Rendezvous on 66
Listen to this article“1957 Thunderbird. Man this car is sharp. It’s exactly like the car from American Graffiti. Check this out Will, white with the red interior.” Mike could hardly contain his excitement as he walked around the flashy car dying to run his hands along the smooth lines.
“Only the Rendezvous on Route 66 Car Show would have this large selection of cars.” Will shook his head looking at the ’57.
“It even has the hard top convertible with the portholes, continental kit and the wide white wall tires. All we need is Suzanne Somers to be sitting behind the wheel.”
“What size motor do ya think?” Will asked.
“A 312 Y block.” The sultry voice speaking his language came from the other side of the hood. Long legs coming out of rolled up 1950’s white short shorts were all Mike could see until he walked toward the front of the car. Those legs actually went from here to forever. Mike couldn’t stop his eyes from continuing their travel past the intoxicating peek at her trim tummy to the short white top tied in the front just below her breasts.
It was at this point when he realized he had stopped breathing. Sucking in a breath of air, he looked into the face of a 1950’s pinup temptress who looked eerily similar to Suzanne Somers. With blood red lips, deep blue eyes and a beehive. A long red scarf matched her mind numbing lips and the interior of the T-bird.
When she laughed her hair fell to the side cascading like a blonde waterfall reaching well below the cheeks of her ass. Mike knew there wasn’t another like her anywhere on this earth and he felt a sudden urge to adjust himself.
“How do you know it’s a 312?” Will asked. Mike mentally shook himself and watched her lips for an answer.
“Well if you notice,” she grew intent while leaning over the fender pointing into the engine at the carburetor. “It’s a four barrel carburetor telling you it’s a 312 cubic inch, if it was a two barrel then it would be a 292.” The words flowed from her lips as though she actually had intimate knowledge of the workings of a 57 T-bird.
Mike was stunned, “How do you know that?”
The sultry voice answered, “It’s my car, well it was my fathers’ car. We restored it from the ground up. He left it to me when he passed away last Christmas. When he retired from the Air Force we moved back to the states from Germany. He was an American Graffiti enthusiast and always loved the car and Suzanne Somers. We started researching and this 57 is an immaculate barn find. We found her and decided she was the perfect project not knowing just how special she would turn out to be.”
Mike couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I couldn’t imagine anyone but you behind the wheel.”
“Are you a 50’s Ford or a T-bird enthusiast yourself?” she asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact that 57 Ranchero is mine.” Mike pointed to the black and red two tone parked right next to hers.
Walking across the thick grass, leaving Will behind, the two step over to Mike’s 57 that had been lowered. The stock wheels and tires had been replaced with the vintage style Crager SS wheels and F60 tires giving the Ranchero a low lean aggressive stance. “I was also in the Air Force and when I returned from my tour in Germany it was a roller sitting at my cousins. After years of trying to buy it, he finally agreed to sell it to me.”
She smiled and tilted her head to one side allowing the blonde hair to sway enticingly. “Hmmm, when you were in Germany, did you ever try that lime green alcohol with the hallucinogenic effect?”
Mike laughed out loud. “Absinthe. Funny you should mention that. You are three feet away from it behind the passenger seat in my 57. I generally like to lay in the back of my Ranchero in the desert and drink the stuff after a car show.”
“No kidding? You really have it?” In her excitement she reached out to grasp his bicep. “Isn’t it illegal in the states?”
“Yes it is, by the way, my name is Mike.”
“Oh and I am Heather.” Her eyes twinkled.
They pulled their chairs together and spent the rest of the day drinking beer and getting to know each other while answering questions about their cars. Throughout the day they found it very difficult to take their eyes off one another as the sexual tension built. When the sun began to set, the cars pulled away one by one.
Will and his wife came to say goodbye and finally pulled away in their satin black 54 Ford F100 pickup truck with the red painted rims, re-chromed stock V8 hub caps and whitewall tires.
“I am going to eat at a little diner down the street that has some juicy steak, would you like to join me?” Mike asked as he could hear the lake pipes roar when Will drove away.
Not wanting this day to end, she answered, “Sure, I am starved and steak sounds wonderful.” Heather held her tummy with a smile. “If you’ll give me a hand loading my car into the box trailer, I can leave the truck and trailer here and ride with you. If that’s okay.”
“Sure.” He sounded confident but inside wanted to say, “Fuck, yeah!”
Steaks consumed, sexual tension at its height, Mike offered her a cocktail.
“Yes, Absinthe.” She looked directly into his eyes knowing what that would mean. The desert, the bed of his truck, built up sexual desires and Absinthe vanquishing any inhibitions she may still have.
The darkest of night, no moon and the big dipper above them, they spread the sleeping bag in the bed of the Ranchero. Mike slipped an 8 track into the vintage player where oldies softly played for the background and reached behind the seat for the kit with the Absinthe and the glasses.
He climbed into the back with Heather and poured them each a glass over the sugar cubes. Carefully setting the precious bottle back in the case, they clinked glasses and while looking into each other’s eyes they slowly sipped the potion. He used this moment to lean in and softly kiss those red lips that had been inviting him all day.
It didn’t take long between kissing and sipping before the effects made them feel as if they were floating on a cloud above the Ranchero. Mike’s kisses naturally led him to where her blouse was tied, his fingers loosened it with ease.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon when they finally stirred and decided it was time to head toward the sunrise, her truck and reality.
They were both still seeing lime green and the memory would stay with them for a long time.
— Mia Duval and Friend
Top photo: YouTube screen shot of Suzanne Somers in American Graffiti
Mia grew up in California, born to a French couple that met, fell in love and eloped to America. They never returned to France and lived out their days on a wine vineyard basking in the warm California sun. Growing up with their PDA’s and obvious love taught Mia to happily give and take love. Her parents perished together in a car accident on PCH when she was twenty-five leaving her alone in the world. It was at this time that Mia began putting her fantasies to paper.