Manual Transmissions, a Story

The sidecar companion piece to Rear View Auto Show. I'm on a roll, rolling down the highway...

Manual Transmissions
© 2008 by EllaRegina
I

While he was teaching me how to drive a stick I would grasp Alberto's flaccid cock in bed at night and review the day's lesson, using his flesh to move from first into second gear, then to third, idling in neutral, by which time he was usually hard and would fuck me well beyond fifth gear.

II

Sometimes, when Alberto was behind the wheel, I would reach across and try to pull his cock out and tease it as I had in bed. Were he not such an excellent driver we would have been killed several times, or arrested by the Carabinieri. Once, on the Autostrada del Sole, I leaned over Alberto's busy hand, coaxed his fat prick out of his baggy pants, put it between my lips and sucked him until he had to pull onto the shoulder and stop the car. If my skull had a blowhole Alberto would have spouted some Abstract Expressionism onto the soft ceiling upholstery.

III

The round-knobbed black leather stick shift on Alberto's Fiat was so inviting that I slid it into myself—once I'd sufficiently mastered the gears—using my pussy to shift up or down while Alberto manned the wheel and pedals. I was very happy to relinquish the clutch. We somehow managed this vehicular collaboration and tooled around most of Tuscany one summer quite successfully in this fashion—a shaft of leather and metal rammed inside me as I rode shotgun—my pussy driving the car. It was a great feeling, knowing how to work a stick.


Copyright 2008 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.

Rear View Auto Show, a Story

The result of another 250-word story contest presented by Alison Tyler: "Auto Erotica." No, not that kind of auto-erotica, but the sort involving sex and a vehicle. She invited us to start revving our engines and so I did, even though the particular automobile I describe is not moving. That would have been very dangerous.

Fasten your seatbelts for a nasty ride...

Rear View Auto Show
© 2008 by EllaRegina
Just the idea of it turned me on. Roger, too.

Me kneeling in our car trunk, naked from the waist down, ass and pussy hanging out, bungee cords holding the lid closed, hiding the rest of my body. We'd been driving cross-country when I thought of it, taking scenic-view pauses in designated highway stops.

Lots of semis were parked, especially at night, brawny Marlboro men in the front cabs trying to catch my eye. Furtive movements blurred below their windows; it was monkey-spank time for these lonely roadsters. So, I figured, why not help them out?

Roger suggested doing it Candid Camera-style. He'd hide within eyeshot until a curious trucker bounced from loaded rig to investigate. Then Roger would appear, make sure the driver wasn't Charles Manson, and hand over a condom.

"Yeah, that's my woman in there. She digs the idea of being fucked by a stranger. Go for it, dude."

He'd discreetly move out of range, letting the man have at me.

There was a string of them one night—Roger would make an ace pimp—and several of those latex-covered cocks made me scream and reel inside my little carpeted space, crowbar within reach should anybody get out of hand, but nobody did.

Sometimes a sweaty head poked in asking my name. I didn't want a name. I was just an ass and pussy getting fucked in the trunk of a car at a rest stop along the Interstate. The ultimate mooning—shining orb and telescopes, anonymous all.

Copyright 2008 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.

LINES, a Story

I rubbed my shiny genie lamp mid-May and who should pop out in a fragrant wisp but my inspiration, Alison Tyler, with another 250-word story contest I'm hallucinating was originally called "All About Ink." At any rate, it was being held in honor of that particular liquid because Alison had just launched a blog dedicated to tattoos.

She led us to the diving boards: "Do with ink what you will. Tattoo you? Sure. Dip a quill pen in it? Fine," she cooed. And so, peering down into the deep dark possibility pool, I jumped...


LINES
© 2009 by EllaRegina
Eve had beautiful lines. She enjoyed showing them off. Mornings she visited each reporter's desk, loaded tray slung around neck—the office version of cigarette and candy girls pacing movie aisles at intermission, hawking their wares.

Eve was a filler girl. Her tray held ink bottles, dangerously-pointed unmolested nibs, typewriter ribbon spools, sharpened pencils, even packs of Lucky Strikes. She filled my inkwell just so—bending over the desk, behind slightly perked upward like a bunnytail, ample breasts oscillating above my writing pad. I could smell the perfumed handkerchief wedged between those glorious pendulums, see the minute rose tattoo anchoring Eve's nape to heart-stopping body. I had to have her.

I followed Eve to the supply closet. Her posterior twisted with her gait—angling right-left like windshield wipers—stocking seams running heels-skyward, directionals to Eve's fine rump. Always straight, those lines, perfect as the rest of her.



She locked the door behind us. A chair stood amid the supplies—I sat. Eve dove across my thighs, facedown, her lines' destination wiggling hello.

"Spank me."

My hand lifted and descended, slapping tweed.

"Harder."

I struck more forcefully.

"I need to feel it," she said, unzipping her skirt, slipping it floorward, leaving a view: pink satin tap-pants, garter belt ribbons securing stockings, unwavering seam lines.

I spanked repeatedly, producing high-decibel squeals.

"They might hear us, Eve. Quiet, or I'll have to fill your mouth with that handkerchief."

In my increased enthusiasm I rolled down underpants, garter belt, stockings, exposing porcelain skin—heels to mid-thigh tattooed with straight brown lines.


Copyright 2009 EllaRegina. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without prior written permission from the author.

K is for Kreativ.

Another day, another surprise, or rather a double surprise. I was nominated for the mysterious Kreativ Blogger Award by two of my utterly awesome writer-magician friends. Yesterday, Donna George Storey paid me the honor and today Nikki Magennis followed suit.

I tried to trace this phenomenon's provenance but was overwhelmed by the Google search results. If anyone knows who started this thing please do tell.

Anyway, as the name implies, this award recognises a blogger who is creative -- I imagine -- in ways going above and beyond the usual, whatever that happens to be.

The Kreativ Blogger Award meme works like this: if you accept it, you are supposed to list seven of your favorite things and nominate seven blogs that deserve this award.

Now, I confess to having a problem with numbers -- i.e. making decisions from a multitude of excellent choices -- and I also do not wish to hurt feelings by inevitably leaving out bloggers who are no less Kreativ than the ones I select. And, I know that everyone is very busy, so although this chain -- in theory -- would ultimately remain unbroken, if the spirit doesn't move my nominees to pay it forward then by all means they should not.

That said, here we go:

These are a few (well, seven) of my favorite things, subject to change at any time, and in no particular order of importance. In their parts they are not the sum of me, but a random sampling of the whole:

1) My shredder, from Staples. No longer on their website otherwise I'd show you. Cheaper than therapy.

2) Paris. We'll always have it, you know?

3) Venice. Hopefully it will stay afloat.

4) My collection of oddball notebooks and journals (surely they'll all be filled one day!).

5) The telephone as a communication medium. I have an aural fixation.

6) Casablanca, the movie.

7) Flying.

*

I nominate the following bloggers, who manage to enlighten and surprise me with a zest of this or that, teaching me things I don't already know. I'm listing ten, not seven, because I nominated one of the people who tagged me, another was also named by someone else (sorry, couldn't help meself; they're just too damned Kreativ!) and because -- remember -- I am not very good with numbers:

1) P. S. Haven
2) Tara Alton
3) Marina St. Clare
4) Susie Bright
5) Joss Lockwood
6) Scarlett Greyson
7) Jeremy Edwards
8) Craig J. Sorensen
9) Alison Tyler
10) Nikki Magennis

Thank you, Donna and Nikki!

Tweet Me!

New bird on the block: I don't know what possessed me but I now have a Twitter account. I have no idea what I will Twit about -- as if I need another distraction -- or how frequently, but here I am, newly flown in and ready to flap my wings with other birdies. If you want to follow me feel free. Right now I am in my cage, eating colorful bits of birdseed. Soon it's time for a bath. My feathers are a tad dirty. Tweet tweet!

Pina Bausch (27 July 1940 - 30 June 2009)

R.I.P. Pina Bausch.