July 16, 2011 by polishsnausage
New car smell. But the car didn’t smell like that anymore. Right now, it smelled of stale cigarette smoke and sex with a stranger.
They met online, chatted back and forth on instant messaging, then he gave her his phone number, saying, “use it whenever, you know, you feel like doing something together.”
She made the call to him one particularly lonely night, when she was sitting and feeling sorry for herself.
He picked up on the third ring, just as she was about to hang up, and she became flustered as to what to say to him.
“It’s me,” she said in a rush. “I’m going to be in town later, if you want to meet me for dinner.” He said, “cool, yeah, that’d be great. I know this place we can go, good food.” He have her directions, and they planned to meet at 8pm.
He was sitting at the bar, his back turned to her, but she knew it was him. She walked over to him, and gently tapped his shoulder. He turned around on his stool, and their eyes met.
“Hi,” she said nervously. A shy smile crept across her face.
He hopped off his stool and gave her a warm embrace. “Hey, you. Please, sit. Can I get you a drink?”
She wanted nothing more than a stiff cocktail, but opted for a beer instead. They sat side-by-side at the bar, making small talk. He had put in his name for a table, and they sipped their drinks in silence while they waited.
Finally, his name was called, and they walked with the hostess to the table. They sat across from each other and sat again in awkward silence. Their waitress approached their table, and was annoyingly too perky. She took their drink orders–this time, she ordered a tall whiskey and diet soda–a double. He gave her a sly smile as she did so.
“Liquid courage, huh?”
She chuckled, and said, “yeah, I guess.”
They ate their food–well, HE ate, she picked at her plate, but managed to pound down three more whiskey and Cokes, and by the time they left the restaurant, she was drunk. She tripped and fell into him as they walked outside, and he caught her in his arms, and she looked up him, her eyes glossy from the alcohol, and she leaned forward and planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth, then another and another, until they were making out furiously in the parking lot, exploring each other with roaming hands and rushing fingers.
They made it back to her car, and he opened up the back door. She fell in, hitting her head on the arm rest, but she was drunk, she didn’t care, and she was also about to get laid, so the goose egg that was developing on her skull was of little-to-no concern to her at the moment.
He slithered on top of her, raising her skirt up her thighs as his hand glided on her legs. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he unbuckled and unzipped his pants.
Drunk back seat sex was not all it is cracked up to be. He kept pounding her head into the door, and her ass was sticking to the leather seats.
After they were finished, she sat upright and belched.
“I don’t feel so we–” and then immediately vomited on the back seat.
So much for new car smell.