Author Topic: Story time, add your own if you wish :)  (Read 351 times)

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Offline Hardman

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Story time, add your own if you wish :)
« on: June 20, 2015, 08:53:24 AM »

We sort of started doing this way, way back but it never recovered after the crack attack. However a post on Smokey's Aussie Cue forum reminded me of a semi-fictional tale I wrote ages back for a writing competition on the Green Forum and I went looking for it.

I think it is probably just a little too risque for Aussie Cue and it only nods at cooking so thought I'd drag it over here for the hell of it :)

"The road south from Ventimiglia to Savona is a typical Italian Autostrada, slick concrete and a swarm of darting Alfas and Fiats.

I slowed for the border post on the French side but as usual there was no one on duty. Then sped up quickly, there was never anyone in the Italian post.

The Ferrari was running like a dream. It had carried me half way across France faster than I had ever managed before and now on the broad swooping road it was chafing at the bit to be let lose. I gave it its head and we surged into Italy.

Despite the intense meeting in Bordeaux and the long drive I was still feeling relaxed and alert, but becoming hungry.

Truck stop food in France is appalling, although its no use telling the French that. But in Italy those magnificent little mini-pizzas, folded over like a pastie, are enough to make you want to drive a hundred miles just to eat one. A few miles down the road there was usually a van selling them, I checked my mirrors and moved to the right to be ready to stop if they were there.

A huge Pantech, bound for Naples no doubt, hurtled past me as if I were stationary, the driver no doubt amused to be passing a 308 that way. Well, I had time to stop, eat, and still catch him before my turn off.

The van was there and I pulled in, shut the Ferrari down and sat for a second listening to the metal tick as it cooled in the engine bay behind me. What a car! Worth every lire just to get me away from crowded airplanes on all these trips the business was forcing on me.

I'd been sitting in the same position a lot of kilometres, and not as young as I used to be, my ankle clicked as I stepped out onto the roadside. Ouch! but it would have been worse on Alitalia, nothing a hot spa wouldn't sort out as soon as I was home.


Geneveve would be waiting, probably sitting out on the balcony right now, watching as the sun set over the gulf, turning the water to molten copper before it plunged into the horizon.

I bought two pizzas and sat on a post to watch the sunset myself. Not as good a view from down here, but the combination of the superb little pies and the magical air of the Italian Riviera made it one of those moments.

But I was eager to be home.

I finished the last morsel, tossed the wrappers in the bin and started back to the car.

From the corner of my eye something caught my attention and twisted my head left. A bikerider was dodging frantically away from a grimy little sedan that had cut him off, realised it and swung perilously back into his lane, tyres squealing. More drivers hit the brakes as the drama unfolded, seemingly in slo-mo.

The biker didn't make it, he let the bike go, and it and he came tumbling towards me, narrowly missing a Fiat whose locked brakes were pouring smoke from under the guards.

Reflexes kicked in with a rush, vision returned to normal as I dove to one side.

The bike flipped over one last time and passed right through where I had been standing. The rider slowed faster and wound up literally at my feet.

On the autostrada the flow corrected itself, returning to normal, the perpetrator of this spill already vanished in the flurry of vehicles.

I knealt to the side of the rider and he, no, a she, groaned.

"Are you ok?"

Always such an inane question at such a time, but all I could think of to say.

She opened her eyes and looked straight into mine, a flurry of incomprehensible words spilled from her mouth, one of the Scandinavian tongues, and I don't speak those.

She put out a hand and I helped her up. Her leathers were half unzipped and as she leaned to rise I saw her taut breasts nestled in an emerald green bra.

I looked away, with difficulty, and saw her deep blue eyes recognise what had attracted my attention.

Impossibly she smiled.

"You are english? Well, I must still be in one piece then if you find my body attractive."

I grinned back and helped her fully upright.

She winced.

"Well, we need to check the rest of you, but everything seems to be still in the right place."

The owner of the van came pounding up, only a few seconds had passed since I finished my pizzas, but the whole world had changed.

We helped her to a seat in front of the van. No one else around except the owner's wife who came bustling out with a bowl of water and a towel. The roar of the traffic seemed to turn itself back on in my ears as I looked away from those blue eyes.

Leaving the wife to fuss over the girl I went to have a look at her bike.

It was old, a BSA, and totally smashed. If she was unharmed she was very lucky indeed.

I went back to the van. She had her helmet off now, long blonde hair falling almost to the dirt as she bent to check one leg, snuggly encased in tight leather and high boots.....I shook my head, women don't usually have that immediate an effect on me, but I couldn't take my eyes off her.

The wife spoke, breaking the spell. Everything seemed to be ok, but the girl was looking puzzled.

"You don't speak Italian?"

"No, I'm just staying in Genoa a few days, rode up to Nice to see a friend, how is the bike?"

I handed her a small pack I'd wrestled off of the panier.

"That's about all that's worth saving."

She groaned again and the sheer sexiness of it went straight to my core.

We talked for a few minutes whilst the van owners fussed around and made her a coffee.

Her name was Britte, from Malmo in Sweden, 24 years old, worked in hotels, but had taken a year off to bum around Europe and see what she wanted to do with her life. Which did not, as she charmingly put it, include polishing autostradae with her arse...

By the time she had finished her coffee we had agreed.

The van owners would look after the bike, we manhandled it alongside their rubbish trailer, and I would drop Britte in Genoa. My turn off was just north of the city, it was not far out of my way.

Truth was I would have turned around and driven her to Malmo if she asked......

I've relived that drive a thousand times in the years since.

She was easy to talk to, and a good listener, stretched out in the Ferrari, leather on leather, she told me about her adventures in Europe and listened to my stories, making my somewhat boring life in the wine-trade suddenly seem more exciting than I had ever thought.

It was over far too soon.

We slowed as we entered the bustling city of Genoa, the Ferrari's lights cutting through the inadequately lit streets as we twisted and turned to her hotel.

My throat was thick as I imagined her room, would she invite me up? I was feeling all the giddy desires of an adolescent, my hands almost trembling on the wheel as I tried to both keep the conversation running and think of some way not to say goodbye...

We arrived and I shut down the engine.

She turned to me, obviously about to say something inane in the thankyou department. But she saw the look on my face, and recognised it in an instant...She hesitated, then suddenly she was in my arms, her leathers creaking, her hair assaulting my senses, her mouth on mine, both of us drinking deep in that single kiss that lasted forever and was over in an instant.

"Goodbye, I will always remember you..."

she breathed in my ear, and she was gone, the car door closing softly, her boots clicking across the pavement.

I sat for a minute, eyes unfocussed, body tingling with the memory of her embrace, not daring to breathe for fear I would find this was a dream, that I was really a tangled wreck out on the road somewhere.

Then I shook my head, started the car and retraced my steps through the tangled streets, my eyes dragged continually to the mirror until the hotel disappeared, but she was gone.

I don't remember the drive out of town, the climb into the hills that was usually a sensual delight in the Ferrari with all the swooping curves and short straights. The next thing I knew I was in my garage, the door closing behind me, the Ferrari ticking itself to sleep.

I walked into the darkened house. It was later than I had expected, there was a soft light glowing in the corner of the lounge and I walked over to it.

Geneveve knows me so well, she knew I would be drawn to check my mail. There on my keyboard, wrapped in a pair of emerald green panties, was a feather duster....

I stared for a second...No, she could not have known, my wonderful witch of a wife, until today my only reason for living....But those panties were a perfect match to Britte's bra.....

I gently unwrapped them from the duster, a private signal that Gen had used before, "I'm asleep, wake me and we'll play...;-)"

Suddenly I grinned, and shaking off my muse I turned, heading for our bedroom.....

............It's been ten years, I'm sitting here now watching the children play in the pool. We moved five years ago to this house, still in Liguria, but closer to France, above Savona really.

A new Ferrari is sitting in the garage, business has been good, but I still have to travel a lot.

Down on the sundeck Gen is sunbathing. Her body is as perfect as ever, the first traces of grey have made her more beautiful in my eyes, as she rides with me into the years.

But still I wonder....

Was there a Britte? Or was my magical woman playing with me that night?

I've never seen the same van at that stop on the autostrada again, though I've driven it a thousand times.

I never told Gen about Britte, but that night there was a gleam in her eye as she awoke when I tickled her thighs with the feathers, I could have sworn there was the faintest taste of pizza on her lips as I kissed her, and Gen has never shared my love of the little pies they serve on the roadside in Italy..... "


I mentioned at the time that some parts of that are a little autobiographical, I know the setting well, but the plot owes more to a near forgotten French movie "Un Homme et un Femme" or to a very, very under-rated author, Tom Reamy. In the end though it's just something I wrote for fun, but re-reading all these years later I still like it :)

Politically incorrect?  You betcha!!!  :-)

Offline Smokey

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Re: Story time, add your own if you wish :)
« Reply #1 on: June 20, 2015, 02:36:04 PM »
Felt like I was driving the Ferrari,  Different story different place , Same woman