They Needed A Jump

They Needed A Jump
By Ken Haramiru – http://haramiru.com/



My Saturday started off with nothing to do. I was in that awkward stage right after my divorce, at a high risk for a train-wreck rebound relationship, and determined not to plunge into one. Relationships aside, after having spent the entire eight-month divorce process dateless, my backlogged carnal needs had reached legendary proportions.

My first stop for the day was the gas station near my house, and my reason for preferring it was in rare form today. My gas station is right next to a gym, which meant that the entire time I was pumping gas, women strutted by in short shorts and tight spandex. When I finished fueling my vehicle, I felt a twinge of disappointment, but hopped in my SUV and started my engine. While the gym made being in the lot pleasant, its traffic also made departure a lengthy process.

It was near lunch time, and departing cars were stacked up far into the lot. I generally hate being stuck in traffic, except when I’m stuck near the gym’s doors and hence granted the perfect excuse to watch women walking out. I was just starting to think about going to the beach afterwards, when “they” walked out of the gym.

“They” were a pair of gorgeous pregnant women, one Asian and one Latina. The Asian appeared to be about 6 months along, and the Latina was slightly bigger – around 7 months. I’d always had an attraction for pregnant women, and five years of marriage to an emphatically child-free woman had only increased it. My sunglasses let me stare in safety as they walked past my car, engrossed in conversation. The Latina caressed the side of her belly through a tight pink tank top, rubbing a bulge which was probably her baby’s head. The top of her less-pregnant Asian friend’s two piece outfit had crept up until her belly button showed, and she wore stretchy exercise pants which I was sure were see-through in the right light.

The traffic light let a few cars out of the parking lot before it turned red again, but I only managed to get a few car lengths along before I stopped again. I was grateful of course, since I was able to watch them haul their oversized bellies into a pickup truck parked to my right. Moments later, through my open passenger side window, I heard their truck’s engine crank but refuse to start.

“SHIT!” the Latina shouted, and immediately followed it up with a stream of curses. Her friend propped her elbow on the center console and rested her hand on her forehead, annoyed, as the engine made another tired attempt to turn over. Traffic started moving again, which forced me to drive forward – and on the spur of the moment, I decided to circle back around. I pulled out of the parking lot and circled back in by the gas station. A horde of competing voices in my head were arguing over what I should do, but most of them agreed that it wasn’t improper to see if the two women needed help – even if they did happen to line up perfectly with my personal fetish.

Before I pulled into the spot next to them, the Latina had popped her hood and was angrily glaring at her engine while her friend stayed seated. I leaned out my window and asked, “Hey, do you need a jump start?”

The Latina looked up at me, surprised at first – and then her mouth creased into a smile. “Really? Yes! My stupid brother swapped batteries with me.”

I raised my eyebrow as I stopped my engine, then got out. “Well, if all you need is a jump start, I’ve got jumper cables in the back.”

Her hand fluttered up to her chest, just above her neckline. “Oh, wow. Thank you,” she gushed. She followed me around to the back of my SUV, pivoting to avoid squishing her belly as she passed between the two vehicles. “My name is Selena, by the way. Thanks again for stopping.”

I smiled, acutely aware that without my shades, I’d be busted for staring at her swollen belly right now. I was so distracted that I had trouble getting my hands to close around the cables, but I managed to pick them up anyway. “Not a problem,” I said, “just felt like the right thing to do.”

“Well, thank you anyway,” she repeated. “My boyfriend dropped auto club when he fled the country, so a tow truck would be expensive.”

“Well, guys like me carry jumper cables so that we can help damsels in distress,” I replied. I started to lower the hatch, then stopped as I noticed that the rear hatch was about to hit the top of her belly.

“Oops,” she said, as she pivoted quickly to the side. She cradled her swollen abdomen and smiled at me as the rear hatch locked shut, then followed me back to the front with the cable.

No matter how many times I’ve jumped peoples’ cars, I can never remember the right order to connect the cables in. That’s the reason I keep the printed instruction cards hooked up to the cables, and now it saved me from fumbling the connection while the hot pregnant girl stood next to me.

Thankfully I didn’t have to rotate my SUV to get the battery closer. Selena’s Asian passenger had gotten out when I was hooking up the cables, and she watched quietly. The outdoors temperature was in the high 90s, and the sun was relentless. Tiny beads of sweat made their way down the two pregnant girls’ cleavage, then ran down their swollen bellies. Their tops had probably fit just fine before their milk had started to come in, but now both of them had glistening cleavage galore. Had I not needed all the power my alternator could summon, I’d have offered to turn on the AC and let them sit inside. But as it stood, all I could do was admire the view as their battery charged.

“Man,” Selena said to her friend as she rubbed some sweat away from her neck, “I’m going to need another shower once we get home.”

Her friend answered, “Gonna have to fight me for who goes first.”

Selena smirked and said, “Talk like that and I’ll leave you here. You can have first dibbs on the shower once walk back to the house.”

We charged the battery for about five minutes, during which the view got progressively better as the two girls shifted their tops uncomfortably in the heat, trying to get a little bit of breeze flowing over their bare skin. I asked Selena to start her engine, and it didn’t get any farther along than the first time. Even with me revving my engine while she tried to start it, hers wouldn’t turn over. She was more than a little bit annoyed. “Wait a minute,” she said.

“What?” I asked.

She got out of the truck and walked over to my window. “Do you know much about batteries?” she asked.

“I paid attention during physics classes in college,” I said with a shrug.

She rested her arms on my window and leaned in, and I could see down her shirt to her swollen belly.

“So, here’s the situation,” the gorgeous pregnant woman began. “My brother left on a cross-country road trip, and he asked if he could swap batteries with me until he gets back since he says they’re the same connectors. His battery’s on its last legs, and mine was brand new. He charged his old battery and swapped it over just before he left, and he said it should last for the week until he gets back and buys a new one.”

I paused for a second. “What’s he drive?” I asked.

“A Honta Civit. Small, gets good gas mileage.”

I shrugged. “Well, basic physics says that the starter motor on your truck engine will need more torque than on his four-banger. And if this battery was marginal for his car, it probably won’t do much for yours.”

She clenched her lower jaw and her eyes flashed with anger. “Seriously?” she fumed. “That little shit didn’t even think about that? So why’d it start up this morning?”

“Fresh off the charger, it may have had more charge.”

The Latina shook her head, her long brown hair making a distracting cascade over her shoulders.

“I swear to God, my dumb brother… I’m going to kill him.”

I lifted a finger and said, “Perhaps something a little less permanent. Such as, leaving his headlights on every chance you get for the rest of his life.”

She cocked her head for a moment. “Ooo! Totally gonna do that.” She giggled.

“Well,” I said, “I guess you’ll need a new battery?” I paused for a second, my mouth drying a little before I added, “My plans are open today, so if you need a ride, I’m up for it.”

She grinned and leaned through the window a little farther to hug me, her belly pressing against the door. “Oh, thank you so much!” she said. She turned around and told her friend, “Hey Jessica, we need a new battery. C’mon, he’s taking us to the shop.”

Jessica raised her eyebrows. “Seriously? You can’t just jump it?”

“Freaking George,” Selena said. “Just because the cables fit, he figured his battery would start my truck.”

“Sounds like him, all right,” the Asian girl nodded. “I call shotgun!”

I unplugged the jumper cables and closed the hoods. Selena locked up her truck as Jessica got in front. Thankfully, I keep all the junk in my SUV confined to one side of the rear seats just in case I had a passenger.

I watched carefully as Selena struggled to buckle the seatbelt around her gravid stomach. “Everybody strapped in?” I asked.

The two girls giggled, then said, “Yeah, we’re good.”

“Anything against getting your battery at Pep Lads? It’s just down the street,” I asked.

Selena shook her head. “As long as they carry truck batteries, I don’t care.”

From the little grin that came across her mouth, I think Selena may have noticed me checking her out in the mirror when we were halfway down the road. Just before we arrived at the auto parts shop, she started doing some arm stretches which emphasized her cleavage, and her grin escalated into a full on smile. As we pulled into the parking lot I noticed that Selena’s nipples were poking through her top – and it wasn’t due to my running the AC.

I was half tempted to circle around the lot looking for up-front parking, just so that I could watch Selena stretch – but I didn’t want to be too obvious, or get too distracted and hit a parked car. As it stood, we found reasonably close parking, and I walked around to open the ladies’ doors. Jessica got out as I was getting to the door, but Selena waited – she took my hand as I helped her out of the seat, treating me to a tantalizing view down her shirt in the process.

“Man,” Selena complained, “even your back seat is comfier than my truck.”

Jessica nodded. “They don’t build trucks with us in mind.”

Inside the store, they walked up to the parts counter and Selena propped her pregnant belly up on the bar.

“Hi,” she said, “I need a battery for my truck.”

The clerk said, “Sure – what kind of truck is it?”

“Oh. Crap,” she said. “I know it’s a Tahorn F-something, but I don’t remember what the something was.”

I pulled up my cellphone, where I’d thought to write that down before we left, and rattled off the make and model for her.