Carrie suggested we go for a drive in her new two-door BMW Coupe.
In the parking lot we slipped into her bucket seats.
Carrie took over from there.
At nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as Mul Holland, a sinuous road running the ridge in the Santa Monica mountains.
Where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of the turns sometimes dropping down to 50 miles per hour only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again.
Fast, slow. Fast, fast. Slow.
Sometimes a wide turn, sometimes a quick one.
She preferred the tighter ones - the sharp controlling jerks swinging left to right before driving back to the right so she could do it all over again - until after enough speed and enough wind and more distance than I'd been prepared to expect taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of and never visit, I heard her say:
Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me, through my world?
Hey pretty, don't you wanna kick and slide through my world?
I can't remember the inane things I started babbling about then.
I knew it didn't really matter. She wasn't listening.
She just yanked up on the emergency brake, dropped her seat back and told me to lie on top of her.
On top of those leather pants of hers. Her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly oily folds.
Positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tabs. Small and round, like a tear.
Then murmuring a murmur so inaudible that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear, she seemed far, far away.
"Pinch it," she said, which I did lightly.
Until she also said, "Pull it," which I also did.
Gently parting the teeth one at a time down, under and beneath the longest unzipping of my life.
Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me, through my world?
Hey pretty, don't you wanna kick and slide through my world?
Hey pretty, my pretty baby, rock it through my world.
Hey pretty, my pretty baby, rock it through my world.
We never even kissed or looked into each other's eyes.
Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep within our ears.
Filled them with the private music of wicked words. Hers in many languages.
Mine in the off-colour of my only tongue.
Too bad dark languages rarely survive.
Hey pretty, my pretty baby.
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
Don't you wanna take a ride with me?
My baby, my pretty baby.
Rock it through my world.
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