Chapter 13: The Mechanics

I am one of those old-school doofuses who insists on doing my own routine maintenance on my car. Fortunately, I have a car that is sufficiently old-school that it’s actually still possible to do some maintenance myself. So, at appropriate intervals, I change the oil, change the filters, the engine coolant, spark plugs, and, if necessary, tighten any belts that look like they might need it.

I let Jen know that this was my plan for the morning and asked if she’d like to watch, or even join in.

She was all for it, although, in all honesty, I think she would have been “all for” anything that we could do together.

She came over to my garage in an old pair of jeans, an old T-shirt, and old canvas sneakers with years’ of grunge on them. Perfect for the morning’s agenda.

Jen’s actually a pretty good mechanic’s helper. She already knows how to change a tire, having helped me when I had to put a fixed flat back on my car. In fact, she did a lot of the work herself, and she really only needed me to show her how to set up the jack, and to loosen a stuck lug nut on the “donut” spare tire that I’d had on the car. After that, I just had to make sure the lug nuts were on tight enough after she had finished putting on the repaired tire, and to replace the wheel cover (it’s kind of tricky getting it lined up just right so it’ll stay on).

Anyhow, we work well together. I explained what we were going to do, and why we were doing it. I started by pointing out the plastic basin I use to let the old oil drain into, and while she was getting that, I found a wrench socket that looked to be about the right size, and then I crawled in under the car.

When I asked, Jen pushed the drain basin underneath to me, and I explained how I was going to loosen the plug on the oil pan and try to snatch my hand out of the way before it got drenched in the warm old oil. I asked her to bring over the new oil filter I had shown her and to take it out of the box and have it ready so we could put the old filter into the box,

When the oil had just about stopped dripping, I carefully extended my hand that was holding the old filter, and Jen took it and carefully placed it, bottom-up, in the empty box and put it where we wouldn’t accidentally kick it over. While I replaced the oil drain plug, I told Jen about getting a little bit of oil off the rim of the old filter and smearing it around the rubber gasket on the new filter so it would make a good seal. She did that and then handed the new filter to me, and while I screwed it on, Jen carefully slid the basin of old oil out from underneath the car and shoved it over to a safe place.

I slid out from under the car and stood up. “How’d you like to change the air filter? It’s up top, so you don’t have to crawl under anything.”

“Sure – could I?”

“Absolutely.”

I opened the hood and showed her how to position the brace. Then I showed her the air filter housing and pointed out the clamps that hold the cover in place.

“Think you can take it from here?”

She hesitated, but just for a moment. “I think so. Let me see the new filter so I’ll have an idea of what I’m s’posed to do when I get it open.”

All I did after that was get the new filter out of the box. My darling Jen sized up the task, figured out how the cover clamps worked, opened them without help, swapped the filters, replaced the cover (after several tries to get it lined up right), and finished clamping the cover back into place.

She backed herself out from under the hood and looked at me. She was trying to look cool and nonchalant, but it was obvious that she was proud of herself for doing it all without any help.

And I looked at her – at the dirty sneakers, and the old jeans, and the T-shirt, wet with her sweat so that it clung to the pointed tips of her growing breasts. And at her long, curly hair, now damp with perspiration. And at the smudge of oil on the tip of her nose. And I felt a surge of love growing in my heart. Also, I felt another surge growing in my worn-out jeans.

“Jen, I want to fuck you.”

She looked me straight in the eyes. “Do it.”

I stepped over to her and grabbed her, one hand squeezing her tight, round ass through the thin fabric of her worn jeans, the other hand squeezing the sweaty T-shirt and the sweaty tit inside it, and we locked mouths and tongues.

I slid her old T-shirt up to her armpits and latched my mouth onto one of those pointy little tits, and I licked, and I sucked, and I bit, and then I licked to sooth any pain, and then I sucked again. Then I moved to the other nipple. All the while, Jen had her arms around tight around my head, kissing my hair, then pulling it, the rubbing her lips back and forth on my forehead, occasionally gasping my name.

This wasn’t nearly enough for either of us. I dropped to my knees and unsnapped her old jeans and yanked them down to the ground. I tried to bury my face in her pussy, but her legs were too close together, so I bent down and forced one of her jeans legs over her sneaker and to the ground, and that way she was able to spread her legs and lift one of them so I could get my face into that pussy I was dying to eat.

Yes, eat. I wanted to do everything my mouth could possibly do. At that moment, it was a nasty little pussy, and I wanted every bit of it. I wanted to lick, suck, bite, swallow – if she’d squirted some piss, I would have devoured it instantly.

This was exciting as hell, but it was not what either of us wanted. It was Jen who took control. She pushed me back from her and grabbed at the button of my jeans (no belt) and shoved them down to the ground and got one leg free.

Before things went any farther, I managed to free myself from her and hobble over to the garage door opener button, and I succeeded in hitting it so the door started on its way down before any observant neighbors called the cops.

Jen guided me back against the car and grabbed my cock, which was now directly in front of her, and guided it in her mouth. Then she did something she has never done before – she grabbed my ass cheeks with both hands and pulled me all the way into her mouth. I can’t recall Jen ever taking my entire cock into her mouth. It had to be in all the way to her throat, but she didn’t stop or let go – she just held me like that, trying to force her face closer and closer to me, holding my cock deep inside her mouth.