I got my first car in the October of 1987 after passing my test on the 3rd attempt. To most people it did not seem like much but to me it was like a dream mobile. I remember picking up the car from Blackburn as if it was yesterday. My life savings of £325, bought me a P reg Ford Escort Mark 2, white with a black vinyl roof. A few weeks later during the first jet wash, I was to discover that it was actually red not white. But not to worry, apart from a leak (easily cured by drilling a hole in the floor) and a damaged big end (nobody told me that you needed to put oil in a car), it was a perfectly good runner. The advent of my first car also coincided with the advent of my first real girlfriend who I will refer to only as Linda in case she files a lawsuit. I very much doubt this will happen because for want of a better phrase, she was not the sharpest tool in the shed. I will never forget when one of the daily tabloids ran a front cover story entitled "Monkey's have their brains removed and are turned into cabbages", to which she replied "No way, I am never eating cabbages again". Anyway, intelligence played no part in the reasons why I thought that I loved her at the time, whilst an 18 year old libido which was being regularly serviced, did.
So, you see the Ford Escort Mark 2 was more than just a means of transport, it was my passport to unhindered sexual intercourse of an 18 year old kind. Living on a modern estate with houses made of paper and parents that never went out, this rusty white and red machine, doubled up as a mobile love motel which could be parked up anywhere within reason and possessed 2 seats that reclined right back. Perfect for any young lovers needs.
I have the car for approximately a month and everything has been going just sweet. Linda and I have found a spot down by Irwell Vale on a road that terminates by a bunch of old houses and a big old iron gate. We go there every night for 2 weeks and perform our sexual shenanigans in a variety of contorted positions before an angry house owner finally shoo's us away. I can only assume that Irwell Vale could not take such excitement. We are forced to look for a new home.
There were many rumours circulating at the time that Grane Road resevoirs were being used as a lovers lane, so that's precisely where I headed. I can't remember which of the 3 resevoirs we headed for but, whichever it was we found a secluded spot and commenced our teenage kicks. Very soon, I was all consumed with passion and although it was Winter, I was soon totally naked, as was Linda. All was going great, as we serviced each others parts, until a car full of young guys drove past and upon noticing us turned around. Linda, picked up on this immediately and demanded that we get dressed. I chose to ignore it and tried to drag her back down to my pleasure zone. The car turned around and came back, flashing it's main beam through our windows, it's windows wound down and boys hanging out shouting "dirty bastards". By now, Linda was frantic and had scrambled her clothes on. I, on the other hand was furious, my only concession to Linda's demands to get dressed was to place a sock on my inflated member. Quickly unreclining my seat I fasten my seatbelt and with sock on cock, I started the engine and exited the car park at a furious pace.
All consumed with passion and rage, I drove my dream mobile, flat out for around 4 miles across the wintery, dark moorland road. Like a maniac at the wheel, my erection maintained by the excitement and liberation of driving naked. Next to me, Linda half laughing, a third scared and slighly bewildered at the situation. I am convinced that we are going to continue our carnal delights when I have found a new place, I think Linda is running on a different agenda.
Eventually, we see a road that looks like it could offer us the perfect loving spot and I swing the car to the left to pursue this train of thought. One major point which i have neglected to point out until this point is the fact that this evening is November 5th or bonfire night to British people and others sporadically scattered around the world. On bonfire night the whole of the UK is alive with blazing piles of wood and fireworks illuminating the Winter skies. This fact aids us in the short term, providing a beacon for me to follow along the dark and windy country roads, but is my downfall in the long term because I am lured by the inviting glares of a thousand fires and fireworks. Against Linda's strong requests, I opt to drive down what can only be descibed as a tractor path, which is, I estimate at a 70 percent gradient. Of course, I have realised that this is a really silly idea but stubborness and passion are my driving forces. By now Linda is crying, the sock has fallen off my dick and I am having serious doubts as to whether or not I am going to be getting any loving tonight. Any hope that I may have reserved is well and truly extinguished within the next few moments as my beloved car nose dives into a 6 ft ditch.
A minutes silence follows, as we try to assimilate exactly what has just happened which is pretty difficult when you propped at a 90 degree angle with a seatbelt holding you in position. Once this mental equation has been calculated, I unclip my seat belt and like the 18 year old spoilt brat that I was, I leap out of the car, in all my nakedness screeching "my car, my beautiful car". The headlights of the car illuminating my naked torso, I frantically try to dig my car out of the ditch in which it is embedded. Linda, is still strapped in her seat, screaming in both fear and anger. I hear her screams in the background but these are overridden by my manic vocal gesticulations and the crascendo of the fireworks. I can only imagine how this scene would have looked to a passerby.
Linda, eventually liberates herself from the seatbelt and in a mixture of anger and pure panic, gets me to stop digging like a lunatic. She even manages to get me to recognise the sense of putting my clothes on before heading to the farm house in the far distance. At the farm house, I tentatively knock on the door and tell the farm that my girlfriend and I have been taking a leisurely Winters evening drive and have mistakingkly nose dived my car into a ditch. Fortunately the farmer and his wife do not shine a spot light on the elephant in the room and let us use their phone to ring my parents. It is obvious to all around, exactly what has happened but nobody passes comment, at least not that night.
The next day the farmer, being a typical farmer, charges me £30 to pull my car out of the ditch with his tractor. My mum, dad and uncle go to pick up the car whilst I go to work. Later my uncle breaks the silence as he passes comment abut the proliferation of condoms that littered the floor of my passion wagon. My car never drives the same again
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