It's almost a cliché that we American males are in love with our automobiles. They have come to be extensions of ourselves, or at least of what we aspire to be. They have carved a long-lasting niche in our psyches, so perhaps it was inevitable that they should have made their marks on our libidos as well. It was apparent from the start that more than anything else, they were bedrooms on wheels, conjugal coupes, seduction sedans--with everything, to go. Of course, they have varied wildly in size and style over the years. In recent memory, they were great rolling behemoths, acres of sheet metal broken only by the occasional gaudy flash of chrome. Victims of the energy crunch, those imposing vehicles turned out to be dinosaurs in a jet age. Like the ancient reptiles, in the end, they were just too big and too dumb. Reluctantly, we agreed to their passing, but across the land a cry went up: "Can you do it in a small car?" We found reassurance in our progenitors of the Twenties and Thirties, who certainly did, and in the Europeans, who have never been fazed by their machines' diminutive dimensions.
Besides, aren't we the same people who produced the pop-up toaster? Didn't we perfect the electric toothbrush? Of course, we can do it in small cars! Where there's a wheel, there's a way! Our first attempts, though, were disastrous. Newspaper accounts told of couples locked in pretzellike embraces who had to be freed by snickering firemen with hacksaws. Emergency rooms quickly filled with lovers complaining of nasty gashes from rearview mirrors and ugly abrasions from shift levers. Masseuses kneaded the knotted muscles of a frustrated populace and chiropractors had their biggest payday since the introduction of the twist. It was awful. It was painful. It was exasperating. But we never gave up. Those not imbued with Yankee ingenuity may be returning to living rooms and theater balconies, but real auto lovers have gone at the problem with a vengeance, inventing new positions, developing more and more complex acts, scaling new heights of sensual pleasure. They have grown to cherish the closeness. The heady aroma of superheated vinyl is in their nostrils and they love it. About the only thing lacking up till now has been a Motorist's Make-Out Manual, but we think we've done more than our bit toward filling that gap. Gentlemen, race your engines.
