Free Can't Get Enough of Your Love by J.J. Murray

I was thinking nasty thoughts when he said that. I hadn’t had any good loving for weeks, since Karl was off doing “his thing.”
    Juan Carlos first stopped traffic in both lanes simplyby holding out his hands, and then he pushed the Rabbit smoothly into the lot at Berglund.
    â€œYou’re only doing this so y’all can fix it and charge me an arm and a leg,” I said when I got out.
    â€œI will fix it for you,” he said. “Pop the hood.”
    And then … I watched him work on my car, pulling this, adjusting that, getting all greasy. I also watched his ass and fantasized. He ended up adding two quarts of oil, some coolant, and some water to my radiator. He added something to my oil, closed the hood, and told me to start it up.
    It didn’t start. It only clicked a bit, then nothing.
    â€œYou need a battery, too,” he said.
    No
, I thought,
I need my hands on that ass of yours
. I had so many hoochie thoughts that day.
    â€œDo you have my size?” I asked, staring directly at his package. I was sure he had my size. “I mean, do you have batteries for VWs?”
    â€œI am sure we do. Wait inside where it is cooler, and I will get you a battery.”
    â€œI’ll wait right here,” I said. I enjoyed watching him work.
    He put in a new battery, and the Rabbit came back to life. He came over to my window. “No charge.”
    I didn’t have any money on me, anyway, but I protested. “I have to pay you somehow.”
    â€œIt is okay. You needed help. I helped.”
    I liked his attitude
then
. “Well, don’t you want to … test it out? You know, make sure everything else is working.” I licked my lips. “I’ll even let you drive.”
    He shrugged. “Okay.”
    So … we took a drive, and he drove the hell out my Rabbit, zipping us up Williamson Road. I watched himshift gears with those big hands of his … imagining those big hands squeezing my girls.
    Yeah, I was horny.
    I had him pull into an empty lot on Plantation Road so I could drive. He parked, got out, came over to my side, opened my door … and I pulled him in.
    There wasn’t much room on the passenger side, even when I pushed the seat all the way back, but somehow I managed to get his pants off, my pants off, his stuff where it belonged …
    I, um, I attacked his ass.
    Twice.
    When he was through—I could have gone another round—I drove him back to Berglund.
    â€œI want to see you again,” I said.
    â€œI would like that,” he said.
    I didn’t tell him that I had a boyfriend, and I didn’t feel guilty about it. That surprised me at first, but then I reasoned, “I don’t have a ring on this finger.”
    Later, I didn’t have to pay full price for a new radiator, new struts, or new brakes thanks to Juan Carlos’s employee discount. I’m lucky that way, I guess. My Rabbit has had more oil changes and, in general, I have had better maintenance on my car
and
my body with Juan Carlos, but I get to pick and choose when I get “serviced.” I didn’t have to sit by the phone anymore after that. If Karl was AWOL, Juan Carlos was on.
    And if Juan Carlos didn’t have such a bad attitude, I wouldn’t have had to add Roger.
    See, it’s all Karl’s fault.
    Okay, I know I’m rationalizing. I probably would have added the other two even if Karl had been faithful (I doubt he has been), had been around more than once a month, and had been a better conversationalist.
    When it comes to body and sex, Karl is the clear winner. He treats his body like a temple, I am his worshipper, and when we get busy, it’s a religious experience, just me and my African god. He’s so good, um, pelvically (if that’s even a word) that he has to be practicing elsewhere to keep his “thrusters” in tune.
    When it comes to sheer passion, Juan Carlos has the others beat. He knows how to