-- Tintown here... with many of my stories, look for links to my iAimoo Album for pictures of main (female adult) story character(s), external links to similar pictures of the vehicle(s) involved, and links for a location if needbe. And here's my list of other stories if you like what you read.

(about 2500 words)

97% AI: Toolbaz.com and Gemini 2.5 Flash! 

                        Plaid Flannel on Black Vinyl                        

    The fluorescent lighting of housemates Vivian Brickley and Heather Fortin’s garage cast a harsh, clinical glow over the scene and the air hung thick with the scent of old oil, damp concrete, and the faint, sweet perfume of regret, yet the air thrummed with the kind of electric anticipation usually reserved for a sold-out concert. Tonight, however, the only star of the show was a battered, baby blue 1970s-era Volkswagen Beetle, its rear engine lid splayed open like a dissected frog on a lab table. The new, immobile baby blue dream had arrived via a tow truck, a cheap, impulsive acquisition for Vivian, a mechanical engineering major with a penchant for rust and a budget for ramen noodles.

    Vivian, a whirlwind of greasy enthusiasm, wiped a smudge of oil from her cheek, leaving a darker streak in its wake. Her faded college sweatshirt was already stained, but her plaid flannel pants, thankfully, had escaped the worst of the night’s grime. She looked up at Heather, who stood poised, camcorder in hand, a picture of supportive camaraderie in her own equally comfortable, if slightly less abused, sweatshirt and flannel pants.

    “Alright, Heather, this is it,” Vivian declared, her voice a low thrum of excitement. “The moment of truth. My blood, sweat, and… well, mostly sweat, has gone into this. This little blue buggy is ready to sing.”

    Heather, ever the practical one, adjusted the camcorder’s focus. “You want me to get your reaction shot if it explodes?” she teased, a light in her eyes.

    Vivian rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Hardy har har. Just get the engine. Official first start attempt. We need documentation for posterity, and for when I inevitably have to convince my parents this was a sound investment.” She grinned, a flash of white against the grease. “Plus, but think of it, Heather! Spring break. Road trip. Wind in our hair, Born to Be Wild blasting. It’s… it’s freedom!” She gestured vaguely at the car, as if already picturing it rolling down a coastal highway. “And it was so cheap. A steal!”

    “Vivian, it was a steal because it didn’t run,” Heather replied.

    “We’ll see about that,” Vivian said as the camcorder under Heather’s control showed Vivian walking towards her captain’s chair in the Beetle.

                  2                 

    The air thickened, a mix of raw gasoline, old oil, and the faint, sweet scent of hopeful ambition. Vivian climbed into the driver’s seat, its worn black vinyl disintegrating under the friction of her flannel-covered posterior. Heather adjusted her stance, the camcorder whirring softly, its red light glowing like a tiny, watchful eye. Vivian took a deep breath, her hands hovering over the ignition key.

    “Ready, Heather?” Vivian turned to ask her housemate.

    “Ready when you are, Captain Viv.”

    Vivian crossed her fingers in her left hand and sank her left foot on the loose clutch. To be absolutely sure that the Beetle would not launch itself into the front of the garage, Vivian checked that the scrawny gear shift was in neutral. Confirmed. She turned the ignition key while the two lone red lights glow on the Beetle’s one-gauged dash, then had good thoughts as she went for it. “Start for mama, honey...”

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN...

        A low, mechanical groan emanated from the rear of the Beetle, a sound like a tired old man clearing his throat. Heather was recording the Beetle’s engine spinning, shaking, and suffering. The engine cranked, but with no real conviction. Vivian’s hand took to the Beetle’s ignition key and tried again.

BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WHINN, WHINN, cough, cough, then silence.

    “Come on, you beautiful beast,” Vivian muttered to herself, gritting her teeth. She pumped the gas pedal once, twice, a primal ritual of coaxing. Another turn of the Beetle’s ignition key.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINN, WHINN. Nothing but the frustrated grind of the starter.

    Heather, ever patient, kept the camera steady, and yelled at Vivian sitting in the Beetle. “Almost had it there, I think? It made more noise, Viv!”

    “Think again,” Vivian grumbled to herself, but there was still a spark in her eyes. “Fuel’s getting there, spark’s trying. Just needs a little more cajoling.”

    She leaned back, taking another deep breath, visualizing the internal combustion, the tiny explosions yearning to happen. She turned the Beetle’s ignition key again, holding it, listening.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINN, WHINN. WINNWINN... A deeper, more promising sound. WINNWINNWINN… A hesitant, choked gasp from the engine compartment. PRUTa, RUTa…

    Then, a miracle... as the engine was riled from slumber.

    RRRROOOOM…

                  3                 

    The engine caught... a glorious, albeit jarring, explosion of sound that instantly filled the garage. It wasn't smooth, it wasn't quiet, but it was running. Vivian’s hand sprung away from the ignition key in startlement. However, the engine immediately sounded… off. A frantic, tinny rattle accompanied the low rumble, like a bag of bolts being shaken vigorously. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK!

    Vivian, oblivious to the discordant symphony for a split second, pumped her fist into the air, a triumphant yell escaping her lips. “WHOO-HOO!”

    She hopped out of the Beetle. Her face was beaming, a wild, unadulterated joy. She practically tumbled out of the car, sprinting towards the engine bay, ready to bask in the glory of her resurrected project. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK!

    “Heather, did you get that? Did you get all that glorious… oh.” as the engine behind them sputtered to silence. PRUTa, RUTa, rutt...

    Heather, who had remained riveted to the engine, lowered the camcorder slightly, her brow furrowed. “Yeah, I got it. And I got… something else, Viv. Something came loose right there.” She pointed a finger towards the back of the engine, where a wisp of acrid white smoke was curling upwards, dissipating into the cool garage air. “Smoking. And something came off. It just… flopped.”

    Vivian’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of dawning concern. She peered intently into the engine bay, the smoke of a faint ghost against the oily metal. She reached in, her fingers instinctively searching for anomalies. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the settling ticks of the cooling engine. Then, her hand emerged, clutching a short, blackened rubber hose.

    “What came off?” Heather asked, zooming in slightly on the offending piece of rubber. “I don’t know. What was that thing?”

    Vivian held the hose up, turning it over on her fingers. The rubber was brittle, cracked, and smelled distinctly of burnt antiquity. Her initial elation quickly evaporated, replaced by a familiar wave of mechanic’s frustration.

    “This,” Vivian sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly, “is just an old vacuum hose. Son of a bitch.” She sniffed the hose again, a grimace on her face. “Stinks. Damn it.” The realization that her triumphant first start was immediately marred by a sputtering, smoking issue deflated her momentarily.

    But Vivian wasn’t one to stay defeated for long. She tossed the hose aside, a new resolve hardening her features. “Alright, round two. Just a minor setback. Probably why it sounded like a dying squirrel playing a tambourine.”

    She climbed back into the Beetle, the door still swung wide open. Heather, after a moment of confusion, continued filming. Vivian turned the key again.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINN, PRUTa, RUTa…RRRROOOOM…

                  4                 

    The engine caught again, the same unsettling rattle accompanying its thunderous thrum. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! It sounded better now than a dying squirrel, perhaps more like a very disgruntled badger, but still far from healthy. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! PRUTa, RUTa, rutt...

    The engine stalled, dying with a whimper. Vivian sat there for a moment, head bowed. She sighed, then climbed out, running a hand through her already disheveled hair.

    Heather watched her approach, then asked, “What are you trying to do now? It sounded… angrier.”

    Vivian walked around to the engine bay, peering in again. “The throttle is... the throttle cable is snapped. I couldn’t give it any gas and why it crapped out. The vacuum leak was just a bonus prize.” She pulled a piece of frayed cable out from near the carburetor. “See? It’s completely shot. I need to replace it, but for a quick fix, I can probably rehook it enough to keep it running if someone’s working the key.” Her eyes lit up with a new, if more complicated, plan. “I need you to start it, and I need to mess with the throttle cable, so let’s put the camcorder down for a sec.”

    Heather nodded, setting the camcorder carefully on a greasy stool across from the Beetle’s open engine bay, angling it to capture the action. Vivian leaned over it, her t-shirt-covered chest brushing the lens as she checked the little viewfinder. Her profile, including a distinct outline of her breasts, momentarily filled the frame as she made sure the recording light was still glowing.

    “Wait. Oh, okay. It's still on. Yeah, it's, it works right here. Perfect angle, actually,” she murmured, more to herself than Heather. She straightened up, a determined glint in her eyes. “Alright, get in there and start it for me. Just turn the key when I say so. Don’t hit the gas.”

    As Heather climbed into the driver’s seat (a rarity), Vivian suddenly turned back to the camcorder, a wide, playful grin spreading across her face. She wiggled her hips in a quick, celebratory dance, arms spread wide. “I got it running in my jammies!” she announced with theatrical enthusiasm, then winked at the camera before turning back to the engine.

    Heather, settled into the driver’s seat behind the sparse dashboard that she’s not familiar with, and called out, “Do I need to hit the gas pedal?”

    “No,” Vivian yelled back, already probing the carburetor with a small tool. “Just turn the key over. Just two lights come on. Don’t worry about the gas, just hit the clutch.”

    “Of course, clutch, got it. You ready?” Heather asked loudly.

    “Yep! Hit it!”

    Heather took her foot and sent the clutch pedal downwards and gently turned the ignition key to the Beetle to the right.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINNwinn, WINNWINNWINNwin, PRUTa, RUTa…RUTa… RRRROOOOM…

                  5                 

    Vivian watched as the Beetle’s engine exploded to life again, the distinctive, rattly growl filling the garage. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! As the engine sputtered, Vivian’s hands flew to the carburetor, her fingers deft and quick. She worked at the connection point, her knuckles brushing against the hot metal. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! There was a moment of struggle, a slight grunt from Vivian, and then, with a satisfied click, she managed to secure the frayed end of the throttle cable to the mechanism. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK!

    With the cable reattached, even precariously, Vivian could now control the engine. She descended the small lever on the carburetor, and the engine responded, its roar intensifying, then softening, then intensifying again. RRRROOOOM…RRRROOOOM...RRRROOOOM... The garage vibrated with the tiny display of raw power. It still sounded like a beast, but now it was a beast under her command.

    “Hold it steady!” Vivian yelled over the noise, keeping the RPMs up. RRRROOOOM! She listened, adjusted. RRRROOOOM! RRRROOOOM! After a few exhilarating seconds of making the engine sing her tune, she signaled Heather. “Okay, turn it off!”

    PRUTa, RUTa, RUT, rutt, rutt…

    The garage was suddenly quiet, the air thick with the smell of exhaust and achievement. Heather emerged from the Beetle, a curious look on her face. “What’s next?” she asked, looking at Vivian. “I heard all the noise, but I don’t know what you actually did.”

    Vivian chuckled, wiping her hands on a rag. “Oh, I… I don’t know, it’s just… it’s working! I got the cable hooked up enough now that it’ll run. I did it, Heather!” She then walked over to the camcorder, kneeling down beside it. “Alright, after I check the footage. I’m going to have to email the video and then see what I need to do… oh, boy, yeah, this is good.” She smirked at the lens. “Proof that I am, in fact, a mechanical genius, even in my pajamas.”

    Without another word, Vivian hopped back into the driver’s seat, her movements fluid and confident. A couple of clicks were heard from the engine’s carburetor, then she turned the ignition key boastfully.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINNwinn, WINNWINNWINNwin, PRUTa, RUTa…RUTa… RRRROOOOM… The engine started instantly this time, a deeper, more consistent rumble, though still with that characteristic VW noise. It was loud. Obnoxiously loud. And perfect. RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK, RICCKK! Viv pressed the accelerator, and the engine’s pitch soared. RRRROOOOM… RRRROOOOM… RRRROOOOM. She raced it for a few glorious seconds, the sound echoing triumphantly through the garage. RRRROOOOM… RRRROOOOM… Then, she shut off the engine, the silence punctuated by her joyful giggles. PRUTa, RUTa, RUT, rutt, rutt…

                  6                 

   She practically leaped out of the car, her eyes shining with pure exhilaration. “I got it running! Running!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Heather for a quick, greasy hug.

    Heather returned the hug, beaming. “You did! You did!”

    They stood there for a moment, in the glorious cacophony, letting the reality sink in. The cheap, stubborn, temperamental car, an impossible dream, was running.

    “Okay,” Heather said “So, now what?”

    Vivian pulled back, her energy boundless. “Just one more time, for good measure!” she told her housemate. She was back in the driver’s seat before Heather could even process it, her hands on the wheel, a mad scientist’s glee in her eyes.

    BRUUUNN, WHINN, WHINN, WINNWINNWINNwinn, WINNWINNWINNwin, PRUTa, RUTa…RUTa… RRRROOOOM… The noisy engine caught. Vivian let it idle for a moment, listening to its rhythm, a proud parent observing a rambunctious child. Then, she floored it. RRRROOOOM!…RRRROOOOM!…RRRROOOOM! The engine howled, a symphony of pistons and power, vibrating through the concrete floor. She held it there for a few seconds, savoring the sound, the tangible proof of her hard work. Then, with a final, satisfied flourish, she switched it off.

    Silence fell, a peace now earned and settled. Vivian emerged from the Beetle, her chest heaving slightly, a triumphant grin plastered on her face. She walked directly to the camcorder, looking into its lens, her eyes shining.

    “I did this all myself,” she stated, her voice thick with pride and exhaustion, a raw, genuine declaration of victory. She nodded once, a final, confident gesture, then reached out and placed the lens cap back on, plunging the small digital eye into darkness, but leaving the garage bathed in the glow of a job well done. The little blue Beetle, silent now, seemed to hum with silent promise, that much closer to being ready for spring break road trips, independence, boundless freedom, and that had just coughed, sputtered, and roared its way into existence.

97% AI: Toolbaz.com and Gemini 2.5 Flash, but I fed it the "plot". The engine sounds and tidbits were added by me.. Inspired by a favorite Tube clip of mine...