GVASex
| Car Story anonymous writer |
++++ It was a dark and stormy night. The highway was deserted, save for the souls in our car. Without a word, the car silently pulls to the side of the road. I don't need to hear the words to know what is being said. In the darkness, in the empty solitude of the wide expanse of nothing that borders the highway, we sit in anticipation. I stare ahead, knowing what wants to happen, but afraid to move. All I see are the eyes. ++++ It was a pleasant enough evening. Your classmates were fun and excited to speak English, albeit quiet broken. For a Canadian student studying abroad, this was one of those times I knew my other Canadian classmates would have envied if they weren't so busy getting wasted every day of the week at the Roxy bar. Here I was, down with the locals, eating mutton satay and downing Tsingtao with my new BF (that would be you) and your classroom peeps. I'm so lucky. ++++ The eyes scare me, but comfort me at the same time. I don't know why. But I don't flinch when your hand slides onto my knee and waits. That is all it takes for me to feel the stirrings of my youthful desires. I know you notice because your hand inches closer and closer to the source of my shame, my hunger, my pleasure. ++++ I know how to hold my liquor. But you, being the Asian that you are, are beet red, and I laugh. I also laugh at your teacher, 20 years older and looking just as monkey-butt red as you. But he doesn't mind, because he is your mentor and understands that I am your "friend". ++++ Your hand stops when it reaches its destination and grabs firmly while you angle your head to kiss my round lips, my strong chin, my long neck, my chiseled chest. Your breath has a sense of urgency and I follow it with my own gasps and muffled groans. I comfortably squirm in my seat and arch my back in satisfaction, not because your hand and mouth have met in my pants, not because you've expertly found the rhythm that works, but because I want the eyes to see. ++++ The night is over and you are drunk, sort of. Well, everyone, but me is drunk. I could take you on my bike, but it's a long ride back to dormitory and it looks like rain. All the other students have left but your teacher stuck around to pay the bill. He doesn't look so drunk. Actually, he's looking pretty attentively at us. Did he just have one beer? I didn't notice. Sure, we'd like a ride. ++++ The windows are fogged up and I can't see anything but your black, bristled hair rustling on my lap, the black leather seats getting moist from our heat, and your teacher's black eyes staring at us, at me, through the rearview mirror. I don't care about you and your cute smile. I don't care about how you call me five times a day to tell me you miss me. I don't care about the way you hold my hand in the dark when we watch movies. Right now, all I care about is him looking at me in this state of ecstasy, him knowing I want to show everything. I am utterly vulnerable; not just naked, but stripped of dignity, pride, and humility. I like it. I like this feeling of filth and disgust because I've been taught all my life to hate it. I want to be dirty. The shame gives me the strength to reach, climb, jerk, and grab in the dark until I find the exit my body is looking for. ++++ In the silence, the car starts up and your teacher drives us home. |
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