Perfect Lovers

The automobile has always had a sexual allure for me. The way the engine sounds when you turn the ignition, the smell of its hot machinery under the hood, the shift knob and its peddles, an appendage and buttons that allows you complete control: speed, its growls, its groans, sighs, scrapes and screeching– if not handled properly. When the human disease kicks in ( to take anything for granted ), I usually play classical music while I drive, but when the vessel and I voyage together and are of one mind, the experience is symbiotic and visceral. The intimacy is initially overwhelming and then its familiarity, a fond comfort. My hands grip the steering wheel with ambition and a healthy dose of animal anxiety. The windshield–her eyes, I see what she sees, the road betwixt two blurring pillars in the periphery. And we carry on this way, with a fervent love affair, a silent understanding of my need to be inside her, I need her to reach my climax and destination: “Point B.” She needs me to turn her on, without me she moves not. The elements attack and she sits vulnerable and alone.

My craft has been still and sullen for countless days now. I tried to turn her on. She lit up, but she wouldn’t start. She was ready but couldn’t seem to get in the mood. I took the battery I’ve used every faithful time to AutoDrone and they said it was fine. I was a fool to entrust these people, they don’t know her personally…clandestine in every corner…she’s reserved, private.

So, I took her to the doctor and left her there. Somebody had to help me jumpstart her and it was a different experience having somebody else become involved in the process. Don’t misunderstand me, I am a pretty progressive man, but somethings take some getting used to, I suppose.

Jealousy is not something we both feel; I have allowed others to take her for a spin. I cannot be in her interiors all day. She, no doubt, enjoys the handling of foreign hands. I drive other vehicles but very rarely. We both have stared at Bugattis on the road, Ferraris and even vintage Cadillacs and sigh almost in sync.

She is both hot and cold, fast and slow, likes my possession and never tries to posses. Appreciates my attention and digs on my affection, but knows a man of my caliber, a man wired this way, a god amongst mortals, could not be contained or altered. No lover worth her salt would want to, she says ravenous revs.

I have been riding my bicycle and it helps the environment and all that considerate shit, but there is nothing like embarking on a four-wheeled rocket and moving along faster than six-hundred and sixty-six horses on the road to nowhere.

Get well soon, my cold and hot, fiery, emotionless partner…you are, one of the many, perfect lovers.

∞