a used 1979 ford 100 in cherry red, bought on facebook marketplace two years ago from an older couple up on lake erie.
it didn’t drive when he bought it. took the weekend off with jack and hauled it back into town, kept it in the garage of his town home for four and a half months before he could even start to think about working on it.
it’s run solid for a year now, and robby loves to take you in it on test drives every other weekend. pull on the 279 up north past franklin park, stop at that little farmers market at mile marker 72 that you love before pulling into the westside’s walking trail parking lot - lovingly abandoned now in the summer time.
after sharing a bag of fresh peaches, robby’s got you on all fours across the bench seater, breeze tumbling through the open windows making the sweat stick to your skin. his soft stomach on your back as he fucks you deep, pushing you further into the car, his feet planted on the parking lots shaded concrete.
“r-robby, fuck-“ you gasped out, cheek pressed into the leather seat, right knee slipping off the bench as he pulled your hips back to meet his thrusts, forcing himself deeper inside you.
“where you going, baby? hm?” he laughs, propping your leg back up, just for it to slip and fall again. “feel too good? can’t stand no more?”
“not — oh, fuck — my fault you just.. fucking.. shined the leather,” you moaned out before slipping again, jolting forward to grab the door handle for balance. “robby, please!” you whined, looking back at him over your shoulder, overstimulated from hitting your knees against the built in cup holders & so, so desperate to cum.
“i got you baby,” he hummed, large hand running down your back as he held you steady, pulling out with a lewd schlick. he bent over you, popped the passengers head rest off the seat before nodding his head to the side. “roll over ‘n lift your hips.”
you did so, watching as he raised your hips up to place the headrest underneath, tilting them up just enough to — “fuccccck, that’s it, there’s my fucking girl,” he groaned, living for the angle, the way you took his cock to the hilt like this, one easy and fucking insatiable slide in. “lay back,” he panted, hand pressing against your lower tummy. “relax - let me make you cum.”
Michael Robinavitch needs a break. He’d roll himself into his own grave before admitting that to anyone - admitting that to himself. But when a longtime friend calls on him for a favor, he’s packing his bags and handing over the ED’s reigns. A two week paid vacation to hang out in peace in the wilderness, patch up a couple of scraped knees & sleep comfortable on a king size bed in an air conditioned cabin on the north side of Lake Toska. How eventful could it be?