Dirty
Every once in a while, she can get a little dirty. The debris that rests on the surface shows up in random spots. How I want to run a soapy sponge all over her body. Unclean is unsexy - no matter what you look like.
Yet, some people find that attractive in a person. In a car, not so much. It's reflective of its owner - dirty car, dirty man.
Preparation is key when washing your car. You spend a great deal of money and time on a machine, and you want to make sure it runs and looks as it is brand new.
First, I make sure the windows and doors are shut. Spontaneously washing the outside and inside of my car is not to my liking. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t own a convertible.
Bringing out the bucket out of the garage, I place a small blob of liquid soap inside, and fill it with water from the hose.
To ensure that I don’t get as drenched as the car, I unbutton my shirt and hang it on the fence post. Here I am. A man with flimsy shorts - which leave little to the imagination - and a bucket filled with foamy water.
As I soak the car, I recall those beer ads where several women dry-hump some undistinguishable car with large hoses between their legs, and master the technique of the hair-whip - it’s all about the hair-whip. Water is flying everywhere, yet the car remains amazingly dry.
If only.
With the sponge full of soapy goodness, I start to rub away at the grime. For a second I think I'm Paris Hilton in the commercial where she's washing an Austin Martin, while holding onto a motherfucker of a burger. Foam spooges from the sponge’s pores. Glossy bubbles float on my arms and chest. My shorts get all wet. And, on top of that, I'm scarfing down a sandwich.
Ah, to eat, perchance to dream...
After the sudsing, comes the rinsing. As the spray clears away the remnants of the bubbles, a touch of wind blows through my driveway and whips the water in another direction – mine. The cold water rebounds off the metal skin to human skin. Goosebumps appear and nipples become erect. It’s cold, refreshing, and strangely erotic.
The car is washed; no longer unclean. A shammy takes care of a few wet areas so there won’t be any water marks to mar the paint finish.
By the time I dump the leftover water in the bushes, I hear a very distinct noise. Splat. It better not be what I think it is. I turn around. The aural sensation of dread has just become a visual one. There, on the hood of my freshly washed car is a puddle of viscous, yogurt-looking liquid.
Dirty bird.
Yet, some people find that attractive in a person. In a car, not so much. It's reflective of its owner - dirty car, dirty man.
Preparation is key when washing your car. You spend a great deal of money and time on a machine, and you want to make sure it runs and looks as it is brand new.
First, I make sure the windows and doors are shut. Spontaneously washing the outside and inside of my car is not to my liking. Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t own a convertible.
Bringing out the bucket out of the garage, I place a small blob of liquid soap inside, and fill it with water from the hose.
To ensure that I don’t get as drenched as the car, I unbutton my shirt and hang it on the fence post. Here I am. A man with flimsy shorts - which leave little to the imagination - and a bucket filled with foamy water.
As I soak the car, I recall those beer ads where several women dry-hump some undistinguishable car with large hoses between their legs, and master the technique of the hair-whip - it’s all about the hair-whip. Water is flying everywhere, yet the car remains amazingly dry.
If only.
With the sponge full of soapy goodness, I start to rub away at the grime. For a second I think I'm Paris Hilton in the commercial where she's washing an Austin Martin, while holding onto a motherfucker of a burger. Foam spooges from the sponge’s pores. Glossy bubbles float on my arms and chest. My shorts get all wet. And, on top of that, I'm scarfing down a sandwich.
Ah, to eat, perchance to dream...
After the sudsing, comes the rinsing. As the spray clears away the remnants of the bubbles, a touch of wind blows through my driveway and whips the water in another direction – mine. The cold water rebounds off the metal skin to human skin. Goosebumps appear and nipples become erect. It’s cold, refreshing, and strangely erotic.
The car is washed; no longer unclean. A shammy takes care of a few wet areas so there won’t be any water marks to mar the paint finish.
By the time I dump the leftover water in the bushes, I hear a very distinct noise. Splat. It better not be what I think it is. I turn around. The aural sensation of dread has just become a visual one. There, on the hood of my freshly washed car is a puddle of viscous, yogurt-looking liquid.
Dirty bird.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
2 Comments:
You want a video post of a bird crapping on my car?
Sick.
...aye, there's the rub. What birds may come when we have shuffled of this mortal soil, should give us pause. ;)
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