The Machine Shop - Experimental project to explore the as yet underutilized humorous romance genre. Eric is a muscly perpetually sweaty mechanic and Amber is a voluptuous woman with an agenda and a thing for fast cars. That's all you need to know for now. Just trust me. It's sexy. So sexy.
Due to overwhelming request I present an excerpt from the steamy sexiness:
Eric dropped the can of motor oil he had been feeding into the old Dodge when he saw Amber's curvy silhouette. Outlined from behind by the sun, she placed her slender hand on the track of the old steel garage door. The oil can rolled off the car fender and fell to the ground, oil spilling out onto the floor in small glubs.
"All that slippery stuff going to waste," she said, her voice like that of a fallen angel already content with her dirty, carnal state.
He moved to greet her. His shirt long since removed, his tiny nipples stood at attention. He looked her up and down like a dog sizing up a fire hydrant he was about to hydrate, his enormous boots taking one more step before they met with the oily ground created just minutes before.
His right leg slid toward her at a breakneck speed while his left failed to follow, leaving his goji berries unprotected as they fell victim to gravity and plummeted to the floor below. His tight jeans' attempt to slow the descent was valiant but they were no match for the downward velocity and were quickly torn to the east and to the west, his floppy manhood now exposed and vulnerable as it smashed into the garage floor.
"Aww shit," Eric squeaked as he groped at his baby batter factory.
"Now that's the kind of man I like. Resourceful."
Eric looked up at her through bleary, bloodshot eyes.
"You already lubed yourself up baby... good thing because I'm getting slippery too," she purred, pointing down toward her crotch.