How I [M] Ended Up with Handprints [F] All Over The Inside of My Ford Festiva

I’m a long time lurker/reader and finally decided to share a story I thought worthy of some of the others that have been so entertaining in this sub.

So this was a few years back. **Caution, long**

I had had this crush on this girl since high school (let’s call her Abigail). We both weren’t too far out of high school although I was a few years ahead of her in age. At the time we weren’t technically dating but I’ll be damned if I didn’t want her with everything in my being. I would’ve done anything for her and it was all I could do to not be so gaga over her that I scared her away. I had to play it cool and try to make her “want” me.

We did date later on for a few months but at this time we were just “friends”. Suffice it to say though were both young, naive and virgins (at least I think she was) to many things of the sexual world. Also, in this time of my life I was probably the stereotypical chivilristic-type; a classic gentleman, albeit again, young, naive and someone who never got in trouble.

So we both lived in a little town, both still living with our parents. She was in an apartment with her Mom (her parents were divorced). One night we decided to head up to the nearest town (about 25 mintues away from the town we lived in) with a movie theatre to catch a movie. It was probably one that started around 7 or 8 and got out a few hours later.

So we watched the movie, got out and started on our way home.

Now mind you, not being out of school for too long I was still driving my first car (she wasn’t pretty but I was proud that I had a ride!). I was escorting my date (“friend”) in a late Eighties Ford Festiva, 4-banger with cloth seats and just the driver side-mirror. Neither of us could’ve cared less about the less than luxurious accomodations, we were both just happy to go out and do something on a Friday night.

So we get to the theatre, watch the movie and get out. We’re just outside of the city with the theatre on our 25 minute drive home when Abigail starts bouncing on her car seat. Not high like she’s hitting her head, just enough to raise her butt up off the seat and back down. She’s going at a constant rhythm, a little bit slower than the rate you’d give someone CPR. Little innocent me takes note with an incredulous goofy grin and asks her what she’s doing. “I’m just trying to burn calories”, she says.

Now let’s pause for some identification.

Abigail is a gorgeous specimen, half white/half middle-eastern, shapely with curves in all the right places. An hourglass figure with an ass that looked great in her tight jeans and she had this gorgeous head of jet black, full curly, chest length hair.

She was in a sense, just as naive as I was in a lot of life experiences and didn’t know what was to come and what she was getting herself into on that car ride home. I thought our night was just about over after we started to go home from the movie, but it was just beginning!

She kept bouncing on our way out of the city as the lights faded and pitch black took over when we got out of town. To get between our town and the city you had to drive through another town that was a little bit bigger and it was about half-way between our town and the city. Anyway, I can’t remember exactly what we chatted about, but I’m sure I talked about something slightly dorky and not completely cool as we were headed to the next town in our path on our way home. We had just started to come into the next town, on the north side where the highway runs through town North to South on the way to our hometown. This side of town has a lot of streetlights lining the business highway and so where it was dark before and I couldn’t see her face, I could now make her out perfectly under the city lights.

Abigail had stopped her bouncing just prior to driving into town and had been completely silent as we drove into the neighboring town. I took note and after a minute I finally broke the silence and asked her why she stopped bouncing and why she was so silent. She said something along the lines of “oh nothing, no reason”, but had a look on her face of that told otherwise.

She looked concerned, like she was in trouble and didn’t know how to deal with something. She literally stared right ahead, just wide-eyed and concerned looking and would not initiate any conversation. She looked petrified.

I kind of shrugged my shoulders and accepted the passive signals that I shouldn’t ask any more questions. But my mind couldn’t help from trying to understand her sudden change of mood, did I do something wrong? Did she suddenly decide she didn’t want to have anything to do with me and was now giving me the cold “friend” shoulder? Fuck, there goes my chance at even dating this girl, much less just going off to the movies. Lots of thoughts popped into my head as we drove through the neighboring town and out the other side into the country again on our way to our final destination. I was young, inexperienced and didn’t have much experience in dating yet. I was really struggling to make some obvious connections and totally misreading the sudden stiff body language.

The plan after the movie was to drive home and drop her off at her mom’s apartment (on the same side of town as my folk’s place), but as we left the neighboring town, the realization that we’d be back to her place soon forced her stony wall of silence to start to crumble away. Unbeknowest to me, she knew she couldn’t go home and she knew she couldn’t just sit in silence anymore while telling me that I couldn’t drop her off.

You could tell it was agonizing for her to wade into the next subject…to say there was a bit of embarrassment that she had to contend with would be putting it lightly and I honestly feel bad she had to broach the “why” that we couldn’t go home yet. To paint a stark contrast, this was the same girl who lured me up to her bedroom one time only to reenact Fiona Apples’ “I’ve Been a Bad, Bad Girl” to me complete with the stalking me seductively on her bed as she sang it, with eye contact that could’ve burned a hole through my head and all I could do as a “friend” was just sit there and say, “that’s great!” and not say what was really running through my mind, “Jesus Christ, is this really happening, how the fuck am I so lucky, you should make a move”.

I think she liked to be in control and show off. But now, I was in the driver’s seat, literally and she was in a very, very uncomfortable place.

When she next talked it wasn’t a sudden admission of what was to come, but more of a walk of shame in the verbal sense as she slowly started to tell me we couldn’t just “go home”.

As we drove through closer to our hometown, the layers started to peel away of what had happened. It was painstaking and awkward at first. She really wouldn’t say why her mood had changed. But then she said we couldn’t go home.

The inevitable “why” and ‘what’s wrong” phase of questioning happened after that. At some point before we breached the our town line, she admitted she thought she had gotten herself “excited”. Now let’s pause again and remember,

I’d led a pretty sheltered live up until this point sexually (outside of reading my Dad’s copies of Penthouse when he wasn’t home) and so had she. The thought of having someone your age admit to like you, much less be on the brink of suggesting they had become aroused (however innocently it had began) while in your presence was light years ahead of any experience I’d expect to have at this age. I can’t even imagine being in her shoes and having to start making the choices that were already embarrasing enough but that could lead to much larger levels of embarrassment if I were to say, tell the story to others in town that we both knew.

Abigail, knowing we were closing in on home and toiling with the sudden unexpected predicament she was in had made the decision that it was safer to pass the barrier with me and let on that she had a problem she (or we?) had to deal with and the alternative of going home was a far more riskier scenario at the moment than revealing her secret to me. Her mom as it turns it out is a light sleeper and was prone to wake up (or stay up) until Abigail came home and would always chat with her for a few minutes asking the usual questions a mother might ask a daughter after a date night (how was your night, did you have fun, etc.). Only her mom was had some amazing radar that would pick up on even the slightest thing wrong or different with Abigail. Being the light sleeper she was, even if she didn’t wake up when Abigail came home, there was trepidation that “resolving” the excitement would certainly lead to her mom waking up to investigate the cause of the noise. Abigail was afraid of going home because of the sheer embarrasment and shame she’d have to live through with encountering her mom if she was too loud than telling me to pull over someplace until she could figure out what to do next.

So I know enough at this point that A) Abigail has excited herself and B) I can’t take her home because the “excitement” isn’t going away. At the time, I can’t help but think, “Holy shit, is this really happening?”. Did this beautiful girl that I have a huge crush on just tell me she accidently got herself turned on and is now forcing me to hang out with her till we contemplate what Plan B should be? She could’ve came up with some excuse to have me drop her off anywhere in town, hell, even at her apartment. She could’ve stayed outside the front door as I left, watched me pull way and then ran off someplace outside to figure out her Plan B. I would be embarrased as fuck and would’ve ducked out from my date as soon as I had the first opportunity. But no, I had become part of her Plan B and I was suddenly “stuck” in this with her together. My God, what a fucking great predicament to be in and bear witness to!

So, it’s settled; I can’t drop her off and so what do we do at this point? Well, there was some new residential development going on on the north side of our town. The developers had built out the public utilities (sewers/streets) etc. but no one had started building houses on many of the lots yet and there was limited street lighting due to the development being fairly new. So I suggested we go up one of the newer streets/circuits and park to figure out next steps. She was good with this and I think almost relieved that I was holding her hand as I went on this journey with her. We found a place and parked and then started talking about the “excitement” again.

Now parked with my attention fully available to console her through this the rest of her embarrassment kind of melted away. She said she definitely could not go home because she had gotten herself excited, supposedly for the first time and had no idea what to do. She was sure that going home wasn’t a good idea because she either thought she’d be a dead-give away to her mom should her mom still be awake when she got home or that it was far too risky to try to “deal” with the excitement once home in the event there would be some noise that would wake her mom up. So here we were, parked on a newly black-topped street, poorly hit, car-off wondering what to do next. I suggested maybe we could just wait here for a while and see if the “excitement” would subside. Being the consummate gentleman and naive guy at the time, I was trying to give her the most graceful way to exit the situation without trying to take advantage of it and honestly I was traversing this new path right along side her. For anyone who’s worked in customer service, the whole deal that night almost felt like someone calling in for support. You go down a list of steps with the caller as you troubleshoot the issue and as one step doesn’t resolve the issue you go on to the next.

Well, the whole “first step” of waiting it out wasn’t doing the trick. At some point…maybe 15-20 minutes after parking the feeling just wasn’t going away. And she let me know and pleaded with me, “what should she do”? Now, I wholeheartedly believe, even looking at this in retrospect that this wasn’t a seduction trick to have me start making moves on her, either that or she was a fantastic actress as she I could sense a sincere, “oh shit, now what do we do” demeanor from her.

She was genuinely looking to me for advice and to help her through this. Let’s just take another pause to say, for a young guy in my shoes, how fucking lucky am I that she’s too excited still to let me just go on my way. Thank you, God!

So the conversation comes to a crossroads at this point. Do we wait longer for this thing to just go away or what else can we do? Well, as I’m getting asked for my input like I’m ObiWan getting told I’m her only hope. I start sorting the ideas in my head (learned from many pages of Penthouse) from least invasive to most invasive. Remember that scene in Animal House where the angel and devil pop up on either side of Lawrence’s shoulders telling him what he should do?

Well that’s what was going on in my head. And Jesus did I want to jump to the devil-side, but the congenial gentleman side got the best of me and so I started to eloquently tread down the path of what her alternatives to “waiting it out” might be.

It went kind of like this, “well, if you don’t think it’s just going to go away on it’s own, then you have to do something to make it go away”. How I danced around that topic in my youth would put the most experienced politician to shame.

I didn’t want her to have to go through this anymore than I would in her shoes and yet here I was being asked for my advice on how this beauty should get herself off.

Again, back to the customer service like call, she’s asking, “What should I do?”, “How can I get this to go away?”, “Please help me!”. My solution was a step-by-step process to watch her get herself off. The girls in Penthouse seemed to get off easily enough when they either rubbed their clit or had someone else going to town on it so why shouldn’t it work for Abigail? And what followed was literally that, a stepped process on how to get yourself off. But it wasn’t just me saying bluntly, “well you just need to rub your clit enough” until everything’s done. It was like giving instructions to your grandmother on how to open up a web browser on their computer, only the inexperience in Abigail’s case wasn’t because she truly hadn’t had the advantage of playing with herself at this point or reading hundreds of pages of Penthouse at this point. And you could feel the tension at every step of the way, not knowing if what you’re being asked to do is going to solve the issue, finally providing relief and curing the anxiety.

I’m sitting there in the driver’s seat and broaching the idea, “well one way you can probaby overcome this is by rubbing yourself” which was followed by a “rubbing myself how” and “how do you know this” and “where exactly do I rub”. And it’s like every single step we take further into this I just keeping asking myself, “is this really happening”, “am I really being given the opportunity to step this beautiful girl through to a climax?”. I am literally walking this girl through how she can masterbate and she’s doing everything I say right in front of my eyes. Now, she doesn’t just jump into action at my suggestion, there’s plenty of “oh my god, this is so embarrasing” and plenty of me reassuring her and telling her I feel bad and I’ll never tell anyone about this.

So she finally gives in reluctantly forced with the decision of waiting it out indefinitely or getting this over and getting back to normal and starts to follow step 1. She reaches down with her hand over her jeans and starts to rub her crotch and immediately her pelvis involunintarily lurches forward slightly and she moans beenath her breath and closes her eyes before she takes her hand off getting an immediate feedback from her body on what that felt like. You can tell her there’s a huge flowchart of decisions going on within her head, assessing what just happened and determing where she still needs to go next. She’s brought right back to fight or flight mode and scared shitless at what she just felt and where this is going to lead her. The theme at this point is recurring with her needing reassurance that this is the right way to go and that the only other option is for her to walk into her apartment and meet her mom head-on with excitement in her eyes.

She goes to touch herself, again this time forewarned of what was to come and more prepared she doesn’t let off right away and the pelvic arching is more pronounced and her body stiffents up, facial expressions grimacing at the excitement and eyes closing either because she was enjoying it or because she was embarassed to meet me eye-to-eye at what she was partaking in right in front of me. After a few seconds of this, she stops having to catch her breath. I’m being forced to witness the beginnings of a female who wasn’t just a limp noodle to sexual stimulation but was really playing this out pretty vividly in front of me. I may not have mentioned, yet but I’m rock hard at this point in my jeans but that thought hasn’t even crossed my mind to seriously just whip anything out and cross the line with her.

This cycle of her touching herself went on a few times with her stopping almost stunned and breathless each time at how sensitive she was to just a soft touch on her clit, through her blue jeans and then wondering if this was all worth it in front of me in light of the alternative (it was). Each time she knew she had to persevere and fight it out, regardless of how out of control it was leaving her with me there to witness it all.

As she continued to cycle through you could tell with the way her body would start to compulse and her voice breaking off with sudden, quick high pitched “uhs” she was getting close. At somepoint she didn’t need any more coaching and I was just left to sit there and marvel in awe of the results of my mentoring in play. I just sat there wondering how this was ever going to end watching her more quickly rub her hand up and down over jeans when she shot her pelvis up and her whole body stiffened into a board, her right hand shot up to the windshield, fingers spread as far apart as she could get them and then she jerked over hand over to the passenger window to help brace herself. She was silent except for the momentary brief and high-pitches shrieks and the “Oh my God!” that escaped her pursed lips. It was like she walked around the corner and someone scared the shit out of her except instead of being scared, it was just the sudden jolt of titanic energy released throughout her body, her muscles spasming and her literaly being at a loss for words. I lost track of how times her hands tracked cross from passgener window to dashboard, her body contorting in every which stiffened angle it could get itself into in the small small passenger seat of my trusty Festiva. At some point the contortions softened and her steel-like stiff arms that kept her braced against the windows weakened and her arms fell to her side. Her face got relaxed, but eyes still closed, either savoring what had just happened or just relieved that the tension had left her body or mabye both.

She slowly came out of it all and started to take stock and reassess where her body was at. Did that do it? Was the feeling still there? It was gone. She was relaxed and relieved. At last, the crisis to contend with her mom at home had been abated. The end of a quite epic and unexpected evening could finally start to come to an end. A series of apologies from both of us and awkwardness at what had just transpired happened in the end with her ultimately thanking me for my discretion and and “help” in coaching her through an unnerving and would could have been more embarrasing situation. I finally drove her home and called it a night.

The next morning I went out to my car, got in, started it up, glanced to the passenger side remembering the previous night’s events and saw the unexplicable signs of handprints all over the inside of my dashboard and passenger side windows at all different angles.

No need to pinch myself, the prints were reminder enough that I didn’t just wake from the best dream ever, it was all real, all with me and the oil from her hands etching an unmistakable imprint of the deed that we had just participated in, almost like the seed left in the womb, in my car and I couldn’t have been prouder. Those prints stayed on the windows for a very long time and withstood more than a few questions from others on why there were hand prints all over the inside of my car and why didn’t I get that washed already…

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/khcht3/how_i_m_ended_up_with_handprints_f_all_over_the