Old Cars and Young Hearts

by M Knight

(On an old car meeting, Jason met Samantha and wanted to invite her. She

was born totally limbless, but had learnt to help herself by other means,

as she had extraordinary breasts - called them Flopsy and Mopsy - and

wanted to learn from Jason how men look like undressed...)

"Mr Sibley?"

"Oh, hello, Jason. How is your father?"

"He's doing a little better, I guess. He misses coming out to the meets,

though."

"I can just imagine. He has been at these antique car meets as long as I

have. You brought the little Oldsmobile this time?"

"Right. He thought it would be a good car for this meet. The high-wheeler

is getting a little fragile, and I was a little apprehensive about bringing

it out."

Mr Sibley and Jason turned from the refreshment stand and walked back

toward the infield where their cars waited in polished splendor. The little

curved-dash Olds sat some twenty cars away from the big coffin-front

Stanley Steamer. The morning's parade of antique cars, with their drivers

and passengers in costume, had gone smoothly for the forty or so

participants. The early autumn weather was clear and cool with a sparkling

blue sky and a few puffy white clouds. A great day.

"Jason," Mr Sibley asked, "did you have trouble getting out here?"

"Nope. The Olds is street legal, and as long as I stay on the back roads, I

can do OK. How about you?"

"No indeed. The Steamer steps right along. Even towed our little camp

trailer behind it."

"Mr Sibley?"

"Yes?"

"In the parade this morning... I thought I saw someone riding in the back

seat."

"Oh you did, did you?"

There was a twinkle in seventy-year-old Frank Sibley's eye. He had wondered

why the young man less than half his age had suddenly become so friendly.

The person riding in the back seat that morning, in duster and bonnet, was

twenty-three-year-old Samantha, a girl Sibley and his wife Margaret had

adopted as an infant.

Samantha had been hard to place. Her birth parents had given her up for

adoption, not knowing how to cope with the birth of a daughter so seriously

handicapped. The well-to-do but childless Sibleys had taken her in and

raised her at home with tutors and specialists. Riding in the back of the

Stanley Steamer, however, her extensive disabilities were disguised, and

all Jason Ransome saw was a charming face framed with blond curls.

"Yes. A young lady?" Jason's complexion had begun to redden.

"I see," chuckled Mr Sibley. "So that's it, eh? Well, you're right, young

man. There was someone riding back there. That was our daughter Samantha."

"I was just wondering. I didn't think I'd seen her before."

Frank Sibley took a few more steps before he spoke. "She doesn't get out

much, but she loves the old cars so and she's worked so hard... She's...

Let's say she made such an effort to help me get the Stanley ready for the

meet that I promised to bring her along this time."

"The Olds doesn't get judged until 3:00, do you think I could... "

Frank knew that Jason was about to meet his daughter. That was certain. The

question in his mind was how much preparation he should make. He liked

Jason and had known his family for years.

"Jason, there's something I should tell you about Samantha. She's a bright,

pretty young lady and in most ways is just like everyone else, but as you

will see when we get back to the car, she is quite limited, physically."

"Limited?"

"Yes. She can't get around very well or do most of the things we take for

granted. She is, however, a fine young woman, and her mother and I think

the world of her."

"I see. Was it an accident or something?"

"No. She came into the world this way. She was born with... without her

limbs. It's a very rare thing. They call it total amelia. That's the real

situation. It has made life difficult for her, of course, but she's a brave

and spunky kid, and she's made the most of what she does have. I wanted you

to know that. If you still want to meet her, you're certainly welcome."

They were back in the infield now, past the front row of prize winners from

the morning's judging. A Fiat, a deDion, a Columbia Electric, and a big

Mercedes sparkled in the October sun. Although Jason had time to change his

mind, the prospect that now lay before him made him more eager than ever to

meet Samantha Sibley.

The green, coffin-front Stanley was parked beside a small pop-top camp

trailer. As the pair approached, Frank called out: "Sam, I brought you a

hot dog and some French fries. All right, honey?"

A young woman's voice answered from the little tent: "Sure, Pop. That's

fine. I'm almost changed. I'll be out as soon as I get this top on."

"And Samantha, you remember the Ransomes? Their son Jason is here."

"Pop, you told me that this morning when we saw him at the parade. That

cute guy I asked about, right?"

"Samantha, honey, I mean he's right here. He wants to meet you."

"Ooooohhmygosh!" the voice chirped. "Talk about blabber mouth! Wow. You

didn't hear that, OK? I'll hurry."

Sounds of activity emanated from the tent. There were verbal comments of

irritation and frustration, stopping short of foul language or blasphemy.

"Does she need some help?" asked Jason asked.

"Yes, of course she does," responded the older man, "but she won't accept

it unless she's completely exhausted herself trying to do whatever she

needs to do. She's a little overboard, you might say, about being self

sufficient." Frank Sibley looked a little chagrined. "Her mother and I

encouraged that. We wanted her to make the most of herself so that she

wouldn't require a full-time attendant. I'm not altogether sure we didn't

overdo it."

The sounds continued from the tent, which rocked slightly on its wheels.

"Like any other young person growing up," her father continued, "she's

needed to be more and more independent, and this business of being able to

do everything for herself has become even more important to her, even

though it's clearly impossible."

After a few minutes, the flaps of the tent were pushed a little, then

nudged aside. Finally, the most curious figure of Samantha Sibley appeared

at the entrance. It was indeed the same bright face and the same champagne

curls Jason had seen that morning. The torso, however, was nothing he could

have imagined.

Samantha was balanced upright on her legless bottom. As her father had

described her, she truly had neither legs nor arms, nor for that matter

even much in the way of shoulders. There, swaying on the top step of the

camper was the object of Jason's search, a person quite different from the

image he had originally fancied. This cute blonde was no more than a head

and body. Draped in a large bulky college sweatshirt, Samantha Sibley

caught Jason's eye in another way. It was something her father hadn't

mentioned. Or two somethings, Jason thought. The bulk of the sweatshirt

couldn't disguise the biggest chest Jason had ever seen, including those of

the astonishingly augmented show girls he'd seen in Las Vegas.

"Sorry it took me so long," she apologized. "The camper's kind of rocky,

and I kept toppling over. Sorry. I'm really a lot faster." Her blue eyes

flashed a smile. "Hi! Are you Jason?"

"Hi, yes," Jason smiled back, "the cute guy!"

"No fair! You didn't hear that!" she laughed. "Poppy, just put my hot dog

and fries over on the folding table, please, OK? I'm coming right down."

She rocked a bit and swiveled her body around on the step, then arched her

back and rolled forward onto her tummy and the great swaying bulk of her

bosom. With continuing effort, she adjusted her position so that her bottom

was over the steps and facing Jason.

"Oh my gosh, ' thought Jason, 'her bottom's totally bare! She's not wearing

any panties or anything.' He did his best to seem unaffected by his

observation, glancing after a while at Mr Sibley, who nodded, shrugged,

and busied himself at the folding table. Samantha began to lower herself

down the little ladder, finally sliding down the last step to the grass.

She turned to Jason.

"You men already ate, right? And got to the bathroom?"

"Yes, we got something over at the stand. Took care of everything. You go

right ahead!"

"Thanks! I'm starving."

She swiveled, swayed, and set out toward the folding table where her father

had set up some camp chairs and was pouring lemonade from a vacuum

container.

Although it was obviously difficult for Samantha, she made slow and steady

forward progress, stopping from time to steady herself when the violent

undulations beneath her shirt became too threatening to her delicate

balance.

"This is the first time I've come to the meet in a long time," she said as

she moved along. "I usually just help get the car ready and then hear about

it afterward."

"I was wondering why I hadn't seen you before," Jason said. "I usually come

with my dad, but he's not doing too well, so I'm here with the curved-dash

Olds by myself this time. Nice to meet you."

"You too," she smiled up at Jason. Then she continued toward the table and

chairs.

"This is fun. I love to go barefoot, don't you?" she asked Jason.

Her father shot her a look of disapproval. "Really, Sam, you should have

gotten on your shorts or something. At home 's one thing, dear, but with so

my people around... "

"Poppy, there wasn't time, and they only fall down the minute I take a few

steps. Besides, nobody has a problem with a glimpse of a bare bottom these

days anyhow." She looked up at Jason. "Right?"

"Whatever makes you comfortable," Jason managed.

"Goody!" Samantha Sibley said.

With a grimace, Samantha swung the bulk of her bosom up and onto the seat

of one of the camp chairs and, with what Jason perceived as remarkably

resourceful maneuvering, raised herself up onto the seat, pushing on the

rungs of the chair with the unencumbered front of her pelvis. Mr Sibley

looked away. It was clear that he was uncomfortable, yet realized that

anything he might say would draw even more attention to the way his

daughter was using parts of her body normally kept private and out of view.

With one final push, Samantha's torso lay across the seat. Flopping herself

right side up, first with her head then with her shoulder blades, she then

worked her way up the back of the chair until she was upright. Beads of

perspiration were obvious on her brow and upper lip.

Her father finally looked up. "Lemonade?" he asked.

"Please."

Jason was astonished. Neither Samantha nor her father seemed to care about,

or even acknowledge the extraordinary effort it took for this young woman

to accomplish the simplest things. Yet she was obviously determined to do

the things that others did and had found some ways, even ways that would be

certainly inappropriate or even completely taboo for others, to accomplish

her goals. It was as if that was the most natural and normal thing in the

world, and that was that. He decided that it would be best to simply

observe, not comment.

Samantha considered the situation before her. The lemonade was close enough

to reach. That would be simple. All she would have to do, would be to arch

her neck, lean down and pick up the paper cup in her teeth, lift it and

drink. No problem there. The hot dog in its paper holder, appropriately

seasoned with mustard, was within her reach too. Lean down and bite. Simple

enough. Just the way she ate at home. It was the potatoes. The cardboard

tray of French fries was off to one side and farther than she could reach

without toppling over and falling to the grass below. That wouldn't do.

Neither would asking for help if she could manage any other way.

As a twelve-year-old-child, she had assumed that her sprouting bosom would

be useful to augment her abilities to reach farther than the tip of her

tongue. Not a standard technique for most girls, but then again she was not

a standard-issue person. She would, she assumed, be able to put these two

pointy puppies to do her bidding, especially as she, and they, continued to

grow and develop. To that end she had practiced diligently in the privacy

of her bedroom, looking forward to the day when she could use her growing

bosom to reach out and become, to some small degree at least, the arms she

never would have.

As her chest continued to grow, however, far beyond the sizes listed in any

of the catalogs of intimate wear, it became painfully obvious that the

size and weight of her breasts prohibited any such useful application. They

had simply become too big and heavy to do any of the simple tasks she had

imagined. Her long hours of practice, even to gain the tiniest bit of

control, had been in vain. She could still cause her nipples to become

marvelously erect on demand, that was true, but that was just about all.

She considered her dilemma. She could certainly bring the fries within

reach of her tongue if she could lift just one giant breast up onto the

table and nudge the potatoes closer. She was quite sure of that. The

problem was that she wasn't at home where such techniques were allowed,

though not encouraged, and a peek at a bare bottom was a far cry from

flopping a huge mammary out on the lunch table. Besides, she might knock

over her lemonade in the process. No, that would not do. She liked Jason

and didn't want to scare him away.

"Jason, could you move the fries a little closer," she said. "I can't quite

reach them from here."

That would have to do for now, she thought to herself. Maybe when she got

to know him a little better she would be more adventurous.

Jason watched her. Fine, delicate bone structure, cute turned-up nose, and

smiling blue eyes. 'Nice, ' he thought. 'Pretty."

When she had finished eating, Samantha turned to Jason. "Sometime," she

asked, clearing her throat, "would you like to come over and visit? I hang

out over in the barn. I've got sort of a place of my own I've fixed up next

to the old cars. Poppy's got a lot of neat old stuff in there if you like

that kind of thing?... "

"Sure," Jason said. "Sounds like fun. Maybe next Saturday?"

The speakers on the poles announced the next judging sequence, and Jason

excused himself and walked past a rank of waiting Model T Fords to do a

final dusting and polish on the little Oldsmobile.

It wasn't a blue ribbon, but Jason did take home a silver to show his

ailing Dad.

"Dad, did you know the Sibleys had a daughter?"

Yes, he knew. "Such a wonderful thing for them to do, to take in such a

pitiful little child. It was so sad," his father sighed. "Just tears your

heart out, doesn't it? A thing like that."

Jason agreed. It affected his heart too. Not in quite the same way,

however.

Samantha had a plan. While she found Jason attractive, she still had her

doubts. Boys are still boys, she reasoned, and the few experiences she'd

had alone with them hadn't always been pleasant. Most of the dates she'd

had didn't deal well with her physical limitations. The boys either sat

across the room and silently stared or were all over her, grabbing, poking,

and pawing.

She wasn't sure which experience she feared the most, but she had, after

all, invited him over to the barn. He was to bring lunch, and she was to

show him around the old cars. If that went well, she would show him the

apartment her Dad had fixed up at the near end of the barn, where the

potting shed had been before housing developments had surrounded the old

estate.

"So, OK," she thought to herself. "That's it. If he's nice and doesn't get

all stupid or pull any funny stuff, I'll let him see the digs."

Samantha's "digs," as she called them, consisted of a front room with a

kitchenette and a bedroom, with the bed, like everything else in the

apartment, at floor level. The bath and toilet were recessed into the floor

for her convenience, and the little kitchenette was arranged with nothing

higher than her face. In the front room, the furniture had no legs, but sat

directly on the floor. A soft wool carpet covered the rough planking that

remained from its days as a garden shed.

It was just after eleven o'clock when Jason's hand-me-down station wagon

pulled into the gravel driveway at the Sibley place. The barn, she had

said, was down the hill, past the house.

Samantha swore gently to herself. In spite of her best efforts, the top she

had chosen for her complete costume of the day simply refused to drape down

past her out-sized bosom. It hung up, leaving the entire lower part of her

torso unadorned. One proud nipple poked out resolutely, free and

unfettered.

"Rats!" she growled. "I'm supposed to be over at the barn door with the

cars by now! He's going to be here any minute!" She flopped back down on

her tummy and rolling around tried desperately somehow to push herself into

the orange cotton top. No luck. Worse. Now both nipples were presenting

themselves for inspection. Perspiring, she grabbed the nearby chair seat

cushion in her teeth and pulled herself upright.

"Crapola," she muttered to herself. "Oh well, I guess he'll have to meet

you guys sooner or later." She had wanted to make a more discreet

revelation, not just greet him at the door this way. Most of the time she

didn't spend the time or energy to get dressed, but that wasn't how she

wanted him to see her. Not now. Not yet.

Jason parked the station wagon and walked to the barn door and knocked. No

answer. Through the window, Samantha could see him turn and look for the

door to her apartment door. He was coming her way, pizza and six-pack of

beer in hand. At the side of the wooden door frame, a woven string hung

beside the painted legend "Pull Me." The doorbell that Samantha's father

had rigged was an old-fashioned little bell that rang when a string pulled

the clapper. It rang first once, then twice.

"OK, I'm coming!" Samantha called and started a swaying waddle to the door.

Without any trace of thighs, her hips were quite narrow, tapering inward at

the bottom and the progress she made was painfully slow. As a youngster,

she most often rolled about, getting from place to place with remarkable

speed. The size of her chest now made the relatively simple task of turning

over a real struggle and rolling along quite impossible. In childhood days,

mobility hadn't been a problem. As a seven-year-old, she'd even developed a

kind of jump, bending down and springing forward, only pausing now and then

to steady her balance. She rolled and jumped all over the house just as any

other youngster might run and play, quite happy with herself. Now, as a

young, overdeveloped adult, she had such little control of her huge bosom

that attempts to jump usually resulted in her flopping to the floor with

the resulting crushing pain. She could, however, move along in a more

ladylike upright fashion, as long as she was careful to counter the

momentum of her swaying bosom.

"Be right here!" she called again. The lock, set low on the inside of the

door, was, appropriately, an antique lift latch. Samantha raised the bar

with her chin, and the door swung in as she worked her way to one side.

Jason looked ahead as the door opened, then down. The sight of the largely

naked limbless torso with its giant mammaries startled him certainly, but

his family background and years of good schooling had given him the tools

to handle the unexpected without undue reaction. He directed his gaze to

her eyes.

"Hi, Samantha," he said quite calmly. He was quivering, slightly, but he

desperately hoped it didn't show.

"Hi," she said with a smile. "Have any trouble finding the place?"

"Not at all. You give good directions. I brought pizza and beer. That OK?"

"Sounds great. Come on in." She twisted slightly on her bare pelvis,

swinging her chest out of the way. "Put the beer in the fridge, OK? We can

nuke the pizza if it gets cold."

The kitchenette's low refrigerator had an odd handle on the door, but Jason

had no trouble with it. He looked back at her.

"You want to see the old cars?" she asked, avoiding any discussion of her

state of dress. Besides, she wanted to get him out of her place and over to

the cars. She was still apprehensive, and it was part of the plan.

"Oh. Sure," Jason said. "Lead the way."

Samantha turned again and began her tiny twisting steps through some drapes

into the area where the cars were garaged. "Get the door, will you?"

From the back, Jason noticed what a neat, trim body she had. With little in

the way of shoulders, her neck was quite swanlike, merging into her upper

body only interrupted by the oddly twisted orange top.

In addition to the green Stanley Steamer parked in elegant repose, Mr.

Sibley had restored a later product of the Stanley brothers with a sloping

square front. Next to it were a high-wheeled carriage with a two-cylinder

motor under the seat and a little yellow Mercer race about that was the

other pride of his collection. On the walls and on various benches around

the room were shiny brass lamps, horns, and elements of the antique auto

world.

"So here's the stuff. What do you think?" Samantha asked.

"Samantha, it's beautiful. Everything so neat and spotless. Really, is this

what you do? I mean your Dad said you work on the cars."

"I can help polish the brass and some other things. I have trouble reaching

very far, but I like to help. Mostly I do whatever I can with my mouth. I

don't recommend my technique, though. Brass polish really tastes yucky."

"Samantha, it's very impressive."

"Sam. You can call me Sam, OK? It's like less formal or something. That's

what my folks

always call me."

"That's cool. I guess I'd always thought of Sam as a boy's name."

"Oh? I don't think you'd mistake me for a boy, would you?"

They looked at each other as broad smiles broke out on both faces.

"No way," Jason laughed. "Not unless I was like, totally blind or

something!"

They both laughed. The ice was broken.

"I'm sorry," Samantha said, "I just couldn't get completely dressed in

time. I'm getting better, but I still have trouble doing some things. Hope

you don't mind."

"Not at all."

"I mean I can go get some more clothes on, if you're uncomfortable... "

"No joke, Sam. I'm fine if you are."

"Actually, I feel kind of stupid with this top around my neck. If it's just

the same, you could help me off with it. I mean it's not like it's doing

any good or anything."

Jason took a trembling half-step closer to the curious figure of Samantha

Sibley as she kept shifting her weight to keep her balance. It was clear

that it required concentration for her even to stay upright, let alone move

from place to place. He reached down and lifted the orange top over her

blond curls.

Perhaps it was his nervousness, but in removing the orange cotton top, he

had caused her to lose her balance and she toppled over backwards with a

squawk.

"Oh my heavens," Jason joked, staring at a bit of champagne fluff and the

soft pink folds that are normally secluded between a woman's legs. "I'm so,

sorry. Here, let me help you up!" And he reached down and took Sam in his

trembling arms.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, relax," Sam chortled. "I fall over all the time.

Not your fault, Jason, honest."

Jason nodded. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she laughed, "but you could tip me up again. That would be a help.

When I fall, I try to fall sideways or frontwards because if I go over

backwards I'm sort of like a flipped turtle. My boobies just loll over to

each side and pin me down on the mat, so to speak. Have a dickens of a time

getting back up."

Jason tipped her back up.

"Thank you, sir," she smiled. "Now then, more about the cars, OK?"

Samantha gave Jason her guided tour around the barn, giving details about

the year, previous owners, or mechanical particulars of the exhibit. It

seemed to Jason that from time to time she turned her upper body in such a

way that she seemed to be very consciously aiming one of her bright pink

nipples at a specific detail.

He had to ask. "Now that carbide headlamp generator you just pointed to,

the one on the running board... "

Samantha giggled and laughed. "'Pointed to, ' I was doing that, wasn't I? I

guess that's left over from when I used to think these big bunnies were my

arms."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Oh nothing. It's just that when they were first developing I thought

Mother Nature was supplying me substitute arms and I tried to make them do

stuff, but they kept growing and growing and growing, and so then it was

the end of that dream."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. Would have been fun. So anyhow, about that carbide generator... "

Samantha continued her tour. Beyond the yellow Mercer was parked a

motorized wheelchair.

"Tell me about that," Jason said, nodding at the chair.

"That's mine," she said quietly. "It's the only thing I'm allowed to drive.

I don't, though."

"Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know. It goes fast enough, and it'll go all day on a charge.

It's just that... oh, crap, Jason, I feel like I'm some sort of cripple in

that thing."

"And you're not, right?"

"Not really. I'm not paralyzed or something like that. Everything I've got

works fine. Except my boobs, maybe. Other than that, I don't feel like a

cripple at all and I don't want to."

Jason nodded again. Samantha looked at him. 'He really is cute, ' she

thought. 'I guess I can go with the rest of the plan.' Samantha pivoted and

headed back toward her apartment.

"Come on back. You hungry yet?"

"Yes."

"I would enjoy one of those beers too," she said.

With the beer opened and the pizza heated, Jason spread their lunch on the

low coffee table that sat before the legate's couch. Samantha wiggled and

wobbled her way to the table, swung her bosom below its edge, and

delicately began to nibble the pizza.

"So how come you decided to have a place of your own?" Jason asked.

"I needed to have a life of my own," Samantha said around a morsel of

pizza. "I was tired of being Mama and Poppy's little crippled girl. I

suppose I needed to prove to myself that I was a whole human being.

Besides, everybody has to have some independence, some sense of self,

right?"

"Right. Can I help you with the beer?"

"No. I mean yes. I mean... oh, hell." She leaned back from the table and

straightened up.

"Jason, here, put the can between my boobs... up a little farther, there.

Thanks."

Jason did as she directed. She craned her neck down, took the edge of the

can in her teeth, lifted it gently, and took a long draft and returned the

can to its lodging place. Jason watched, fascinated, but held his tongue.

"So anyhow, living in this body I couldn't just move out and get an

apartment in town or something, so Poppy helped me set up this place."

"How's it working out?"

"Fine, except I get lonely. I guess I had always had somebody around.

Somebody to get me up, take me to the potty, dress me, feed me, pick me up,

put me down. Teachers, nannies, the folks. I was never alone."

She took another sip of her beer and, replacing it, wobbled up to the edge

of the table and deposited the can next to her pizza. Her huge breasts

lolled out on each side of her plate, and she tipped her blond head forward

for another bite of pizza.

Jason considered the erect pink nipple that now seemed to be staring at him

from the table.

"Uh, Sam, when you're not working on the cars, what do you do?" he asked.

"Um, I write. I've got a computer set up in the bedroom."

"Cool. What kind of stuff?"

"Girl porn."

"What?"

"Girl porn. That's really what it is. People call them 'romance novels, '

but that's really what it is. I write this stuff, and the publisher gives

it to an editor to do her stuff, they make up some name to put on it, and

it's in the stores the next week."

"Wow. How'd you get started doing that?"

Samantha Sibley looked up from her plate. She wasn't sure just how far to

go with Jason. At least just yet. Still, he deserved an answer.

"One of my nannies used to bring these books along to read while she was

watching me, and when she wasn't there, I got to reading them. I started

fantasizing stories of my own, so when I got my setup here, I went on the

web, contacted a publisher, sent them some stuff, and they started using

it."

"I think that's great! Is it difficult? I mean thinking up the stories?"

"Not really. Mostly set in some historical setting, and I can research that

stuff. Not much really happens except who wants what from whom, and the

heavy breathing stuff."

"How do you research your material?"

"Come on back. I'll show you. If you want, you can get another beer."

"You want one too?"

"Sure. Why not?"

Wobbling along on her little pelvis, Samantha led Jason to her bedroom. Low

shelves of books lined the room beginning with children's books at one end

and rows of paperback novels at the other. A computer with keyboard and

trackball sat on a low table in one corner, across from the bed.

"Welcome to the Inner Sanctum," she said. "That's my research material, and

here's where I work."

"I love it. That's so ne

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