American PaganChapter 5 Beautification
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Highway Beautification free porn video
I saw the breakdown on the shoulder of the highway, and over up to see if my
help was needed.
As I stepped out of my vehicle and walked around to the front of the other
car, it was obvious that the problem was both unfortunate and embarrassing.
Unbelted pants sagged as an obese man bent under the hood, revealing a
crescent moon's worth of bulging, hairy flesh. Frayed pant cuffs piled
around clownish feet clad in cheap shoes, worn soles visible as their owner
stood on tiptoes for a better view. This disastrous scene dragged on
fruitlessly as the man shifted around, completely clueless and unwilling to
admit it. His obvious fear of failing a stereotypically masculine task was
pathetic, as if self-worth should be based on knowledge of basic mechanics.
Satisfied with my examination, I spoke. "Need some help there?"
The buffoon shot up and banged his head against the hood before pulling out.
I was impressed by the sheer girth that retracted, half-expecting his
threadbare, too tight t-shirt to be completely covered in grease from
pressing against the inner workings. The whale of a man rubbed a head full
of greasy black hair, and his face was bright pink with nervousness and
slick with sweat as he turned toward me. His tiny, deep-set eyes made him
look like the unfortunate offspring of a rat and a pig, and the enormous
nose, bulging jowls and pockmarked cheeks did not help his appearance.
"No, I, uh, I got this," the man said, refusing to meet my eyes. I'd heard
more confidence from children caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "Thanks
anyway."
I smiled wanly. My new friend obviously thought admitting he was stumped
would make him less of a man. Granted, he WAS about to be made less of a
man, but certainly not because of his lack of automotive knowledge. I was
simply taking it upon myself to beautify the nation's highways.
"Look, you obviously don't have any tools," I said as the man winced and
deflated further, "so just let me grab my stuff. It'll just take a moment,
and you can go from there."
He grimaced and nodded solemnly, and I headed to the back of my car to pop
the trunk. She was a beater, approaching her third decade of service, but I
kept her in good shape. I reckoned she was in better shape than my friend's
mid-tier sedan, likely chosen for less for its features and more because it
was the most expensive sale the dealer could wring out of him. I imagined
he'd be eager to trade it in soon enough. A proper car enthusiast could
easily find something to better fit their needs.
I fished around for a leather bag, then shut the trunk and headed back. My
friend was staring at his own car in pure misery. He turned to me, and I
wordlessly held out the bag for his perusal.
"Thanks," he said, attempting a smile as he took my offering. He put the bag
down and stared at it hopelessly for a few seconds. He looked back at his
open hood, then down at the bag, then back at the car, then at me, then
blinked a few times, then he finally bent down to catalogue the bag's
contents. All that weight had to be hell on his knees, so I gave him a
little assistance to hurry him on his way.
"Dunno why I don't carry something like this in the trunk," he said with
something approaching confidence. "A few bucks worth of tools would save a
lot of trouble in the long run."
The man finished his inspection, nodded in satisfaction, then slowly stood
and returned under the hood for another look. This time, the view was quite
enjoyable. As my friend's torso went horizontal, the top of a shapely ass
and its accompanying black thong summited his low-rise jeans. Full thighs
tapered to perfectly turned calves under tight denim, ending in small feet
proportionally sized to the legs above, if not the gut. A lesser man might
have felt like a pervert, staring at that ripe bottom unnoticed, but I
considered myself an artist admiring his latest work.
He once again stood on his toes for a better look, and the stress on his
feet was relieved as heels grew down from the back of his sneakers, which
turned white as their fronts opened up. Those incredible legs, long enough
to make any woman jealous, looked even better as his weight shifted and they
began showing off their trim but solid muscle.
With a sigh, the man pulled back out and turned around. His torso had shrunk
considerably to accommodate his new lower half, but it was still fairly
obese, very male, and completely out of place. The outline of his manhood
stood in contrast to his womanly hips, and I didn't want to consider the
amount of pinching and chafing he probably felt in those pants.
"This is completely stupid, but I think I just ran out of coolant," he said,
grinning at the absurdity. "There's probably something more to it, but I'm
just gonna refill it and get it to the nearest shop for a better look. Mind
if I borrow from your kit?"
"By all means," I said. "Before you do, though, can I take a look with you?
A second opinion never hurt."
"Yeah, sure, okay. I guess if you can catch the real problem it'll save me
some time later." He was obviously hesitant, but didn't call me out for
second guessing him. He still lacked the confidence to stand by his
prognosis.
The man budged over a bit and I took a spot next to him. I bumped against a
thick, hairy arm that responded by becoming thin and smooth, and as my
friend's torso and shoulders narrowed to girlish proportions I had
substantially more space to work with.
"Nothing I can catch at a glance," he said as I looked around the machinery.
The way his now too-large shirt hung loose was irritating, but that stopped
mattering as shrunk into tank top, two somethings weighing it down at chest
level as it shortened to reveal a flat stomach and concave waist. It was
becoming hard to scout for potential problems rather than admire the ones
I'd just solved.
"Nothing I can see, either," I said, retreating from the car. After another
second's searching, my friend followed suit with a dissatisfied grunt,
running his hands through and shaking out long, straight, rust-colored hair
as he stood. "Just hope you haven't sprung a leak."
He grimaced and nodded in agreement, looking patently absurd with his piggy
face above a model's body and under fabulous hair, until his lips grew full
and cherry red, his nose shrank to something upturned and far more
appealing, his jowls dissipated to reveal flawless cheeks, and his beady
eyes pushed forward as they grew big and black and intriguing. The way he
still shyly avoided a direct gaze gave his newfound beauty a powerful
innocence.
For a moment his pretty eyes widened, then they closed and those kissable
lips formed a perfect O as one last, admittedly drastic, pair of adjustments
took place above and below. When her eyes reopened, my very new friend took
a moment to steady herself before speaking.
"Well. Guess I'll fill it up a bit, look up the nearest garage and go from
there," she said, her voice light, melodic and meek as ever. "Thanks for
stopping, hope I didn't waste too much of your time."
"Nonsense," I said. "Happy to help."
She blushed and looked at the ground, squirming uncomfortably. Rather than
acknowledge my slight kindness, she reached down for the coolant and a
funnel, then leaned back under the hood to get to work. When she was done
she grabbed my bag, put the stuff back and stood around uncomfortably,
brushing hair out of her face and looking everywhere but at me, no doubt
agonizing over how she should say goodbye. I'm usually not one for mental
gymnastics beyond the basics, but seeing such a profound success acting so
milquetoast was a waste of potential. A moment later my friend gazed at me
with confidence and adjusted her posture so her back was straighter and her
chest pushed a bit forward, while the corners of her lips curled into a sly
smile. I find going full bimbo distasteful, but adding a sense of adventure
and a dash of flirtatiousness to an existing personality goes a long way.
"Gotta say, you're amazingly generous to let a pretty girl use your stuff,"
she said, eyes sparkling as she held out my bag. Her voice was unchanged,
but the tone was playful and far more alive. "But seriously, thanks for the
help." She leaned in for a hug. The softness of her chest was spellbinding,
as was the brief wetness on my cheek.
"If you're dropping that thing off, you need a ride back?" I asked as she
pulled away. "Don't know how far you are from home, but I'm not in any
rush."
"Appreciate the offer, but I'll be fine," she said. "I'd feel more
comfortable riding with a friend, and if worse comes to worse I can always
call a cab. You've done more than enough."
"Fair enough. Drive safe." This was a job well done, enough that I was only
slightly disappointed by her rejection. I watched my friend tantalizingly
close the hood, climb in her car, and drive off to her new destiny.
A few years later I caught her on the cover of an automotive magazine,
leaning against the hood of a Jaguar and doing a tremendous job of not
wearing many clothes. The inside story was a cheesecake puff piece about the
novelty of her being just as comfortable working on cars as she was posing
with them. A bit contrary to the message I would have hoped to spread, but
at least my assistance hadn't gone to waste.
Bess
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