paul, 2004.

It was a fucking frigid night, in the midst of that ostensively vast stretch of time between Christmas and New Year’s. I was out at a diner with Paul, a guy I now cannot recall exactly how we met. I think it was through friends of friends, or MySpace or LiveJournal, but none of that really matters in the span of things.

We were steeped in that part of college-ish life, the inbetween. Being too young to drink legally but old enough to drive, and neither of us had moved out of our parents’ houses yet. Thus, the diner was king for latenight meetups. Breakfast food, coffee in the middle of the night, and discreet blowjobs in the parking lot.

Paul had a deep voice, thick dark hair that was a little long, and dangerous eyes. We could hardly contain ourselves as we drank our shit coffee. I kept thinking about how good it would feel to pull his hair when the inevitable happened, wondering if he was good with his hands, what his cock would feel like, how he liked to fuck.

As the night went on, it became increasingly evident that I had to tear his clothes off: it was something that needed to happen. We paid and went out into the night in search of an appropriate locale, driving around. Being broke as hell, even a seedy highway motel was not in the cards.

My neighbourhood was very quiet, sleepy, especially at nearly 3am on a December night. I settled with parking at the playground of my grade school. It was under construction and extremely dark, and growing up there I knew cops did not frequent the area. Cops in suburbia had interfered with prior hookups, and I was not about to have that shit happen.

It was on.

We sat next to one another for a beat, as if to test the waters. The car was nearly as cold as the outside, but we didn’t fucking care. Paul made the first move, kissing me deeply, his cold hands roaming my body as we grappled with each other’s clothes in my backseat. As I grasped at his belt buckle, I bit his lower lip and he shivered, pausing his hands on my tits. I could feel his hardon straining against his jeans, and I was dripping with anticipation.

Taking a minute to figure out the right rhythm, we fucked like animals and fogged the windows near-instantly. Which in retrospect was incredibly fucking risky in such a public place, but we were young and reckless … and absolutely tunnel vision turned on.

His stubble scratching my neck, I distinctly remember his deep voice becoming a little raspy in the throws of it. His hands all over me, pulling my hair just the right way as I grabbed his ass, fervently urging him deeper. He moaned as he came hard, one hand gripping my hip and the other around my waist, holding me close. At this point, we had almost total privacy; the car was frosted over on the outside because it was steamy wet on the inside.

Nothing else mattered but that span of an hour at 3am.

The very next day, I boarded a plane to Chicago to see my boyfriend at the time. The follies of youth; I hadn’t yet realised that relationship was a waste of time, but deep down I knew it all along.

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