Claude pulled out into the Paris traffic, his car buffeted by a rainstorm that had now lasted over ten hours. As he maneuvered the vehicle through the city, Claude mused. But this was nothing new for him; he often mused while driving. He even reveled on occasion. In fact, he mused so much that he sometimes wondered whether he had a gland that did it for him; a musing gland, or something. But these thoughts did not occupy him this night. Tonight, his thoughts were far more focused.
Ahead of him, an orange Fiat Spider cut him off and he slammed his foot onto the brake pedal, soliciting a satisfying squeal, and his hand onto the horn. He snorted and raised and shook his fist in the dirty bugger's rearview mirror, he hoped.
But Claude was in far too good a mood to let some idiot with a drivers license ruin it for him. He slowed and made a left turn off of the main artery onto a side street where he could cruise peacefully and continue his musings.
He still smelled of champagne where it had spilled on his dinner jacket earlier that evening. He did not care. He embraced the aroma of vintage bubbly as it soaked into the fibers of his clothing. He was almost sitting in a puddle of it in the car seat. Claude found himself strangely aroused, as if the odor of the wine and the dampness of his tuxedo turned on his passion. It was an aroma like a grapey pheromone, sending images of desire through his conscious mind, the like of which he had never known. He did not know what to make of all this but he knew that he smelled wonderful and it felt wonderful to smell so good! In fact, it felt wonderful to be so alive, so horny, so... French, all at once!
He gunned the Peugeot's engine and the car leapt down the rain-soaked street towards whatever Fate had awaiting for it and Claude.
We are near the river, Claude thought to himself. Good. The river will be beautiful tonight, even in the rain. Perhaps especially because of the rain. He drove on, steadily increasing his speed, smelling himself and getting hornier with each passing moment.
At the end of the street on which he propelled the car, Claude could see a small quay, reaching briefly out into the storm-tossed river. The rain had slowed a bit by now. The clouds thinned just enough to let some moonlight through the storm. As he approached, he could make out a small dinghy tied to the quay, rising up and down on the swelling river.
Claude eased his foot off of the accelerator, moved it to the brake pedal, and then, on an impulse, stamped down on the gas, nearly pushing it and his foot through the floor-boards. The car pounced forward, rifling towards the river. His face spread into a wide, relaxed grin. He slipped his hands off of the steering wheel and he giggled to himself. The car caromed sideways then went into a clockwise spin, the four wheels squealing in protest on the wet pavement. The little pier rushed up as the car bore down on it relentlessly.
With an exhilirating rush, the car, like a spinning top off a table, shot out over the quay and dinghy, landing in shallow water. With a happy sigh, Claude basked in the sensation as the cold river water gushed into the car's driver's compartment.
It is Saturday night after all, Claude thought, and I
needed a bath anyway.