The four youths gathered around the Dresden Blue Morris Minor. Rust and dents failed to diminish Bill’s love for his first car. The lad was a cheeky monkey, the elderly man mused. Well brought up, thoughtful, ready to lend a hand. He deserved the car.
Heads turned. The clack of stilettoes heralded the approach of Mrs Pritchard, Bill’s neighbour. A vision tightly encased in crimplene. Blond hair tumbled around her shoulders, breasts thrust high above a wasp waist and voluptuous hips swung like a pendulum.
The boys wolf-whistled in appreciation. Mrs Pritchard laughed and raised her eyebrows. ‘Tut-tut, you bad boys.’
She slowly ran Sugar-Plum painted fingertips along the wing of the 1967 Mercedes. The Caprice Yellow of her outfit, rock and rolled with the Dusky-Rose paintwork of the car. Show-stopping. Breathtaking.
Bill ran across and opened the car door. Five pairs of eyes followed Mrs Pritchard’s Marilyn Monroe legs as they slowly swivelled into the car, revealing a stocking top and a hint of snow-white lace.
Mrs Pritchard raised ‘come to bed eyes,’ and thanked the young man who, crimson cheeked, returned to his friends and their good-natured joshing.
Easing himself off the bench, he leaned heavily on his walking stick.
Looking at the cars a final time, one blue, the other a shade of pink, he popped them back in his pocket with the memories of a Dresden Blue Morris Minor, a 1967 Mercedes and sexy Mrs Pritchard.
Linda Hibbin is retired and lives in Essex, UK. She began writing in 2020 attending online writing courses and her stories and flash fiction have been published on sites including Bourne Green Lockdown Lit, Potato Soup Journal and in Glitterary Literary and Writefluence paperback anthologies. Comical observations of herself and people she knows often creep into her tales, and she gets a kick out of tickling the reader’s fancy or tugging at their heartstrings.
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