She was shining like a star on the silver screen. Every guy lucky enough to gaze upon her was instantly in love; she was irresistible. She felt like summer and smelled like rain. Her curves were amazing; I had never dreamt I would see anything like her. My heart melts every time I look back on that utterly perfect 1968 Corvette.
She was flawless. An amazing paint job complemented with a fresh new interior made her desirable on every level. The tan lines, I mean racing stripes, ran without imperfection. Her ravishing paint is still the bar at which I set for every other car I see, yet none come close to paralleling her perfection.
She had a sound second to none. Her immense power had every mind in awe as the Earth trembled beneath her. I had trouble keeping a dry eye when her owner opened the hood to let me peek at the built up big block she was sporting. The pretty purr practically put me to sleep. I was mesmerized.
She had a body like no other. Symbolizing a whole a new wave in body design, I could easily see what the huge deal was about way back when she was new. Her styling is still uncontested by the best designs today has to offer. The long sensual curves, perfect lines, and intricate hood scoop really set the standard by which every car buff passes judgment on other vehicles.
My day, week, and maybe even year were all made when I sat behind her wheel. A seemingly endless supply of power was readily presented at the whims of my foot. The wind roared through the monstrous motor. She and I was untouchable. For the next few minutes, we were one, a unified being.
Then, as soon as she entered my life, she was gone. She left me a desolate shattered husk of what I had realized of myself no more than a few moments prior. She left me to live my life with nothing more than the inferior vehicles I have been doomed to drive. She knew I wanted her more than the most precious medals, the grandest gems, and the greatest of artifacts. She denied me. She was beautiful.
