She's real fine, my 409! -- the Beach Boys.

Dean Winchester had always felt that the relationship between a man and his machine was something sacred. In fact, in his late teens, begun to equate the relationship with having a good girlfriend. The kind that never cheats, is a total knock out and opening her hood could feel just like taking off a bra to reveal the goodies beneath. Well, perhaps if you could rachet a 327 engine under a bra. Cars were the perfect woman, in a nutshell. He discovered, though, somewhere along all the roads he'd driven that women who loved their cars as he did were down right terrifying.

At first, he'd written it off to the fact that they might actually be a bit more adept with a wrench and a blowtorch than he was, but soon it was apparent that it was more than that. There was an unshakeable sense that these women were violating this sacred relationship between man and machine. He reached his conclusion to this mystery at a cruise night he'd happened upon in the middle of hick country. He parked between a Charger and a 442, popped the hood and waited for the compliments and praise of his fellow men to start flowing. However, his first inquiry came from a young woman with a Trans Am parked across from him. As she ran her hands over the engine block he knew what was wrong.

"Lesbian," he muttered under his breath. That's what the problem was. Sure, this girl could be straight as hell, but he didn't want to know that she felt the same way about cars as he did. Suddenly, every woman at the cruise became brutally obvious. It was like...like he'd been checking out a woman's ass then realized the woman sitting behind him was craning her neck to do exactly the same thing. It creeeped him out, it did, and before he knew it, he slammed the hood down, collected his brother from the concession stand and got the hell out of dodge.

His fingers tightened compulsively around the wheel. That idea of the sacred relationship had been possibly ruined forever. He'd have to sheild his baby from the world from now on.

Note: ...why? Well, boys refer to their cars as women. I've learned that they aren't happy if there's another guy poking around in there, if it's a girl, they really don't like it.