Thia’s Motoring Emergency

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This little tale from our past is as told recently to one or two close friends, who knew us at the time.


Okay, here it is.

Some of this tale, we disagree about. That’s strange, because I’m sure she agreed with it all the last time I told it to someone.

Here’s the short version: Thia (or “Innocent Little Thia” as I jokingly refer to her when talking about that era, because she was a butter-wouldn’t-melt, wholesome, kittens, cupcakes, Donny Osmond, David Cassidy sort of girl) did actually put a tube of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles in her personal little place … and it didn’t survive the experience.

We were very young, which would be 18 and 19 respectively, I think.

Oh, and it was in my old Ford Escort.

Now you could stop right there, really, but if you want the disputed embellishments then I will continue.

I am pretty sure that the picture of Thia that you have seen, looking very mischievous, sitting in the Escort’s passenger seat and wearing a white t-shirt relates to this incident. However, she has no idea either way and I might be wrong.

Anyway, let’s get to it…

It’s quite early on in our student days. We’ve only recently got together and we are out for the day (or at least out on a long drive), somewhere or other. Thia is wearing a t-shirt and jeans. While driving, I spend quite a lot of time with one hand (when not occupied with driving essentials) on Thia; just stroking or resting on her thigh at first, but we both know it won’t be staying there…

Actually, this and these next few bits are agreed.

Obviously, one thing leads inevitably to another, my hand moves to between her legs, there’s rubbing and stroking and she starts bubbling along enthusiastically (the naughty little minx!).

After a little while, she starts to get lost in the feelings and Esenyurt escort bayan – while I am still driving – she wriggles her trousers and pants down to her ankles and off, so as to facilitate proper access. Thia! Shocking, isn’t she? Vinyl seats are a godsend for wipeability!

I have a feeling neither of us has our seat belt on (this all happened before it was required by law, of course, and – static belts being rather a nuisance – the Escort’s tend to languish unused), but whatever the case, she slides down in the seat to better present the relevant area for easier manipulation, with one knee up, against her door and the one closest to me down on the seat.

So I find myself driving along while entertaining the increasingly delighted girl-parts of wriggling, squirming little Thiakins with my free hand … as one does! That’s Thia for you – once she’s underway, she just doesn’t care about anything else.

Before long, she’s away with the fairies and heading for one of her now famous (notorious?) earth-wobbling crescendos. But there’s a problem. She really, REALLY wants something inside her, on which to clench at the moment of explosion.

This need is described through desperate, soft panting as “an emergency!”

We are still pretty much agreed up to here, by the way.

I find somewhere to pull off the road a little and do so. We are still right beside the road (a fairly quiet one), though – and Thia is now very obviously just on the edge of coming at any moment – so proper sex is absolutely not even considered as a way to resolve the problem.

(Hang on … I’ve just remembered something else, and I don’t know if it belongs in this tale or another. I will mention it at the end).

Briefly suspending the task at er … hand, we look hurriedly around inside the car. Small Escort Etiler torch? Half-eaten packet of Polos? Screwdriver handle? Then (from the boot), nozzle of fuel can (unused, and ribbed!) – Thia says that one wasn’t suggested, but I say it was, and that its use was definitely considered.

In the end (by which time Thia has almost started eating her seat in despair), we find a packet of fruit pastilles in the glove box.

I remember it as a cardboard tube with a flip lid, but she says it was just a small paper/foil tube, and thinking about it now, she is probably right.

She eases it into place, I resume the fingerwork (now that I’m not driving, I can give the whole business the proper attention it deserves) and, shortly afterwards, along comes the usual volcanic, door-bursting orgasm, perhaps even more dramatic than usual, thanks to the enforced hiatus at a critical moment.

What were we thinking?! What if someone had seen us? Suppose a police car had come by?! I don’t think they’d accept Thia’s insistence that “It’s an emergency!”

You think all of this stuff up to now is bad enough? Well hold on, because it gets worse!

Ultimately, the tube of fruit pastilles (which has been living a very quiet life until this event) is withdrawn. Well, most of it is…

It is no longer intact and neither are its contents. Do you know how many fruit pastilles are supposed to be in a tube? Nope, me neither. Until this moment, it would never have seemed like important information to be aware of, but it really is, because some of these are definitely missing and I don’t know how many!

How do I get into these situations? What are we going to tell her parents this time? Everyone thinks Thia is Little Miss Innocent, so the blame will be put entirely on me for “leading her astray”. I wonder if Eyüp escort there’s anywhere around here you can buy a speculum?

So with Thia in panic mode, I now have to poke about in her vagina (she dare not even attempt it herself), trying to find one or more stray fruit pastilles! It’s like probing into a squishy hosepipe (okay, it’s a lot nicer than that), in the sense that feeling one in there is one thing, but extracting it rather than pushing it in even further is another thing entirely. (Bear in mind, also, that – despite what we have been up to – I haven’t actually known her very long!)

I manage to coax out one very warm, squashed, soggy, sugary, fruity remnant and find that she’s sitting on another. But is that it? Are there more?

Subsequently, I try to reassemble what remains of the packaging so that we can take a guess as to whether or not we’ve got them all accounted for. I think there’s definitely another missing.

To this day, I think there was another one (presumably later vaginally digested or otherwise lost). So Thia’s vagina probably qualifies for some sort of sweet-eating record there, although I doubt Guinness World Records would have been keen on encouraging televised attempts at beating it.

Eventually, I take Thia home.

“Nice day, dear?” Thia’s mother asks of her.

“Yes,” she replies, “Just the usual sort of thing.”

So there you go. Most of it is actually agreed after all, it seems. Almost all, except the “One is still missing!” and the fuel can spout parts. Thia is not really the quiet, harmless, unadventurous girl you probably thought, is she? Like they say, it’s always the quiet ones…

Oh, she did it again another time (and again there were consequences) with a tiny, collapsible umbrella! It was my sister’s! Thia’s er … enjoyment discoloured it! I think it was when we went to Wales on that scorching hot day and later took the photograph you’ve seen of Thia in the bath.

Years later, I encountered the umbrella again while helping my sister move house. It still bore the signs. (We did clean it up, of course, but it was sort of bleached.)


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