Being Hot, in More Ways than One

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The above picture is of my 1988 Mercedes. I bought it last year for $1,000 — in non-driveable condition. After I spent another $950 on a fuel injection mechanic and another $300 or so on parts, the car finally now runs.

I collect old cars like other people collect stray cats. For $350, I just bought a running 1989 Volvo 240, and so yesterday I drove this to my mechanic (200 miles away), since the Volvo needs work too. I then picked up the Mercedes from the same mechanic. This plan enabled me to have a car to drive there and a car to drive back.

I’m a night owl so the night before, I was up until 4 a.m. or so. One of the reasons I was up so late is that, even though I have a nice-ish shape now, I still have more body hair than I like. On my legs and butt (the most-photographed parts of me) I’ve waxed the hair so often that most follicles have given up. So, I have very smooth skin there. But my chest and tummy … not enough. I still have too much body hair there. And so, on general principles, I wax the hair in those areas away too, so I look nice and smooth all over. It hurts but it’s worth it. That’s what I was doing between 2 a.m. and 4 a.m. Good self-discipline, that.

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I needed to be up and about by 6:30 a.m. so as to put a fresh battery in the Volvo and get it reliable enough for its 200-mile trip to the mechanic shop. I’d planned to make the round trip quickly enough to be back in Reno for a 4 p.m. appointment. Much as I needed sleep, I got up way early so as to get going. Good self-discipline, even if I do say so myself.

Neither the Volvo nor the Mercedes have functional air conditioning. The mechanic’s shop is in the greater Sacramento area. In early August, that area gets very hot, especially on sunny, near-cloudless days. All this would mean I’d be driving hundreds of miles in hot and sweaty conditions. I figured I’d soon look like a sweaty mess. Putting on make-up and a nice outfit almost seemed pointless, especially after having had only about 2 hours of sleep. It was tempting to think “today, I’m probably going to look bad anyway, so I’ll just make that the aesthetic theme for the day.” But, no. I like to make the most of what I have to work with. If I was going to be a sweaty mess, I might as well look good while dissolving. So, I carefully put on eyebrow pencil, eye shadow, eye liner … and lots of lotion. I figured that mascara and lipstick, foundation, etc. would make a mess when I became drenched with sweat, so I omitted them. I put my hair up in a pony tail, and I put on a pretty summer dress and elegant-enough shoes, and off I went.

By the time I got to Sacramento, I was hungry. My meager breakfast had been inadequate. It was nice to be able to walk into a cool, air-conditioned In-N-Out Burger joint and feel pretty enough. That made me glad that I’d gone to all the trouble to look nice.

Here’s a picture of the Volvo, at that location.

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My mechanic is wonderful and he’s t-girl friendly too. Normally, he and I have more of a peer-to-peer dynamic but yesterday it was noticeably different. He basically went into “knight in shining armor” mode. Even though he was on a tight schedule due to a business appointment to which he needed to go … before I drove off, he insisted on personally helping me top up the coolant (that he donated), and the oil (that he donated). Then, he insisted on washing my car, personally. After that, he insisted on cleaning the windows meticulously. Then, he offered lots of helpful advice for the trip home. I was also on a tight schedule so I experienced all of this kind attention with mixed feelings, and I kept reminding him that I’m on a schedule … but it was nice to have this competent and kind gentleman take care of things so chivalrously. This was either a huge coincidence or it had something to do with me looking unusually pretty that day.

Shortly after I left the mechanic’s place, I stopped for fuel, and out of habit and due to being in a rush, I put in 87 octane. Dangit! I realized, as I drove away, that this was a mistake. This particular engine is high-performance and high-compression — and it needs high-octane fuel. Driving it on lower-octane fuel can seriously mess up the engine especially under hot, high-speed, high-load conditions. I might be OK driving on level terrain for a few more miles, but certainly, going up the mountain before refueling would be a bad idea.

The traffic became way worse than I’d expected, and I called my 4 o’clock to announce I was going to be arriving in Reno so late that it made more sense to cancel than to wait around for me. Dangit. I’d really wanted to be there.

By the time I was in central Sacramento, it was around 3:30 p.m. on a Friday afternoon, I wanted to get ahead of the mid-town Sacramento traffic. Spending another 10 minutes to pump gas might cause a delay of 30 minutes if that got me stuck in traffic. So I delayed stopping for gas, but as soon as I was on the outskirts of town, I pulled into a gas station and lavishly bought lots of 91 octane fuel with which to overwhelm the lower-octane fuel. Better.

This particular model of car uses the air conditioning system to cool down the fuel lines. When these get too hot, the car can get vapor lock — a condition in which the liquid gasoline turns into vapor, which the fuel pump can’t pump, so the car won’t start until the engine compartment has cooled down. When a car engine is turned off, it gets hotter yet because the heat soaks from the inside to the outside, and there’s no cooling process (e.g., water pump running, air flowing through the radiator) to compensate. This happened to my car, and the fuel lines were already too hot because the a/c doesn’t work on this car. After I pumped the gas, and I went to start the car, it didn’t start. I cranked the engine for so long that the battery ran low — not smart. Regardless, the only thing to do was to wait.

Here’s a picture of the car, cooling down. The open hood speeds up the process.

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To my surprise and delight, another Mercedes-Benz pulled up behind mine. The owner was a nice gentleman who said he had been driving by, and he’d noticed another Mercedes-Benz owner possibly having trouble, and so he was here to help. That was so sweet, wow. I explained that my car was experiencing vapor lock and just needed to cool down. I needed no help, but I really appreciated his thoughtfulness. I gave him a nice smile. Off he went, and I continued sitting in my car … in the shade, but it was still a pretty darn hot day, and of course with no air conditioning. The little convenience store at the gas station was cramped enough that hanging around there would have been awkward (albeit air conditioned).

The next part of the story, in the next paragraph, I didn’t realize until later when the gentlemen told me about it, afterwards.

After he left, the gentleman thought about me. He really liked my looks and attitude. I’d figured out I’m a transgender girl and he found that to be a very sexy thing. He’s not typically successful with ladies because he’s shy, but today he found enough inspiration to try to woo me to his place, and if his wildest hopes became true then the visit might have a sexy theme. So, he came back to talk to me a second time, a few minutes later. The first visit had been to just be helpful. The second visit was basically to hit on me.

It’s safe to say that if I’d looked like a slob, this wouldn’t have happened.

The gentleman explained that instead of sitting in a hot car, I was welcome to come to his place and enjoy air-conditioned comfort. He also mentioned there was a Giants game on, as extra enticement. I’ve lived in the US since I was 22 but so not-into-guy-stuff am I, deep down, that until yesterday I didn’t know who the Giants are. Now I know they’re a baseball team, and specifically for San Francisco. At the time, I looked more puzzled than delighted about the Giants game being on, but I accepted and the gentleman drove me to his place.

I’m clear that this isn’t normally considered safe behavior but I’d concluded the man was basically a good person and besides, I have a don’t-mess-with-me attitude and I know self-defense. So, I didn’t feel worried about safety issues. Besides, I’ve done escorting, which has put me in more-risky situations such as hotel rooms or sunset strolls in secluded places, with men whom I didn’t know well. So I’m experienced at judging people and dealing with risk.

Back to my story: Once he’d settled back on his couch, the gentleman confessed to no longer being married and being too shy to approach girls. He told me some interesting stories. I liked him. He offered me a beer but I asked for some water instead. While he was in the kitchen getting that, I looked at a sexy picture on his living room wall. It was a photograph of a pretty, nude girl who is a female-shaped in every way, including ‘down there,’ i.e., not obviously a transgender girl. Her body shape (slender, athletic, basically flat-chested) was very similar to mine. I try to tolerate my own lack of bustiness, and some days are better than others, but it’s puzzling to me that someone would actually like a shape like mine. I always think “if you like me now, a set of DD boobies can only improve things and you’ll REALLY like me then” but … no, some guys actually like a look like mine. Without DD boobies. Wow. Okay.

While I was digesting this, the mood in the room became a lot more sexy. The gentleman was already turned on, and I was becoming so too — rapidly. The sexual possibilities as a premise behind his invite suddenly flooded into my brain. There’s something very hot about being the focal point of someone acting on, essentially: “I like girls who are, specifically, like you. I met you, liked what I saw, and I want you. I think you’re hot. I came up with a way to lure you to my place. Now that you’re here, I’m trying to figure out how to move things from being bland and pleasant to being sexual, consensually of course.”

A conversation began, and the gist of it is captured in the above paragraph. I went to get another cup of water for me, from the kitchen. On the way there, just before I vanished around the corner, I asked the gentleman sitting on the couch if he’d like to see a show. Indeed, he did.

I do part-time work as a stripper (clothes, not paint). Even though I was wearing a pretty (as opposed to hot) dress, and flat shoes (instead of my stilettos) I can work with what I have, and so I stood on tip-toe, with just the right pose, and angled just the right way relative to where he was sitting. My dress slowly moved up, more and more … exposing some shapely legs, and eventually more too. The gentleman seemed to appreciate the view — a lot.

I don’t kiss and tell so I won’t go into details, but even though we didn’t max out what was mathematically possible, a good time was nevertheless had by all and it was a very sexy visit. The gentleman later took me back to my car, helped me jump-start it, and was overall wonderfully chivalrous. Normally, I don’t get rescued. This rescue was either a huge coincidence or it had something to do with me looking unusually pretty that day.

The Mercedes brought me safely home the rest of the way, and now it’s parked outside my front door.

As for me, I now have some new happy memories. All in all — it was a very good day. It’s sort of like “be prepared, so if life hands you lemons then you can make lemonade and in so doing, maybe end up with a Fortune 500 lemonade company that you then sell to go buy a nice condo in Hawaii.”

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