[原创翻译]老爷车与少女心

aphrodite

老爷车与少女心
by M Knight

关于老爷车的术语实在让人头痛......

（在老爷车展上，杰森见到了萨曼莎，他想跟她约会。她天生没有四肢，但学会了使用自己非凡的（XXXXX）来自理－她叫它们招风耳和毛毛球－她想通过杰森了解男人脱掉衣服的样子）

“希伯利先生？”
“哦，你好，杰森。你父亲还好吗？”
“他好一点了，我想。虽然他没来参加这次展览。”
“我能想象。他跟我一样参加每次老爷车展。这次是你把这辆老爷车开过来的？”
“是的，他说这是辆好车，很适合这次展览。高轮车有点脆弱，我有点担心开它出来。”
希伯利先生和杰森离开小吃摊，走回内场，他们的车在那里等着，锃亮锃亮。那些弯弯曲曲的老爷车位于离史坦利的大汽船大约二十辆车远的地方。上午的老爷车游行，司机和乘客都穿着古装，对于大约40名参与者来说进行得很顺利。初秋的天气晴朗凉爽，湛蓝的天空和几朵蓬松的白云闪闪发光。多好的一天。
“杰森，”希布利先生问，“你过来时遇到麻烦了吗？”
“没有，老爷车在游行，我跟在后面就行了，很容易。你觉得呢？”
“挺好。蒸汽车跟着走就是了，还拖着我的拖车呢。”
“希伯利先生？”
“什么？”
“今天早上的游行...我想我看见您的后座上有人。”
“哦，是的，怎么？”
70岁的希伯利.弗兰克先生的眼睛眨了几下。他很奇怪为什么这个不到他一半大的年轻人怎么变得这么友好。早上坐在后座里的是他23岁的女儿萨曼莎，他和夫人玛格丽特从小收养的孩子。
萨曼莎很难安置。她的生母因为不知道怎么应付如此严重残疾的孩子而将她抛弃。家境很好但没有孩子的希伯利家把她领养回家，在专业人员的帮助下把她带大了。不过坐在斯坦利蒸汽机上的时候她的残疾完全被掩盖了，杰森看到的只是一头金色短发下漂亮的脸蛋。
“是的，一位年轻女士？”杰森的脸开始变红了。
“我知道，”希伯利先生笑了起来。“确实是这样，对吧？嗯，你是对的，年轻人，是有人坐在后面，是我的女儿萨曼莎。”
“我有点好奇。我想我以前没见过她。”
在说话前弗兰克.希伯利走了几步。“她不常出门，但她非常喜欢老爷车，所以她努力...她的...比方说她努力帮我让这台Stanley来参加展览的，我保证这次会带她出来。”
“老爷车评比要到3点才开始，您觉得我可以...”
弗兰克知道杰森想认识他的女儿。这是肯定的。问题是他自己做好多少准备。他喜欢杰森，跟他的一家熟识很久了。
“杰森，有些关于萨曼莎的事我要先告诉你。她在绝大多数地方跟别人一样，是个阳光，聪明的女孩，但呆会儿我们回到车上你会看到，她的身体有很大的限制。”
“限制？”
“是的。她不能很好的走动，也做不了很多我们觉得理所当然的事。但是她是个很好的女孩子，我和她母亲都很喜欢她。”
“我懂了。是发生了什么事故吗？”
“不。她生来就是这样。她一出生就没有...没有四肢。是很罕见的情形。他们管这个叫完全阿米丽亚症。就是这样。当然，这让她的生活十分艰难，但她是个勇往直前的孩子，而且尽量利用她能拥有的一切。我希望你知道这些。如果你还想见她，这当然没有问题。”
他们现在又回到了内场，从一排从早上的比赛开始的获奖者的前面走过。一辆菲亚特，一辆deDion，一辆Columbia Electric和一辆大型奔驰在十月的阳光下闪闪发光。虽然杰森有时间改变主意，但现在摆在他面前的前景让他比以往任何时候都更渴望见到萨曼莎·西布利。
绿色的斯坦利大头车停在一辆小型流行顶级露营拖车旁。当他们走近时，弗兰克喊道:“珊，我给你带了一个热狗和一些薯条。一切还好吧,亲爱的?”
一个年轻女性的声音从小帐篷里传来：“当然，爹。这很好，我就要换完了。我一穿好上衣就出来。”
“另外，萨曼莎，你还记得拉萨曼斯家吗？他们的儿子杰森也来了。”
“爹，早上在游行时我们看到过他，就是我问到的那个帅哥吗？”
“萨曼莎，亲爱的，我意思是说他就在这里。他想见见你。”
“我的天！”一声尖叫。“我这快嘴！啊。你没有听到是吧？我赶快。”
各种声音从帐篷里传了出来，愤怒和挫折的抱怨，以及亵渎神明的诅咒。
“需要帮忙吗？”杰森问道。
“是的，她当然需要，”老人回答道，“不过除非她已经被要做的事弄得精疲力尽了，她是不会接受的。她总是过于投入了，当然你可以说她有点自满。”弗兰克.希伯利看上去有点苦恼。“她的母亲和我鼓励她这样做。我们希望她能足够自理以免需要一个全职助理。我不太确定我们是不是做过火了。”
声音继续从微微晃动的帐篷里传出来，
“象其他成长中的年轻人时那样，”她的父亲继续道，“她越来越希望独立，能够自己处理自己的事务对她当然就越来越重要，哪怕她很明白这是不可能的。”
几分钟后，帐篷的门帘被推开了一点，然后慢慢滑到一边。最后，最让人好奇的萨曼莎.希伯利的身影出现在入口处。正是早上杰森看到的明亮的脸和香槟色的短发。然而躯干是他没想象到的。
萨曼莎用她无腿的下身直立着。就象她的父亲描述的那样，她真的完全没有双臂和双腿。在那营地台阶上摇晃着的正是杰森搜寻的对象，一个跟他最初的想象完全不同的人。这个金发尤物除了头和躯干什么都没有。穿着宽大的大学运动衫的萨曼莎.希伯利用另外的方式抓住了杰森的眼球。这是她父亲没的提到的。也许是两个，杰森想。宽大的衣服也无法掩盖杰森见过的最大的胸，哪怕是拉斯维加斯的艳舞女郎都没这么大。
“抱歉我太慢了，”她道歉。“营地里的石头太多了，我总是摔倒。抱歉。我应该能更快些。”她的蓝眼睛带着微笑。“嗨！你是杰森？”
“嗨，是的，”杰森笑着回答，“那个可爱的家伙！”
“不公平！你没有听到！”她也笑了。“爸爸，把热狗和薯条放到折叠桌上好吗？我这就来。”
她摇晃了一下然后在台阶上转身，最后弯腰向前伏在台阶上。最后她调整好自己的位置让下半身靠在台阶上，正好正对着杰森。
“我的老天！”杰森想，“她的下半身是全裸的，啥都没穿。”他全力装作没有被自己看到的东西影响到，然后瞥了希伯利先生一眼，对方耸耸肩，点了下头然后在折叠桌旁边忙碌起来。萨曼莎开始从小梯子上向下动，最后滑到草地上。她转向杰森。
“你们都吃了是吗？去过洗手间了吗？”

“对，我们在外面站着吃过了。别的也都妥当了。你自己吃吧。”
“谢谢，我正好饿了。”
她转过身来摇摇晃晃地向折叠桌边她父亲放置的宿营椅挪过去，她父亲已经从把柠檬水从真空杯里倒了出来。
这对萨曼莎来说明显很困难，她缓慢而坚定地向前移动，只在衬衫下面剧烈的晃动可能会影响她微妙的平衡时暂停一下。
“这是我第一次在大会上呆这么久，”她一边动一边说。“通常我只是帮着整备汽车然后等结束之后再听他们给我说。”
“我就奇怪以前怎么没见过你，”杰森说。“我一般跟我爸一起来，不过他做得也不怎么样，所以这次我自己带着这个老家伙来了。很高兴见到你。”
“我也是，”她笑着回答杰森。然后她继续向桌子和椅子的征途。
“这真有趣。我喜欢光着脚走路，你呢？”她问杰森。
她的父亲不满地瞥了她一眼。“说真的，珊，你应该穿上你的短裤或别的东西。在家里是一回事，亲爱的，但这里有很多人...”
“爸爸，没时间了，另外反正我走不了几步它们也会滑掉。另外，现在没人会在乎看到一个没穿衣服的下身。”她抬头看着杰森。“是吧？”
“只要你没问题就好，”杰森强憋着回答。
“很好！”萨曼莎.希伯利说。
萨曼莎做了个鬼脸，然后把自己的胸部搭到营地椅上，然后用杰森觉得非常聪明的行为，用骨盆的前端抵住椅子的脚踏把自己推了上去。希伯利先生扭头看着别处。很明显他对此很不满，而且他很清楚此时说任何话都会更让人注意到他女儿使用通常是私密和隐藏的部分身体的方式。随着最后一推，萨曼莎的躯干横躺上了座位。然后她靠向右边，先是用头，然后用自己的肩胛骨抵住椅背，慢慢地让自己的身体立起来。她的额头和上唇上有明显的汗珠。
她的父亲最后抬起头。“柠檬汁？”他问。
“谢谢。”
杰森完全被惊呆了。不过希伯利父女都没有在意，也并不觉得这位年轻女性为了完成最简单的事务所做出的非凡努力有什么值得骄傲的。不过，她显然决定做别人也能做的事情，并且已经找到了一些方法，甚至是不被别人接受或者完全禁忌的方式来完成她的目标。这对她来说好象是世界上最自然的事一样。他觉得目前最好的反应是看着就好，不要评论。
萨曼莎在研究目前的状况。柠檬水很近，够得着。这很好对付。她需要的只不过是探头叼起纸杯喝就行。很容易。热狗浇上了芥末酱，在纸包装里，也能够得着。低头咬就是。也不是问题。就跟在家里一样。问题是薯条。装薯条的纸盒在比较远的位置上，还没够到她就会摔到草地上。这不行。如果她能自己解决就绝对不会开口求助。
在12岁大的时候，她认为她的发育中的胸部将有助于增强她的能力让自己能够到舌尖更远的地方。对于大多数女孩来说，这不是一项标准技术，但她也不是一个标准类型的人。她认为，她可以让这两个尖尖的小狗完成她的任务，尤其是她和它们还在继续发育。为此，她在卧室中偷偷地勤奋地练习，期待着能够使用她不断增长的胸部能够至少在在某种程度上替代她永远不会拥有的双臂的那一天。
但是她的胸部一直发育到在内衣店里找不到可用的尺寸，现在她的胸部的尺寸和重量已经痛苦地让她期待的用途变得不可能。它们实在太大了，太重了，无法完成她想象中的任何简单任务。她花无数时间的练习都打了水漂。没错，她可以按自己的需要让（XXXXX）变得奇迹般地（XXXXX），但也就这样了。
她考虑她的困境。如果她能举起一只巨大的胸脯放在桌子上，把土豆推得更近一点，她当然可以把薯条放到舌头够不到的地方。她对此很有把握。问题是，她不在家，在那里，这种技术是允许的，但不鼓励这样做，而且偷看一个裸露的底部，与把一个巨大的（XXXXX）扔在午餐桌上相比，简直是天壤之别。此外，在这个过程中她可能会把柠檬水打翻。不，那不行。她喜欢杰森，不想把他吓跑。

”杰森，你能把薯条拿近点吗？”她说。”我够不到那么远。”
现在只能这样了，她想到。也许再熟悉点之后她才能更进一步。
杰森看着她。很好，纤细的骨架，可爱挺翘的鼻子，会笑的蓝眼睛。”很好”他想。”漂亮。”
吃完以后萨曼莎转头看着杰森。“有时间的话，”她清了清喉咙问道，“你愿意过来玩吗？我的房间在车库旁边。我在那些老爷车旁边有个属于自己的位置。爹收集了不少旧东西，不知道你有没有兴趣...”
“好啊，”杰森回答。“听上去不错，下周六如何？”
这时喇叭里开始播放下一轮裁判信息，杰森不得不告别他们，走过一排等候的福特T型车，回到自己的车旁边为它作最后的梳妆。

虽然没拿到蓝丝带，但杰森总算给生病的老爸拿了个银奖回去。
“爸，你知道希伯利家有个女儿吗？”
他当然知道。“他们为了那个可怜的孩子付出了很多。真是令人悲伤。”他的父亲感叹道。“遇到这样的事让人心碎，不是吗？”
杰森赞同。他的心也碎了，不过不是因为同样的原因。
萨曼莎有个计划。虽然她发现杰森很可爱，但还是有些担心。她这样是有原因的，男孩就是男孩，她之前有过几次跟他们独处的机会，并不是什么美好的回忆。她的约会都毁在了身体的残疾上。男孩不是隔着整个房间呆呆地看着她，就是整个趴在她身上又是抓又是揉。
她不确定自己最害怕的经历是什么，但毕竟她已经邀请了他。他会带午餐过来，她会带着他参观老爷车。如果进展顺利，她会带他参观父亲在车库旁为她布置的房间，那间大篷在四周被新房子包围之前就存在了。
“那好吧，”她对自己说。“就这样了。如果他是个好人，而且不象那些傻瓜一样乱来。我就让他见识一下我的住处。”
萨曼莎所谓的“住处”，包括一间带小厨房的前厅和一间带床的卧室，床和房间里的其他物品一样，在地面的高度。为了方便起见，浴室和厕所都嵌入了地板，小厨房的里的所有东西都比她的脸更矮。前厅里的家具都没有腿，直接安放在地板上。一块柔软的羊毛地毯覆盖了当时作为花园棚屋保留下来的粗糙铺板。
大约十一点钟杰森开着辆旧车走上了到希伯利家的小路。她说过，车库在房子后面，山脚下。
萨曼莎轻轻咒骂了一下自己。不论她如何努力，她为这一天选择的衣服就是拒绝从她傲人的胸部下滑下去。它就挂在胸部上，让她的下半身毫无遮挡地暴露在空气中。一侧（XXXXX）甚至还坚持着不羁的心挺立着衣服下面。
“该死的家伙!”她抱怨道。“我现在应该在马厩门前跟汽车在一起!他随时可能到达!”她躺下来肚子着地然后绝望地翻滚着想让自己挤进这件橙色棉质上衣里。然而不幸的是，这下两个（XXXXX）都拒绝隐藏自己了。她满头大汗，咬住旁边的椅子坐垫，站了起来。
“这真是扯淡，”她对自己说。“好吧，我想他迟早会见到你们这些家伙。”她本来想以更保守些的方式出场，而不是象现在这样立在门口迎接他。通常她不怎么花力气和时间去穿脱衣服，但她并不希望他这样看待她。至少现在不想。
杰森停好车，然后走到车库门口敲了敲门。没有回应。透过窗子，萨曼莎看到他转来转去寻找她的公寓的门。他向她这边过来了，手上拎着比萨和半打啤酒。木头门框的边上有根编织的绳子，旁边写着“请拉我。”萨曼莎父亲为她安装的老式门铃连着这根绳子。门铃响了一声，然后又是一声。
”好，我就来。“萨曼莎回答了一声然后摇摇晃晃地走向大门。因为完全没有大腿，她的屁股接触地面的地方很窄。这使得她的移动非常慢。在小的时候她通常是在地上滚动着移动，这种方式要比现在快多了。现在胸部的尺寸使得她根本没办法再使用这种移动方式。在童年，挪个地方不是问题。7岁之后她还想出用腰力蹦着走路。她曾经象其他同龄人奔跑跳跃那样滚着蹦着满屋子里乱转寻开心。现在，作为一个发育成熟的年轻人，她对胸部无力的控制只能让自己在蹦跳之后跌倒在地然后痛得要死。所以她只能以更淑女地直立着，小心合着胸部晃动的节奏慢慢移动。
“呆在那儿!”她又叫了一声。锁安装在门里面够低的地方，是一个老式的升降门闩。萨曼莎用下巴抬起门闩，然后门跟着她的移动打开了。杰森看着面前的门开了。然后低头一看，被面前带着巨大（XXXXX）的赤裸的无肢身躯的景象吓了一跳，不过受益于家庭和学校的良好教育他并没有过度反应，而是很平静地接受了这一切。他把目光转向她的眼睛。
“嗨，萨曼莎，”他冷静地招呼道。他有点颤抖，但希望没有表现出来。
“嗨，”她笑着回答。“这地方很难找吧？”
“一点也不。你给的方向很正确。我带了比萨和啤酒，这样够了吧？”
“听着很不错。进来。”她轻轻䏔了一下赤裸的骨盆，晃动她的胸部指示方向。“把啤酒放到冰箱里好吗？如果比萨冷了我们可以先热一下。”
厨房里的矮冰箱门上有个奇怪的把手，不过杰森没有大惊小怪。他回头看她。
“你想看看老爷车吗？”她努力避免谈起自己的衣着。另外，她确实想他到外面先去看看车。她自我辩解道：这也是计划的一部分。
“哦，好啊，”杰森回答。“带路吧。”
萨曼莎转过身挪动着小碎步穿过一道布帘子走到车库旁边。“你能开一下门吗？”
跟在她的身后，杰森注意到她的身体纤细苗条。由于几乎没有肩膀，她的颈项仿佛天鹅般修长地连接着头部和身体，挂在脖子上的橙色上衣是唯一的不协调之物。
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.
除了停在优雅的休憩处的绿色斯坦利汽船，希伯里还修复了斯坦利兄弟(Stanley brothers)后来的一个产品，它的正面是倾斜的方形。在它旁边是一辆高轮马车，车座下有一个两缸发动机，还有一辆黄色的小马瑟车，这是他收藏的另一件值得骄傲的东西。在墙壁上和房间周围的各种长椅上，挂着闪亮的黄铜灯、喇叭和古董汽车世界的元素。
“都在这里了，你觉得怎么样？”萨曼莎问道。
“萨曼莎，很漂亮。一切都那么整洁，一尘不染。真的，这就是你的工作吗?我是说你爸爸说你会照料这些车。”
“我帮着擦铜器和一些别的东西。我够不到太远，但我喜欢帮忙。只要我能用嘴做的都行。当然我不推荐我的方法。黄铜上光油的味道可不怎么样。”
“萨曼莎，这真让人吃惊。”
“珊。你可以叫我珊。好吗？这样听着不那么正式。我家人就这样叫我。”
“好的。我总觉得珊听着象是个男孩的名字。”
“哦？我想你是不会把我误认成男孩子的，不是吗？”
他们对望着大笑起来。
“不可能，”杰森笑着说。“除非我是个彻头彻尾的瞎子!”
他们又笑了起来。坚冰融化了。
“我很抱歉，”萨曼莎说，“我没办法及时穿好衣服。我在进步，不过我还是没办法解决所有的事情。希望你不要介意。”
“当然不。”
“我是说如果你不喜欢，我可以穿上衣服...”
“没有的事，珊，你没问题我就没问题。”
“事实上，我觉得颈子上这堆东西让我觉得很傻。如果你也这样觉得，你可以帮我把它取下来。我觉得它们不象能起到什么作用的样子。”
杰森颤抖着上前半步靠近萨曼莎 希布利的奇妙躯体，她一直移动着以保持平衡。很明显，她需要集中注意力才能保持直立，更不用说从一个地方移动到另一个地方了。他俯下身，伸手拿起橙色的衣服穿过她的金色短发把它脱下来。

也许是因为他有点紧张，不过在他为她脱掉衣服的时候她失去了平衡，尖叫着摔倒在地上。
“我的天，”杰森盯着女孩两腿之间香槟色的绒毛和粉红色的折皱叫了一声。“我很，很抱歉。来，我来帮你站起来!”然后他用颤抖着的手臂扶住珊。
“哦，看在老天的份上，放松，”珊笑着说。“我经常摔倒。这不是你的错，杰森。真的。”
杰森点点头。“你确认没事？”
“对，”她又笑了，“不过你可以扶我站起来。这就帮了大忙了。我摔倒的时候会尽量侧面或正面着地，如果是仰面倒下，那就象被翻过来的海龟一样了。我的咪咪会把我压在地面上，要很花很长时间才能再站起来。”
杰森扶着她翻过身来。
“谢谢你，先生，”她笑着说。“那么现在，继续说车，好吗？”
萨曼莎领着杰森参观车库，为他介绍各辆车的生产年代，前一个主人，以及机械上的一些细节。在杰森看来，萨曼莎不时地转动上半身，好象在用自己粉红色的（XXXXX）对着需要说明的目标一样。
他不得不开口问道。“现在你指着的那个发电机，就是走廊上的那个...”
萨曼莎笑了起来。“‘指着，’我确实在这样做，不是吗？我想这是我从前把这两个大兔子当做手臂时的习惯。”
“你说什么？”
“哦，没事。就是它们刚发育的时候我以为自然母亲给了我一双替用的手臂，所以我试着用它们来做事，不过它们一直发育个不停，最后终结了我的梦想，”
“我很遗憾。”
“我也是。这很好玩。所以，关于这个发电机...”
萨曼莎继续导游。在黄车后面停着一辆电动轮椅。
“跟我说说这个，”杰森在椅子上点点头说。

“那是我的，”她轻轻地说。“是我唯一能驾驶的东西。虽然我并不想驾驶它。”
“什么不？”
“哦，我不知道。它跑得挺快，充一次电可以管一整天。它就象是....哦，瘸的，杰森。我觉得我在上面就象是某种残废。”
“你不是，对吗？”
“当然不是。我没有瘫痪之类的。每件事我都做得很好。也许除了我的咪咪。另外，我觉得我根本没有残废，也不希望成为一个残废。”
杰森又点了点头。萨曼莎看着他。‘他真的很不错，’她想。‘我想我可以测试一下计划的下一步了。’萨曼莎回头向她的房间走去。
“回去吧。你饿了没？”
“嗯。”
“我会喜欢那些啤酒的。”她说。
热好比萨开好啤酒之后，杰森把食物放在长沙发前面的矮咖啡桌上。萨曼莎扭动着身体走到桌子面前，把（XXXXX）探到桌子边缘下面，然后小心翼翼地开始啃起比萨来。

“你是怎么想到要有一个自己的空间的？”杰森问道。
“我想有我自己的生活。”萨曼莎抬头说。“我厌倦了当爸爸和妈妈的小残废。我觉得作为一个完整的人我应该提升自己。另外，每个人都得独立，有自我意识，对吧？”
“对。要我帮你喝啤酒吗？”
“不。我是说好。我是说....哦，该死。”她从桌子后面抬起身子挺直。
“杰森，来，把罐子放在我的咪咪中间...向上一点，那里。谢谢”
杰森按着她的指示做了。她低下头，用牙齿咬住拉罐边缘，然后轻轻抬头，深深地喝了一口，然后把罐子放回原处。杰森着迷地看着这一切，一言不发。
“总之，按我的身体情况，我也没办法搬出去在镇上找个地方住，所以爸爸给我弄了这个地方。”
“这地方怎么样？”
“不错，除了我觉得有点孤独。我想我总是有人在身边。帮我起床，抱我上厕所，帮我穿脱衣服，喂我吃饭，抱我起来，放我下去。老师，保姆，家人。我从不孤独。”
她又喝了口啤酒，然后摇晃着身体靠在桌子边上，把罐子放在比萨旁边。她那双巨乳搭在盘子两边，然后低下头继续吃比萨。
杰森觉得那对粉红色的完全（XXXXX）的（XXXXX）仿佛是从桌子上看着他。
“呃，珊，你不打理这些车的时候做些什么？”她问。
“呃，我写东西。我的卧室里有台电脑。”
“酷，你写哪方面的？”
“少女色情。”
“啥？”
“少女色情。这是真实的内容。人们一般管它叫‘浪漫小说’，不过事实上就是色情。我写这方面的东西，出版社有个编辑负责其他事务，他们会给小说想个名字，然后下周就能面市。”
“哇，你是怎么想起干这个的？”
萨曼莎 希布利从盘子上抬起头来。她不是很确定能跟杰森走多远。至少现在，他应该得到一个回答。
”有个保姆习惯带这种书在照看我的时候读，她不在的时候我就拿来看。后来我开始幻想自己的故事，所以当我得到电脑之后就直接上网找了家出版社，让他们看了我的样稿，然后他们就决定使用了。”
”我觉得好厉害！这很难吗？我是说构思这些故事？”
”这并不难。考虑最多的是历史背景，然后我再考虑一下内容。没有很多情节，除了谁从谁那里索要什么，以及喘息的内容。”
”你怎么研究你的材料的？”
”到后面来。我做给你看，如果你想，可以再拿罐啤酒。”
”你要吗？”
”干嘛不呢？”
用她的小骨盆蠕动着，萨曼莎领着杰森进了卧室。房间里摆放着一排排低矮的书架，一端放着儿童读物，另一端放着成排的平装本小说。一台带键盘和轨迹球的电脑摆在床对面角落的一张矮桌子上。
”欢迎来到隐密圣坛，”她说。”那些是我的研究素材，我就是在这里工作的。”
“我喜欢这里。很整洁。”杰森说。“这里的一切都刚刚好，很完美。”
“嗯，很完美。问题是所有的东西都严自于别人写的书。我是指关于爱的部分。我自己的经验实在太少，所以没办法写出我希望的那种流畅的爱的感觉。怎么写都没有投入感。”
杰森坐在她旁边。
“我跟另外两个男孩算是有过约会，但他们把我当作是一种奇怪的玩物，所以我根本就没有经验。你懂的。”
杰森点点头。“你没有....男朋友之类的人吗？”
她摇了摇头。“我没办法写出我不知道的内容。至少没办法写好。”
萨曼莎又开始觉得紧张了。她紧挨着他的身体，让她觉得很暖。‘希望不要过火了。’她想道。
“那么在不摆弄老爷车的时候你都做些什么？”她问。“我对你还不够了解。我父亲告诉过我你在哪里上学，以及你父亲的病，但就这点了。”
杰森又开了两罐啤酒然后聊起了自己的工作内容和地点，以及他的爱好。
“没有什么特别的人，”他回答她关于是否有伴的问题说。
“我只是好奇，”萨曼莎说。他们一直聊到快到晚饭时间，聊到音乐，演员以及他们的家人，当然都很小心地避开了宗教和政治问题。
杰森看了看表。
“珊，我找个时间再来玩没问题吗？”
“当然。很好。杰森？”
“嗯？”“哦，别在意，我只是想...”
“想什么？你说。”
“我只是在想也许下次你能帮我写故事。”
“帮你？你在想什么？”
“哦，也许你可以帮我理解一些东西的感觉。”
“东西？比如？”
“嗯...我读过一些垃圾小说写肢体接触的过程，他们总是用手指在男朋友的头发上摸来摸去或者是感受他们的肌肉之类的，你懂的。我在想既然我没有手指或者别的东西可以这样做，你也许可以帮我......解释一下，对，解释一下那种感觉。”
“呃......好，我可以试试。不过这很可能跟亲身经历不同。但我愿意试试。”
‘太好了！’萨曼莎想到，‘好！’但她只是淡淡地笑着说“好的，这可是帮了大忙了。”
他们决定下个周六再见面。杰森带吃的，这次有蜡烛和红酒。萨曼莎决定为下次约会选好了衣服，一条丝巾批在她肩膀应该在的位置上，盖住了她的大部分（XXXXX），刚好搭在她那对可爱的粉红色（XXXXX）的外侧。吃完饭之后，萨曼莎的酒劲上了来，她决定跟杰森玩一个游戏。
“怎么？”她在看了一会儿杰森之后问。他直直地看着她的（XXXXX），一个，另一个。
“你怎么做到的？”他问。
“什么？”
“让它们象那样伸出来。”
“什么？我的（XXXXX）？”
“对。它们看上去象是软了一下然后又伸直了、”
萨曼莎格格地笑了起来。“哦。我只是在做手指练习。”然后她克制住了又一次笑意。
“你的啥？”
“手指练习。我小的时候总是幻想它们就是我的手指，所以我就研究怎么能让它们硬到可以去戳东西。我不得不经常练习以保持它们的状态。什么？这让你不舒服了？那我不会再这样做了。”她严肃地观察着他的反应。
“不不，”他结结巴巴地说，“不用因为我而停下来！”然后继续盯着看。
“你想知道怎么做的？”她又做了几次之后问。
“嘿，是的、”
“好，我们来做个交易。如果你给我解释男人的玩意怎么工作的，我就告诉你怎么弄的。公平吧？”
杰森目瞪口呆地抬起头。
“我想知道是为了写我的故事。真的，杰森，听我说。我从来没见过丁丁，更别说碰过了。所以我不知道你是怎么用它来做到我读过的小说里的各种美妙的事的。”
“我的丁丁？你想看我的丁丁？”
“我想知道这玩意真实的样子，所以我想我应该亲眼看看，是的。你介意吗？”
杰森简直呆若木鸡。
“你有一个，”她继续说，努力地不因为他的囧样笑出来。“不是吗？”
“是...是的，”他又结巴了。“我当然有。”
“哦，看上老天的份上，杰森，放松。我只是想看看，好吗？”
“好吧。可以。呃...现在？”
“如果你愿意。我想想，我也想知道你的其他事情。我是说，这很公平，是吧？”
“我想是的。”
“很好。把你的装备扔到床上然后过来，好吗？”
“我的装备？”
“衣服！”
几分钟后杰森回到前厅。萨曼莎在她的座位上扭动着把她的胸部搭到椅子后背上。
“杰森，你真的没问题吗？你过去的时候我又有一个想法。”
“不，我没事。”杰森说。“你让我吃了一惊，就是这样。我没想到......”
“那好，走到灯下面来，这样我能看清楚。”
杰森象个裸体的绅士那样走过房间，抬起手臂，仿佛米开朗基罗的大卫像。
萨曼莎暴发了。她笑得越来越大声，一边笑一边晃，直到她的一个巨大的（XXXXX）从椅背上滑下来，要不是她用下巴勾住椅背，萨曼莎就摔下去了。杰森赶紧跳了起来，把晃个不停的（XXXXX）和它的主人扶回了原位。
“哦，天哪，”萨曼莎停不住笑。“太好了。谢谢你帮我和毛毛球回到原位。哇。”
杰森退后一步。“毛毛球？”
“当然。他们应该有个名字，不是吗？这是'招风耳'，”她说，来回晃动一侧巨大的（XXXXX），“这个坏女孩是'毛毛球'。“棉尾巴”在下面，不过你肯定是注意到了...哦，猜猜看，女孩们！这是彼得！“
萨曼莎又笑了起来，这次让她的胸总算是没有晃得脱离控制。
“过来，彼得，”当恢复镇静时她说道，“然后见见招风耳和毛毛球！”
杰森现在已经完全地投入了这个游戏，他走上前去，让两个粉红色的（XXXXX）伸向他，抚摸着他膨胀的男根。它们以同样的方式回应，变得更加奇妙的（XXXXX）和坚挺。
“姑娘们，你们喜欢吗?”萨曼莎问道。“看到了吗?现在我们有一些真实的体验可以回忆，而不仅仅是想象出来的!”
詹森得到允许继续抚摸，从一侧（XXXXX）到另一侧（XXXXX），分享着这段经历。“你就是这么做的?”他问。“想象一个丁丁?”
“这是最新的办法，”萨曼莎回答道，她的声音低低地从喉咙里挤出来。“当我还小的时候，我会假装自己在抚摸我们的猫，因为这是我的（XXXXX）第一次变硬时做的事。然后不同的东西。这是最好的办法。哦哦哦好舒服!”
“珊，你确认没问题？你说过是为了写你的故事，不是吗？”
“故事？哦，对，故事。你知道吗？所有的好事都是在床上发生的。现在，抱我起来，然后...”
杰森当然不会反对。事实上他很好奇。
“OK，招风耳和毛毛球，”他把萨曼莎的两个巨大的部分拢在一起，“让我们回到床上去。”
萨曼莎把自己的头靠在杰森裸露的肩头上。
“你忘掉了谁，”她看着杰森的眼睛说。“我想棉尾巴和彼特也会相处得很好。”
当然，她是对的。棉尾巴和彼特立刻就成了好朋友。
因此，亲爱的读者，从此以后，招风耳、毛毛球、棉尾巴和彼得幸福地生活在一起。

aphrodite

以下是英文原文
最近应该不会翻译这类文章了

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 neat," Jason said. "It's all right here. Perfect."

"Well, pretty perfect. Problem is that everything is out of somebody else's
book. All the love stuff I mean. My own experience is so limited that I
can't really write good steamy love scenes the way I should. It all sounds
like somebody else's experience."

Jason sat down next to her.

"Except for two different boys that were supposed to be dates but turned
out they just wanted to use me for some kind of weird plaything, I haven't
had any experience at all, if you know what I mean."

Jason nodded. "You don't have... like a boyfriend or anything?"

She shook her head. "I can't really write what I don't know. At least very
well."

Samantha was beginning to feel nervous again. The warmth of his body next
to hers felt good. 'Better not rush things, ' she thought.

"So what do you do when you're not showing off the Oldsmobile?" she asked.
"I really don't know much about you. My father told me where you went to
school and about your Dad not feeling well, but that's about all."

Jason opened the second round of beers and explained about his job, where
he worked, and his other interests.

"Nobody in particular," he replied when asked if he was going with anyone.

"Just wondered," Samantha said. The conversation carried late into the
afternoon as they compared notes on music preferences, entertainers, and
their relatives, being careful to stay clear of religion and politics.

Jason checked his watch.

"Sam, would it be all right if I came over again sometime?"

"Sure. That would be nice. Jason?"

"Yes?" "Oh never mind. I just was thinking... "

"Go ahead, what?"

"It's just that I was thinking you could help me with my stories next
time."

"Help you? How? What were you thinking?"

"Oh, maybe you could help me understand what some things feel like."

"Things? Like what?"

"Well... I read in those trash novels about all the touching that goes on,
and they're forever running their fingers through their boyfriend's hair or
feeling their guy's muscles or their, oh you know. I was just thinking that
since I don't have any fingers or anything like that you could maybe...
explain, yes, that's it, explain how that feels."

"Um... well, I could certainly try. Probably wouldn't be the same as a
first-hand experience, but I'm willing to try."

"GREAT!' Samantha thought to herself, 'Yes!' but she simply said "Good"
with a little smile. "That will be a big help."

They agreed to meet again on the following Saturday. Jason provided dinner,
this time with candles and wine. Samantha decided to dress for the
occasion, draping a silk shawl where her shoulders might have been,
covering most of her expansive bosom. The fringe parted prettily for each
of her delightfully perky pink nipples. When dinner was finished and the
wine had begun to go to her head, she decided to try a little game with
Jason.

"What?" she said after watching Jason for some time. He had been staring
quite intently at those nipples. First one, then the other.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"What?"

"Make them stick out like that."

"What, my nippies?"

"Right. And then they seem to relax and then one or the other pokes way out
again."

Samantha giggled. "Oh, I was just doing my finger exercises." And she
smothered another giggle.

"Your what?"

"Finger exercises. When I was little, I used to think they were my fingers
and I learned how to make them firm enough to poke at things. I have to do
exercises to keep them in shape. Why? Does it bother you? I'll stop if it
does." It was all she could do to keep a straight face, seeing his
reaction.

"No, No," he stammered, "don't stop on my account!" and continued to stare.

"You wanted to know how, right?" she asked after another minute of her
exercises.

"Gee, yes."

"OK, here's the deal. I'll tell you how I do this if you'll explain how
your boy-thing works. Fair enough?"

Jason looked up in open-mouthed astonishment.

"I need to know for this story I'm writing. Seriously, Jason, listen to me.
I've never even seen a penis, let alone touched one, so I haven't a clue as
to how you make it do all the wonderful things I read in my research
novels."

"My penis? You want to see my penis?"

"I need to know what one's really like, and I suppose that requires
actually seeing one, yes. Do you mind?"

Jason sat paralyzed.

"You do have one," she continued, trying not to burst out laughing at his
predicament, "don't you?"

"Y... y... yes," he stammered, "Yes, of course."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Jason, relax. I just want to see it, OK?"

"OK. Sure. Um... now?"

"If you like. While I think of it, I'd really like to see the rest of you.
I mean, fair is fair, isn't it?"

"I guess so."

"Goody. Go leave your stuff in the bedroom and come back out. OK?"

"My stuff?"

"Clothes!"

Some minutes later Jason reappeared in the front room. Samantha had twisted
around in her seat, resting much of the weight of her breasts on the back
of the chair.

"Jason, are you really OK with this? I was having second thoughts while you
were in there."

"No, I'm OK," Jason said. "You just surprised me, that's all. I didn't
expect... "

"Well then, come around here in the light where I can see you."

Jason, with as much decorum as his nakedness would allow, strode across the
room and posed, arm up, like Michelangelo's David.

Samantha broke up. She chortled and laughed and shook until one of her
giant breasts slid off the back of the chair, nearly pulling Samantha along
had she not caught her chin on the back of the chair. Jason sprang from his
pose and lifted the errant mammary and its owner back to their positions.

"Oh my gosh," said Samantha, still laughing. "That was so perfect. Thanks
for helping me and Mopsy back up. Whew."

Jason stepped back. "Mopsy?"

"Sure. They deserve names, don't they? This is 'Flopsy, ' "she said,
rolling one giant breast back and forth, "and this bad girl is 'Mopsy.'
'Cottontail' is down below as you've no doubt noticed and... oh, guess
what, girls! Here 's Peter!"

Samantha laughed again, this time keeping her errant bosom under control.

"Come over here, Peter," she said when she'd regained her composure, "and
meet Flopsy and Mopsy!"

Jason, now sufficiently composed to join the game, stepped forward and
allowed the two pink nipples that reached out to him to touch and stroke
his swelling male member. They responded in kind, becoming even more
marvelously erect and firm.

"You like that, girls?" Samantha inquired. "See? Now we have something to
really remember when we do our exercises, not just make-believe!"

Jason allowed the stroking to continue, moving from one breast to the
other, sharing the experience. "That's how you do it?" he asked. "Imagine a
penis?"

"That's the latest," Samantha answered, her voice lower in her throat now.
"When I was little, I'd pretend I was stroking our cat, because that's the
way I had my first nippy hard-on. Then different things. This is way the
best. Oooohhh yummy!"

"Sam, are we OK here? You said this was for your story, didn't you?"

"Story? Oh, right, story. You know what? All the good stuff happens in bed.
Here, give me a lift and... "

Jason wasn't about to object. He was curious, though.

"OK, Flopsy and Mopsy," he said, gathering Samantha's various parts
together, "let's get back to the bedroom."

Samantha snuggled her head against Jason's bare shoulder.

"You missed somebody," she said, looking into Jason's eyes. "I think
Cottontail and Peter might get along just fine."

She was right, of course. In no time at all, Cottontail and Peter became
the very best of friends.

And thus, dear reader, Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Peter lived together,
happily ever after.

双子峡谷的风

感谢楼主

shiningayu

不错的文，谢谢楼主翻译分享。

lapbao256

翻译的很好了