But anyway I couldn't have the car. My insurance costs would also go through the fucking roof. And we live in the snow belt. What the hell would I drive in the winter? Controlling or trying to control all of that horsepower on ice was ludicrous."
"If we were going to do it at all, it would mean that we couldn't trade the Toyota in. We'd have to keep it for winter transportation. With no trade in, that would make the price even steeper and even further outside of my budget. Yep, I knew every reason why I couldn't buy the car. I couldn't think of a single reason that I should."
"But maybe the problem wasn't the car. That Mustang had never done anyone on this planet wrong. Perhaps the problem was with me. Maybe the real reason that I couldn't have the car was my lack of imagination. That, coupled with my lack of balls and my lack of personality, was why I was in the position I was in."
"One good reason for me having the car was the fact that everyone would notice it. Wasn't that my goal here in the first place? And having the car would instantly catapult me from being plain old Aidan that no one remembered, to Aidan with the Mustang. Shit, no one would forget, Mustang Aidan. Everyone would look at me like that woman from the stop light. That bitch knew she wanted me. Or at least she would have if she'd actually existed."
"I could still see her sitting there in her lesser vehicle with her panties so wet she was in danger of drowning. I could smell her pussy from here. But there was no way I'd take her up on what her imaginary eyes were offering. I was a family man. I would use the awesome power of the Mustang for good and..."
"Aidan...?" the sound of Wendy's voice dragged me back to reality. "Aidan uhm, Honey dinner is ready. Aidan, why'd you hammer ten or twelve nails right there in the same spot?"
"I uh, was lost in my thoughts," I gushed.
"I'll bet I know what you were thinking about," she smirked. "I didn't realize that I was marrying a sex maniac. You're acting like you haven' had any in a while. It's only been since last night Tiger. Are you trying to get me pregnant again?"
"She had an extra little hitch in her giddy up as she sashayed away from me. I decided to put off telling her about the car until I got some hard figures."
"On my way home the next day, I stopped to look at the car. Up close, it was even more awesome. The car was clearly not stock. The thing I'd thought was a hood scoop was the top of the engine sticking through a hole in the hood that was designed for the purpose."
"Something just felt weird. As I approached the car, I felt as if I was being watched. There was probably a salesman around. I reached out to touch the shiny yellow paint that was broken up only by black racing stripes and it almost seemed as if the car backed away from my touch. When I finally got my hand on it, the car felt warm to the touch. That freaked me out. The car felt as if it was a sentient being. It had to be the heat of the sun that warmed the cool metal up...didn't it."
"A very jovial, fat salesman leaped out of the bushes with vision of sugar plums...I mean commission dancing before his eyes."
"So How ya doin' buddy?" he asked. "Would ya like to test drive this beauty?"
"Well I'm not..." I began.
"Come on," he cajoled. "Whattaya got ta lose?" He tilted his head and nodded it. I started wondering which game show he was the host of."
"Here, relax, just sit down on this thick rich leather and then tell me you don't want to drive it?" he said. "Let me open the..."
"He started reaching for the door handle and both door locks snapped into the locked position. It was the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"He just looked at me and then erupted in that huge fake ass smile again." He pointed at me with both of his thumbs pointed skywards while both index fingers were aimed straight at me as if they were pistols."
"I don't have the keys to this one on me," he said. "Let me show you this nice Camaro. I think I have one with that exact color scheme."
"My face soured and he noticed it."
"How about a Lincoln?" he asked.
"I really had my heart set on that yellow Mustang?" I told him.
"Okay, Bud, I'll go and get the keys. It's a great car, but it's kind of finicky. I think it has a short in the electrical panel. If you want to buy it, I'll have my electrical guys go over it. Maybe we can shave a little off of the price. I can't go too far though because that's a pretty God damned special car. It's got that Ford Racing engine in it."
"You should hear that motor. The one time we test drove it, it sounded like the gates of hell opening up when the guy chirped the tires."
"He came back a few minutes later and tentatively pointed an electronic key fob at the car. The look on his face was anything but confident as he pressed the button. I listened, expecting to hear the locks open, but heard nothing. It was as if the car had just decided that it didn't want to open."
"The frustration was written all over his face as he approached the car."
"Hope you don't mind doing this the old fashioned way until I get this God damned electrical system sorted out," he said. "It's still an awesome car though...are you sure you don't want to at least try that Camaro?"
"He inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, then reached to open the door, which still refused to open. He yanked on the door handle so hard I thought it might come off but it wouldn't open. He grabbed the keys from his pocket again. "God damned car," I heard him utter under his breath. He re-inserted the key and twisted it viciously as if he was trying to hurt the car. I heard a loud snap and he doubled over in pain, holding his wrist."
"It appeared that he had sprained or broken his wrist trying to unlock the car."
"Joe," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "He was rubbing his wrist which appeared to be swelling quickly. It also appeared that he had no movement in his fingers. A huge hulking guy came from the service department."
"Whut do ya want?" he asked the salesman.
"I want this God damned car open," screamed the now red-faced salesman.
"Yuh should probably try the key," said Joe.
"Try the key," mimicked the angry salesman mimicking Joe's voice accent and delivery. He gave Joe the keys then.
"Joe pointed the fob at the car and nothing happened. Then he took the keys and tried to open the door manually."
"The 'lectronic thingy don't work," said Joe. "The key don't work either."
"I already know that," said the steaming salesman.
"Well you should get somebody from the servicer department over here pronto, chief," said Joe.
"Joe," grimaced the salesman. "Where do you work?"
"Ah work in the service depart...Oh, I get yuh. You want me ta fix her, right?"
"You're a genius," smirked the salesman. He led me away from the car. I kept looking over my shoulder. Joe had gone and retrieved a huge crowbar. I was afraid for the car but I probably shouldn't have been. Joe put his nearly four hundred pounds of body into the crowbar trying to pop the door loose."
"He's not going to damage the car is he?" I asked.
"He's a professional," said the salesman. "Can you come back first thing in the morning to test drive it?"
"How about, this same time tomorrow?" I asked.
"Even better," he said.
"I looked back at the car and Joe was putting so much pressure on the heavy crow bar that it was bending. As I turned to leave, the crowbar suddenly snapped back towards Joe, striking him in the center of his forehead. Joe's body hit the ground before the crowbar did and he wasn't moving."
"See you tomorrow," said the salesman, waving an arm where the wrist was as big as Popeye's.
"I didn't mention the car to Wendy when I got home. But I was even more determined to have it. And I had a couple of ways I might get the money for the down payment."
"The next day, I returned to the lot after work. I noticed then that the car wasn't on the lot. I figured that they must've moved into the service area to work on the electrical system."
"I'd barely gotten out of my car when my salesman came over. His wrist was in a cast, but he still tried to smile."
"Where's my car?" I asked.
"We uhm sold it," he said. "It was one of the other salesmen. I tried to hold it for you. I even kept the keys. It was the weirdest thing. Remember how we couldn't get the God damned doors to open? Some guy named Tim just walked up to that car and it opened right up, like it was his pet pony. He bought the damned thing without even test driving it. I did call our other lot, though. I'll have another Mustang over here for you to try out in a couple of days."
"I think he could tell that I was disappointed."
"Hey, maybe that car just wasn't for you. Shit, I wouldn't have wanted it. That fucking car broke my God damned wrist and I got off lucky. The fucking thing is weird. Usually I can sell a Mustang in a couple of days or less. That car sat on my lot for over two weeks. First off, that loud ass yellow just isn't everyone's cup of tea. With that big assed motor in it, I have to sell that car at a premium price just to get my investment back and it's not this year's model or even last year's. And third, please don't look at me like I'm crazy, but there's something odd about that car. It's like it got a mind of its own. You're a nice guy. I'll find you something but that car just wasn't for you. The truck driver who delivered it is still in the hospital. He has noting good to say about it."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"He delivered the car along with five others on his car hauler. When he took the chains off of it and rolled it down the ramp...it must've been one of those weird scientific anomalies. I think he parked the truck on a hill so that the ramp was actually facing uphill. Anyway he put it in neutral and rolled it off of the truck and a little bit away from the truck so he could get the next car off. He turned around and the car rolled back up the ramp and crushed him between it and the other car. He has all kinds of internal injuries. The weird thing is that his body actually cushioned the blow enough that there wasn't a scratch on the car. And then, there's uh Joe..." he said looking downwards.
"As I left the lot that day, I realized that maybe the car was right. Perhaps I had been judged, I had been measured and I'd been found wanting. Perhaps I just wasn't Mustang material."
"When I drove home, the nineteen year old girl from down the street was taking care of my kids. She told me that Wendy had gone out grocery shopping and hadn't wanted to take the kids with her. There was nothing unusual about that. Wendy often borrowed her sister's car and did our shopping or ran errands while I was at work. What was unusual was that she wasn't back by the time I got home."
"Becky, the babysitter, looked me over and smiled."
"Where's Wendy?" I asked.
"She's out shopping," said Becky. "I guess it's just you and me."
"And the kids," I interjected, feeling nervous. "So how's, uh school?"
"I'm out," she said. "She moved closer to me then."
"Oh, so what college are you going to in the fall?" I asked.
"I'm not going to college," she said moving closer again. "I want to experience what life has to offer. I feel that experiential learning imparts its subject matter on a more primal level. And the lessons stay with us for far longer than things we simply memorize and regurgitate on demand."
"Uh, what kind of degree do you get from that?" I gulped. "I noticed that Becky was wetting her lips and looking up at me. Her lithe teenaged body was very ripe. Her breasts, while not nearly as large as Wendy's were upturned and hadn't been ravaged by gravity or child birth. Her legs were long and lean and so tan that they seemed impossibly beautiful in the casual shorts she wore."
"Her young ass was a work of art. One of her legs brushed against mine as she moved yet again. The stirrings in my nether regions told me that although my mind wasn't interested, my body was fully capable of accepting the situation."
"The phone rang and saved me from what could have been a tragic and ultimately premature situation."
"Hello," I gulped out. "The voice on the phone immediately snapped me back to reality. "I'll be right there," I practically screamed.
"I hung the phone up and turned to Becky. She was still looking at me like I was a chocolate dripped brownie during the craving point of her period."
"Can you watch the kids for a little bit longer?" I asked. "Wendy's in the hospital."
"When I got to the hospital, I was directed to a room where a bunch of cops both in and out of uniforms were swarming. As I approached the group, they all looked at me with the same mixture of pity and suspicion on their faces. I didn't have time for any of their bullshit so I started to just move through them and into the room."
"Cops apparently react to certain situations the same way that dogs do. It's just hard wired into their brains. When they see something run, they chase it. In this situation, they saw me as moving into the area that they thought they controlled, so they had to question me. Although I hadn't done anything wrong and had a perfect right to be there, they needed to establish control over the situation."