I am at the state of complete luxury. A classic new car scent and men’s cologne gluts the atmosphere prior to my mistress’s entrance. P at the top. She shifts my Minotaur down the maze all while securely stepping on the lever to maintain my position. With a swift motion of her hand, she positions me to kill mode. I cannot help but take notice on how delicate her figure is against my bulky frame. To think anyone with some oil in his or her head, can control me and travel half the country. My sections are carefully fashioned with each lane mathematically designed in order to safely direct the stick to the proper segment. My mistress is likewise. Her waist hugs her in from her breasts to her thighs, where they onto cling to her. She is thin, but powerful. However she has this aura about her, I cannot pinpoint it. She is so simple, but incredibly captivating, and this is how she draws the attention of others. This invisible factor, not even the simplest man can ignore. She checks herself in the mirror and her beauty is intertwined with the outside scenery. Her eyes like turquoise stones.

With them she breaks an innocent glance towards my wheel, distracting her from the outside world. My downwards-facing silver PacMan symbol coldly stares back at her. She seems confused but lustful. Intrigued. Like a needle to a vein, my small logo unexplainably captures her and represents its complete awareness of my potential fatality. Her tips trace upon it like Braille. A chill passes through her but she shakes it off. My logo is sleek and smooth, but some sort of possessive message must have been passed through to her mind to cause such an altering affect. My mistress is a steady driver, but all of a sudden she has mentally left our realm. She feels heavier and warmer. A sudden heated sensation elopes her. She is pressing harder on my right lever. I fear for her safety; I am not sure if it is that she realized that she is in power of this system. It is each and every movement. My mistress has developed, a crooked, eerie, smile, on her face.

My lady looks to be under an exuberating adrenaline rush. My speedometer is exceeding 40, 50, 60. She has entered the highway, while her song plays. “Lay your body down”.
The music is giving her a false sense of no limitations. 90. The next second without realization can be a death-life situation. My lady and I are Bonnie and Clyde, a threat to society. I am in total liability of someone’s life. I potentially have the say in what is what at this point, all because my mistress is taking over. “And we’re caught in the crossfire between Heaven and Hell…” A reality bomb goes off. She eases down at the brakes, a tilting at windmills gesture.
Sense begins to seep in. 75. Her lust for dominance is diminishing and her face falls pale. 60. She is with legal speed now.

After a few rounds, her shortness of breath, and crazed confused eyes, like a fearful animal, have slowed. Her hands are drenched in sweat, as she curves me in my resting station. Slowly now she adjusts me to a perpendicular position from the driveway. I ease in, careful to prevent any sounds and slither up onto my spot. She yanks the keys from my starter and tosses them between her thighs. Resting her head on my wheel, again I notice she looks at menacing symbol mocking her. Pleasuring itself with its success in possessing her mind. Clumsily, she steps out from me and trudges towards the front door. She has left me to rehabilitate. Lights shut off and I wait for her to wake me for the next afternoon run.