I arrive a little early, and am stunned when I first see you step out of the car.
A ponytail. A crepe skirt. Tank top. Sandals.
Fresh. Cute. Mischievous. Sexy.
Perfect.
We smile and then walk for a bit, very close to each other.
Like an invisible, irresistable, gravitational pull.
Your hand keeps brushing against mine.
Electric.
Neither one of us has ever done this before.
But we couldn't resist it any longer.
We're both a little nervous.
Butterflies.
We soon run out of the minimal awkward small talk as we walk.
After a palpable silence, I suggest we go for a drive.
And maybe it's the warm summer sun--or just heat--but quickly agree.
Urgent.
We aren't even out of the parking lot, and your hand is sliding up your skirt.
At first, your eyes lock on mine, as a gasp escapes your lips.
Then your head tilts back.
Trembling.
I find a semi-secluded spot, and I barely get the car in park.
You desperately take my hand.
Pulling it down.
Breathless...
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