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by Martha Hindes
You could say it isn't fair. They have beautiful bodies, sultry faces, firey temperaments, and a haughty command of their surroundings. They demand our instant attention and ignore us if we don't oblige. They blend with our deepest psyches and coax us into submission at their presence.
No, we're not talking about the likes of a leggy, buxom movie maven or adonis with six-pack abs, acknowledged by adoring fans as the idols to dream of and emulate.
Our adoration is for that unbridled, wind-in-the-hair ride, miles blazing by with blinding speed, seatback plastering power that forces us rearward into yesterday at the surge of a floored, cast aluminum accelerator pedal, or the cat-grip control that bites through tenuous curves and switchback roads with absolute surety. They catch our breath with the lithe lines of sculptured, molded steel, bright metal trims, the glare of high intensity jeweled headlamps and the heart-pounding rumble of a sweet exhaust tone. These road rockets - the coupes, the roadsters, the musclebound ponies - are the sexy cars of our desire.
Our trip into fantasy land begins with the click of a mouse...
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