Two bits:

First, I don’t care how dedicated a person is to their job, I’m not dedicated enough to keep making deliveries after I get a slug through the leg. And no hazzard pay would be enough to continue doing the job, either.

And second — The PizzaMan: the only endorsement that counts.

I wet myself.

So I saw her again today for the first time in longer than I thought possible. It would be difficult to describe again how we came to be separated — there is a search function on this blog, you know, use that — and while this morning it seemed like we’d been apart for years, seeing her again, it seemed like only yesterday we’d been parted against our will, result of someone else’s bad judgement.

She looked so beautiful there, against the brick wall, the sun gazing down on this cold autumn day. Despite the chill in the air, I felt a rush of warmth. I imagine she’s upset with me, I cheated on her - she’s a foreigner, exotic and dangerous and expensive, and I was with a domestic - what they say is true, American made just doesn’t compete. I don’t think thats what upset her the most, though, she knows I was looking for another foreigner to replace her with. I could see it in those aggressively slanted eyes of hers, that subtle not-quite-a-knowing-smile across her lips, the reflection of light on her brow. Of course, she has in recent weeks been manhandled by rough men with rough hands, they’ve mistreated her, in a fashion, but did so to make her better. I wish I could explain more clearly than that … but I can’t.

We didn’t talk, old instincts took over. I ran my hand along her skin, so smooth and clean. Sometimes I forgot quite how well she cleans up. I don’t like her cleaned up, I like her looking a bit down on her luck, firm believer I am of “its not whats on the outside that counts, but rather the inside.” She’s got one hell of an inside, a powerful beating heart and an incredibly firm grip that make up for her other … flaws.

I love how she feels when I’m inside of her, how she responds to my touch, she hums, purrs, roars - she’s amazing and its almost like flying. When she’s really going, she presses against you and it’s feels like you’re rocketing into space. I’d feared I’d forgotten how to touch her, but everything came back as I entered her and appraised her with experienced hands and eyes. With her the touch is everything, a light foot is needed, its important to be able to judge - by the vibrations through your legs - whether she’s ready to go or not, and switching over, releasing the one and increasing pressure on the other is vital — I wonder, sometimes, if someone not used to her delicate sensibilities can get her to roar quite the way I can. In the past, I’m usually rough with her - she doesn’t mind, I take good care of her, but today was gentle and passionate.

Today, I got my lover back.

And I promptly toasted every fucking ricer between the Body Shop and my apartment with her, I took the long way mind you, putting her to the test on every country road and highway I could find. The Barts were right - she’s better than ever, purrin’ like a sports car should, and gleaming in the sun.

Goddamn do I love ownin’ me a sports car.

(And, no, I’m not literally having sex with my car.)

(I tried to turn her on and she wouldn’t, then I realized I’d gotten so used to that fuckin’ automatic I hadn’t even put my left foot near the clutch.)

(If you’re counting, its been twenty-nine days since the accident).