It was a glorious bright sunny spring day. The road stretched out in front of me over the rolling countryside. I pressed the accelerator and the wonderful surge of power as my small open-top sports car swung out to overtake a sedate family saloon. My hair streamed in the breeze and the chiffon scarf knotted loosely round my throat fluttered gaily in the slipstream as I bombed up the hill towards the motorway junction.

I glanced down at my legs, encased in the sheer gossamer nylons, lovely long legs to give a girl confidence when she goes out in public. My short black leather mini skirt had ridden up slightly exposing more of my elegant long legs. My breasts swelled proudly to burst the confines of the lacy bra and tight white blouse. I glanced in the mirror and the face I saw reflected was that of a pretty girl, eyebrows plucked, eyelashes mascaraed, cheeks blushed, lips plump and glossy. Yes, I felt desirable, confident in my femininity and looking forward to a splendid day out in my newly acquired sporty two-seater. Who knows what adventures await me!

I had every reason to be pleased with myself. It was not often I could indulge my desire to dress in the clothes of the sex I most desired to join. And I had carefully planned this day out for some weeks. Oh the joy of shopping for the clothes I would wear and the make-up to go with them. Last night I had spent hours doing my nails, my hair, plucking my eyebrows, making all the preparations which could be safely done in advance. And early this morning, clad in my new silk negligee, I had spent over an hour at my dressing table, applying make-up before wriggling into my suspender belt and mini skirt, bra and blouse, and enjoying the sensuous pleasure of rolling on my new 10 denier nylons.

As I joined the slip road a large van was in the slow lane of the main motorway and I had to slow down to let him pass me before I could edge out into the traffic. I say traffic, but this particular morning it was exceptionally light. As the large van passed me I was conscious of the driver looking at me. From his height in the driving cab he no doubt got an eyeful of me in my low slung car. Doubtless he could see my legs fully revealed below the tight mini skirt. I pulled onto the motorway and out into the fast lane to overtake the van. As I did so I could see the drivers face in the mirror watching my car (and me) and as I passed him he looked out of his side window. His lips moved to shape a wolf whistle. I ignored him and drove ahead for about half a mile and then I decided to a little fun.

I pulled back into the slow lane and allowed my speed to drop to a sedate forty. In my mirror I watched as the van quickly gained on me and them pulled out to over-take. As he passed he was looking sideways at me, a big grin on his face. The van pulled in some yards ahead and reduced speed. Again I could see his face in the van’s large wing mirror and could see the look of anticipation on his face as he waited for another view of the fast girl in the sports car.

This time I gave him a good view. I wriggled slightly in the driving seat so that the mini skirt rose another tantalising centimetre to partly reveal the suspenders and my nylons, and as I passed I gave him a long look moistening my lips with my suggestively with my tongue. As I passed, he gave me a wave. Again I pulled back into the slow lane and allowed him to catch up. He didn’t take long over it. The van came bombing up behind me as though about to sweep me off the road, then settled down to follow me closely. Another half mile and I gave him a wave to overtake. As he did so, he waved back and I blew him a tantalising kiss. Almost immediately he slowed down again ahead of me and once again I pulled out to overtake. This time I drove alongside and level with his cab for two or three miles, occasionally  glancing up at him and tugging ineffectively at the hem of my skirt as though to affirm my modesty. Then I pulled ahead and drove fast, putting a considerable distance between me and the van and yet keeping him within sight in my mirror. The road signs indicated the approach to another intersection, and as I drew level with the 300 metre sign I switched on my indicators to show an intention to turn off the motorway, at the same time slowing down considerably. Seconds later as I eased into the slip-road I was gratified to see the van’s indicators also signalling and he came up the slip road in pursuit.

At the junction I paused, just sufficient time to let him catch me up. Then I let in the clutch and shot forward across the intersection and onto the slip road that led to the motorway. As I re-joined the motorway, I could see the van following me down the slip road. Back on the main carriage way, I again eased back into the slow lane and allowed him once again to catch up and overtake. Bu now he was signalling wildly as though to pull onto the hard shoulder and intermittently flagging me down with his arm. But I maintained my speed behind him and then, as another intersection approached, I ignored his implied invitation to pull off and become better acquainted, but flashed him with my headlights and zoomed past him at full throttle. When I finally lost sight of him I took the next intersection and ended the flirtation. He is no doubt still regretting the loss of the sporty girl who might have pulled off and indulged in a little hanky-panky in the cab of his vehicle. I drove on happy to have played fast and loose with a fellow like any flirtatious girl. Well, after all, that’s precisely how I felt.

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