Wednesday, July 13, 2011

W.I.P. Wednesday: Part 7 aka "In the backs of cars"

            What nobody cared to tell me about having sex in the back seat of a car is that even as my partner is telling me “it’s okay, the windows are tinted,” I can still see the people walking around outside. And it doesn’t matter what Brian says or how he says it to me, I can still see the children on bicycles riding past, the couples jogging, the old folks walking their dogs. I can still see, even from the cramped back seat of his bland, gray Civic, the other cars pulling in, and their drivers mumbling radio song lyrics to themselves as they roll down the windows. It’s mid-July, humid, hot and sticky, unsexy weather, and no matter what he tries to tell me, I can still see the buzz going on outside.
            “Just relax,” he says as though it’s so easy. As though we’ve done it a million times before. “Don’t worry about them.”
             “Don’t worry?” I want to scream it. “There’s a five year old on a tricycle circling the parking lot, and you want me to take off my shirt in front of him, and you’re telling me not to worry.”
            He smiles as though what I’ve said amuses him and rubs his hand down my shoulder. His palms are clammy and his sweat leaves a slime trail on my skin. “Not in front of him, baby,” he says sweetly. As though this is romantic. As though this is every little girl’s dream. “In front of me. Don’t you want to?”
            He kisses me softly on the lips. Then, again, gently pulling away, looking for the anticipation he wants my body to hold. It doesn’t.
            “Talk to me, Ronnie. What’s going on in your mind?”
            “What’s going on is that I can see them all, Brian. I can see them all, and even though you may not see it, I bet they can see us. And this car is small. And if it starts rocking, and then the police come, and we get arrested for indecent exposure, and—”
            “Exposure of what?”  He unfastens his shorts and slides his jeans and boxers down to his ankles in the type of quick, mindless fashion that only horny, high school and college boys can do. It only offers just another view that I have no desire to see. He pulls his shirt off, catching it on his chin, and throws it on the floor.


  1. Bah! I hope Brian cools his jets, because I am really feelin' for your MC!

  2. Brian is rather sexy though. I can picture him in my mind because he's one of those guys that's so stuck on his body he has an exhibitionist-side to him. I do love the young exhibitionists...walking around almost naked in the sun...bronze skin beaded with sweat while I sit in my chair sucking on my slurpy. If the world was bereft of these'd be a sadder place.