My Car Slides

I've been away from writing for around six months for reasons which I will explain below. This should account for the lack of submissions in that period.

This is a collection of interlinked stories. Taken individually, none of the pieces are long enough to meet the minimum word count for a single article on this esteemed site so I've combined these shorter stories into one tale, albeit somewhat crudely strung together by a common theme.

It'll all make sense in the end, I keep telling myself. Well, hopefully it will.

Part One

The morning of Monday 22nd May 2023 began, as Monday mornings often do, very badly indeed. Well, maybe not this badly.

I was sitting in my car at traffic lights in Gateshead quietly wondering how the coming day would unfold when I was rear-ended by another vehicle. In an instant, my world was, quite literally, turned upside down and I suddenly found myself sitting on the road next to the smoking wreckage of what had been, until a few moments ago, my new Nissan Qashqai.

I don't remember much about the impact itself. I blacked-out for a moment or two so the details are lost in some small pocket of memory that I cannot yet reach although the Doctors say they'll return at some point. All I remember of the collision was that some kind soul dragged me from my vehicle, sat me down at the side of the road and told me that everything would be alright, that I shouldn't worry. "It's only a car..."

Superficially, I thought I was okay, more or less. I was a bit dazed and confused, and my nose was bleeding pretty badly but I was still conscious enough to give my name and address, and my list of medications to an attending Paramedic. However, the reflection staring back at me from the mirrored windows inside the Ambulance didn't look like me at all. In fact, I looked a lot like an extra from a Tarantino movie.

I spent the rest of the day in the Emergency Room at the Royal Victoria Infirmary where I was treated for shock, concussion and a suspected broken ankle. My husband, Alex, was at my side within the hour and he sat with me through the worst of it. The Doctors and Nurses were fantastic. Utterly brilliant.

My neighbour, Charlotte, arrived in the afternoon carrying our son. Theo was a bit upset that Mummy wasn't feeling well but he liked the Doctors and they liked him, and Theo especially liked the machines attached to Mummy's heart and especially the noises that they made. I liked them too because their staccato bleeps told me that I was still alive.

My car wasn't quite so lucky. Generally speaking, motor vehicles are not supposed to look like a concertina except when they've been through the Crusher.

It gets better. The driver who hit me (Karen!) had no licence, no insurance and her vehicle's MOT certificate had expired when Teresa May was last in office. To compound matters, Karen also failed a roadside drugs test (Cannabis, Cocaine and alcohol!) and was arrested on the spot.

The Cops paid a visit to the ER whilst I was waiting for the Attending to discharge me. Apparently, "Karen" maintained that she was innocent and that I'd just stopped my vehicle in the middle of the road for no good reason. That definitely wasn't the case because I'd been sitting behind another car, waiting for the lights to change. The Cops asked permission to examine my DashCam footage and, well, poor Karen was well and truly stuffed. Serves her right, frankly.

Anyway, I spent a night in hospital (concussion!) and was discharged the following morning with little more than a prescription for some pain killers and a crutch.

Two days later and I was mobile enough to brush my hair and wash, although my knee was still very painful and badly swollen. Seems I'd also pulled a couple of ligaments, too.

By Thursday morning, I felt well enough and secure enough to spend a small part of the day in the garden either pottering around on my crutches or lazing around on a lounger thoughtfully placed by my darling husband.

"I want to go sunbathing in the garden," I said over lunch. "You're not expecting any deliveries, are you?"

"No, none," said Alex, shaking his head. "Why?"

"Because I'd hate to be spread out on the back lawn, all naked and horny," I whispered. "And then have some hairy-arsed Amazon driver turn up with a parcel!"

"No, no," said Alex. "We're good. Nothing scheduled for the rest of the week."

"Well," I whispered. "You know where I am if you want me."

That was a hint, by the way. Yeah, husband, dearest. Come look. See if anything takes your fancy. Why not rub some lotion over my back? And maybe any other place that might need a little extra.

I went to the Walled Garden, dragged the lounger into a good position and then lay down wearing nought but a pair of sunglasses and a smile. And sun block. Proper sun block. Not the stuff they flog in ASDA or Superdrug. This is the good stuff.

Twenty minutes later and I was gently dozing whilst, at the same time, fully invested in a rather arousing fantasy involving a certain gentleman to whom I am married. Simply put, I was thoroughly moist and definitely well up for a good seeing-to, so much so that I opened an eye, had a good look around and, finding myself completely alone and unobserved, sent my left hand on a voyage of discovery south of the equator.

Twenty seconds later and I had three fingers buried up to my knuckles in my pussy, and I was on the slow, steady build up to a nice little knee trembler.

"No, don't!" I whispered, coarsely.

Yeah. I told myself off.

"Don't just... Go for it," said the Little Sex Pixie behind my eyes. "Take your time. Enjoy the moment."

Having scolded myself thoroughly for being so ridiculously impatient, I did what I always do in such circumstances. I took a deep, deep breath, listened to the still, calm voice within, and waited. From experience, there's little to be gained from coarsely hammering away at the Purple Magic Bean and everything to be lost from just digging artlessly for victory. Clumsiness usually leaves me sore and unsatisfied anyway.

Instead, I went for the gentle approach, by pretending that the fingers exploring my pubes were not really my fingers at all but instead, were those belonging to a lady friend whom I will not name for fear that she will become more than a little embarrassed, and thereafter withdraw her favours.

As usual, the routine began with some stroking, some teasing, perhaps tying my bush into little fuzzy knots before running a well manicured fingertip slowly up and down my outer labia. By pressing softly, ever so softly, the skin soon moved out of the way of its own accord, and then... Yes....

Pressing hard against my pubis with the palm of an open hand really gets me going. The greater the pressure the more I am likely to start squirming. And squirm I did.

One more thing. If one is outdoors and the sky is clear and the air is filled with scent of Honeysuckle and Cherry blossom, coupled to the buzz of a myriad of tiny insects flitting about one's head, one cannot and absolutely must not ignore the Sun's calming influence on the afternoon's proceedings.

I moved my hips around and spread my thighs to face this celestial wonder so that its warming rays could lay some healing hands against my most delicate of lady parts. I let the juices within gently trickle down my thighs and on to the blanket beneath me. It's like the caress of your favourite lover mixed with hot chocolate and a big lump of Victoria Sponge cake, and pushes me over the edge and into oblivion on every single occasion. The sensation was utterly intoxicating, to the point that I was on the point of crying, with big salty tears welling up behind my eyes.

I think this was when it finally dawned upon me how lucky I'd been. That collision could, so very easily, have gone another way entirely.

Then... the rush was upon me. I felt like a drowning sailor so suddenly was I overwhelmed by the sea swell in my belly as the blood surged up and down, up and down. A pattern of lights and shapes and shadows danced behind my eyelids and then faded and blurred into each other in a swirling tide of raw emotion. There were colours here too. Wave after wave of deep oranges and blues and reds, and then a wash of violet as the orgasm developed and then came crashing down.

Yeah, I came. Hard and fast. I had to stick my fist in my mouth to stop myself from crying out. Had anyone happened upon me then they might have assumed that I was in the midst of a convulsion but no, this is just a rather delicious orgasm.

Patience... is a virtue, as my Grandmother used to say. It works every time.

And then... seconds later, I was asleep, and I slept the perfect sleep of the recently debauched. The wet mess at the apex of my thighs was left to dry of its own accord under the warmth of the summer sun.

And I dreamed. I dreamed that my husband had wandered by carrying a cold lemonade (with ice and lemon) and a big slice of Victoria Sponge Cake (a common theme), and then he'd paused to rub lotion all over my back and lower spine, and then down the crack of my ass for some extra special fun but...

Alas... Nothing. He was busy with work, I guess.

And then the dream went a bit sour.

I could hear something foreign at the very edge of my conscious mind. Footsteps. Big, coarse, clumsy footsteps, and they were getting closer.

No, I certainly hadn't heard the delivery van pull up at the front of the house and neither did I fully comprehend the footsteps of the delivery driver as they made their way around the side of the house and into the back garden. Why not go directly to my husband's workshop? If it was locked up then why not knock on the front door, maybe leave the parcel in the Reception Hall the way they usually do? No, this particular delivery driver went directly to the back garden and...

Cough.

Cough.

I opened an eye.

A tall dark figure was looming over me.

I panicked, screamed, and then grabbed whatever I could to cover myself, which just happened to be a huge and somewhat faded U2 T-shirt left over from another age.

"Could you sign here?" said the voice, which was softer and warmer than that of your average Amazon Prime driver.

"Sorry, what?"

"Could you sign here?" she repeated.

Okay, so... The good news. He was a she, and she wasn't an Amazon Prime driver, and neither was she one of those disgusting semi-literate slobs in the employ of DPD. Her name was Laura and she works for one of Alex's friends. Her company supplies electronic parts.

Laura is also very nice. Very nice indeed, and Alex has often remarked that he could just see Laura and I rolling around in the sack together. I can too but that's beside the point.

Sixty four million dollar question... How long had Laura spent looking up my bits? As nice as it sounds, err, no...

I signed the delivery note with my usual squiggle and then watched in awe as Laura skipped off with a smile and a wave. I made her day, apparently.

Then more footsteps. Yes, the sound of footsteps running on gravel. Someone was making a hasty exit. I looked around in time to see Alex retreating into his workshop where he locked the door and switched off all the lights.

I screamed at him. I wasn't very lady-like either.

I slipped the U2 t-shirt over my head, hobbled over to Alex's workshop on my crutches and hammered on his door. Unsurprisingly, there was no response. I'm convinced he was in there, hiding. I called him a few nasty names too, just for good measure, and swore vengeance.

Furious, I went to the house and slipped on some proper clothing. I then rang up Laura's company and asked to speak to the owner, Alan, who was happy to confirm that, yes, Alex had placed an emergency order - to be delivered in less than two hours. He'd left specific instructions too. If the workshop was locked up then the driver should take the parcel around to the back garden, where someone could sign for it. Alan himself had taken the call and he confirmed that the order had been placed at twelve thirty three, which would have been around five minutes after I told Alex that I was heading to the garden for a bit of naked time. Alex didn't even need to specify Laura because Laura is their one and only delivery driver.

Personally, I'm just glad that Laura wasn't on holiday.

The phone line went quiet. I could hear voices in the background. Laura had evidently returned from her rounds, and then I could hear laughter, and my surname muttered in hushed and reverent tones.

Yeah, I get it, Alex. Big laugh. Big, big laugh. Very funny.

I swore I'd get him. I really did.

#2

Skip forward three days.

Although I was still hobbling around on crutches, I was well and truly on the mend. That said, the flashbacks were still a major problem and I'd already lost a lot of sleep but... I was starting to feel grateful that I'd come out of the accident in one piece. Indeed, I was feeling well enough in myself to potter about the house and garden, and think about planting out a bunch of Sweet Peas and some Cosmos seedlings that had run away with themselves.

On this occasion, the garden was unfathomably hot, which was odd because there were rain clouds everywhere. Alas, it seemed that every time I tried to get outside into the fresh air the heavens would open and I'd soon find myself running (hobbling!) for cover. It happened so often that I just decided to go find a rain coat and brave the downpour for as long as it took to purge itself.

I decided to take a wander over to our new Wildlife reserve, which is my new go-to place for rest and recuperation. Back in Mediaeval times, our reserve had been a duck pond but it was filled in during the reign of Queen Victoria to make the lawns bigger. Alex and I decided to restore it to its original function, partly to create a wildlife corridor and partly to place a major barrier in the path of those locals who feel that it in some way acceptable to simply drive over said lawns in a scruffy Ford Transit van and steal our solar panels.

Anyway, all was well with the Reserve so I set off back to base camp still hobbling along on my crutches. I wasn't even a quarter of the way home when the sky really opened and I arrived at my back door soaked to the skin and with my waterlogged clothes pretty much hanging off me in one big soggy mess.

Once indoors, I stripped down to my underwear and then beyond. The house was empty and I figured I was safe to wander around suitably Sky Clad. That said, I was also really determined to get out into the garden.

I went into the Wet Room where I found an old plastic Poncho, which was completely watertight but also completely see-thru. Given that I was on my lonesome and we weren't expecting visitors, I slipped the Poncho over my head, found a dry pair of boots and went out into the garden to get on with re-trussing my Sweet Peas.

You want to know the truth? I looked just about as far away from sexy as you can possibly imagine. The Poncho looked stupid and the boots just looked utterly laughable, like a character from a Monty Python sketch. Did I care? No. I felt incredibly happy. I love my garden and I love gardening without the fuss and bother of clothing. I was naked but then not naked, if you catch my drift. I couldn't help but look down at my chubby little thighs and my fat ankles, and laugh, and then wondered why I hadn't discovered this pleasure before now.

Ten minutes later and the heavens opened once again. I didn't care. I was warm and snug and dry in my crappy plastic Poncho and... I kinda lost myself in the moment. Wearing this thing was a bit of an experience. Boobs bouncing free and unfettered, swinging and swaying back and forth and the wind blowing up your backside. Quite a liberating experience albeit a little strange even when you get used to it.

After an hour or so, and pretty much as I expected, the Poncho began to steam up, thanks to a heady mix of sweaty person and a lot of evaporating rain water. My stomach announced that it was time for food so I decided that I was done for the day. I quickly swept down the muddy pathways then picked up my tools and retreated indoors.

Thing was, that Poncho... I couldn't really hear all that much because it's made of quite heavy, thick plastic and it makes a lot of noise whenever you move. Worse, my glasses had steamed up so I couldn't really see all that much either.

So when I walked into the kitchen and hauled that damned silly Poncho over my head before tossing it back into the Wet Room, I wasn't really expecting to come face to face with Alex and Theo, who were sitting quietly at the kitchen table. Both of them did a rather theatrical double-take, their eyes wide and their mouths open. Alex was plainly struggling not to choke on a mouthful of cake.

And neither was I expecting to see my Bestie, Charlotte, sitting by Theo's side, discussing the relative merits of Marmalade sandwiches in relation to a small Bear called Paddington. As regular readers may know, Charlotte and I have a history, and I have no problem with her seeing my bits. She's seen them a lot in recent weeks too so... No worries.

No, they weren't really the problem.

Charlotte's parents, Alan and Nancy, were the problem. They were sitting opposite Alex, and whilst they're not exactly Old School, even they did something of a double take when they came face-to-face with my dangly boobs and my hairy foof.

I screamed.

I screamed again in case nobody heard me the first time.

And I screamed again just for good measure whilst I went running into the Wet Room.

A round of whoops and yells immediately filled the air, like the weirdest home-coming parade you've never seen. And despite several loud protests that Mummy should once again start running around in her birthday suit, I refused to come out and show myself until Alex handed me something to cover my modesty.

Instead, he handed me a tea towel that was barely big enough to cover my torso. Gee thanks.

I pleaded for something more substantial. Alex tossed me a dish clothe.

"Ha, ha. Very funny," I said, trying not to sound annoyed. "Come on, man! Gimme a break. This isn't fair."

Alex tossed me a tiny dishwashing sponge barely big enough to cover my belly button.

"Fair enough," I shouted and just walked out of the Wet Room as bold as brass, one arm folded over my chest, the other jammed into my thighs. My eyes fixed on Alex as I limped past and I mouthed something like "You are an utter twat..."

A round of applause followed, as did another series of loud whoops and jeers, accompanied by much giggling and demands for an encore.

"Very funny!" I shouted as I hobbled off upstairs accompanied by a roaring cacophony. It knew, in an instant, that it would take a long, long time to live this one down.

Alas, I could only manage two or three steps before I had to give up. My knee hurt too much and my ankle hurt more. However, before I had time to call out, Alex was at my side with my crutches and a sizeable bath towel. Oh, and a supporting arm, too.

Behind him, and still smiling and hooting for an encore, were my family including Alan and Nancy.

"Fuck it!" I whispered. "I'm an exhibitionist!"

So instead of running off, I pushed Alex out of the way, let the towel drop and I stood there at the bottom of the stairs, my hands on my hips, totally owning the moment.

"Enjoying the view? Yes, good... There! That's your lot!"

Alex was at my side a second or so later, laughing like an idiot. He helped me dress and then walked me back to the kitchen where Charlotte was waiting with a cup of tea, a slab of cake and a video of my performance.

I couldn't help but smile, frankly.

And I'm still smiling.

#3

The morning after the Poncho episode, Charlotte rang me to say that she and her family were heading to Bristol to visit Charlotte's Grandmother.