Bring Me To Your Stars

Affaire du cœur

It was love at first sight.

And James hardly knew what dinged him.

But when it did, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

From the first moment of their meeting, they looked silently into each other's gaze, the distant and impossible suddenly becoming near...possible...and inevitable.

James's ears reddened feverishly hot.

His pulse excited as it would be, had a shot of opium jealously taken possession of his senses.

His mouth going dry in transfixed wonder, made from half agony, half adulation. Another poor bastard burned at the stake of Eros's punishing arrows. Losing the good fight against those repressed desires he'd once called himself master of. Of that inborn craving that is the undoing of even the best of men.

Helen, the beautiful, toiling relentlessly after his unstill beating heart.

Neigh...beautiful was too limiting a word for the masterwork of a goddess.

And a proper Juno, the lady was.

His eyes dragging over every indulging curve, from the perky lift of her divine trunk to the pearly bonnet that left James breathless with nothing but his wildest imaginings about what a force she'd turn out to be, once he'd gotten fast inside of her.

Never again would he be smitten by nonesuch a girl.

Because from the moment he made her acquaintance and learned her name, he was surely done for.

"Honda."

James's breath was smoky in the chilling April air as he read the lady's nameplate.

And he could almost hear the angels above singing from their moody skies, as if fate had long ago written in the blest hour of their meeting.

A splendid speed machine, she was. The pearl lines of her design mouthwateringly tailored to his fetish for high-performing mechanics.

The Honda Civic, 2015.

Capital of all motorized engineering.

Had James heard of her by word alone, such a seamlessly engineered coquette might've sounded to him more a fever dream than actuality.

But no man in his phantom of mind could ever invent such a riveting tale.

"What cruel fate we nigh on endured, to have lived and died near a century apart, without knowing how perfectly we were meant for each other," James whispered reverently to the motorcar, falling fast for the indescribable pleasure of a plushy cushioned seat against his back. And when he realized that the delightsome warmth keeping his bum toasty was a heating mechanism built into the motorcar bench, James's toes curled against his socks.

Honda appeared to sigh contently with him. Her rumbling purr dragging him to the brink of exhilaration, anticipating the climax of knowing exactly what made her engine so impossibly quiet. 

What caliber of performance did this grand lady have waiting for him under that hood?

Eager as he was to find out, James knew well enough the game of intrigue, and had the stamina for it to boot.

He had no problem with waiting, knowing the lady would come to him soon enough.

And so, he bought his time, turning his gaze up and about to ponder her remarkably sound interior.

For a collection of kit and kaboodle, she appeared--dare he ever say it again--"unsinkable".

She, the pentacle of comfort and security shutting out all the rain and cold outside. Her steely breath exhaling a steady stream of warmth that played between his numbly cold fingers, as James held his hands up to the personal air vents in front of him.