Once again, she’s left you breathless.
Two million pounds of steel and coolant and pistons hammering away at cylinder heads in a constant gasping for breath, her essence pulsing through the air in a great 4-cycle reverberation throbbing against your chest, her tremors coursing through the very earth and consuming you, a crime-less victim of rapture as she glides around the curve and leaves you once again; in her wake trails a long and empty blackness.
You’re drained; the rushing climax has sapped your strength and, as always, left you wanting more.
Her panting fades as she slides out of sight at Ajax until it is no longer heard above the whir as unladen roller bearings drift by, one after another.
You kneel in her wake, awash in her scent and paying reverence as she slips by in a blur, and you probe her with your lens, seeing beyond what others perceive; beauty where others claim nuisance.
You pity them, for they are engrossed in frustration and petty distractions while the lithe mistress passes before them, the coachmen fully in charge of her destiny.
You chuckle and wonder what fate awaits the annoyed once they reach the I Don’t Know Bar; perhaps, once the procession has passed, ample libations to soothe the anxieties of modern society.
They scoff at your form; a proprietor of admiration plying his lust, crouching by the roadside and deifying their annoyance and reveling in their discomfort—
And, of course, they are quite taken aback by your smile…
A breathless smile indeed.
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