I have one major rule when it comes to boys, they have to have a car. Hold on a minute, this is not a diss for the guys without cars. It’s just simple math. I can’t drive, so he should. 

When a guy asks me out on a date, the expectation I set for myself is to look my absolute best. I’m in my highest heels and my shortest dress. My makeup is slayed and my hair is laid. I personally look too good for public transportation. Also I’m not here to argue with anyone as to why a guy should be the one who takes care of everything for a first date. 

I’m not getting into that debate, it’s very clear and simple from where I’m standing. You approach me because you’re interested and you want to take me out. I’m assuming you want to pick me up and take me to a nice place, somewhere you think I’d enjoy within your capabilities,  and make sure I’m satisfied and happy with you. Otherwise don’t bother. 

Moving on…

I’ve done some of the filthiest things in the back of a boy’s car. If you remember from chapter 1, I lost my virginity in a car. I’m aware of how bad this sounds, but I’m not afraid to be kink shamed. I enjoy having sex in a car, there’s just an allure of feeling his weight on my body and his thrust into me in such a tight space. Also, the thought of getting caught is thrilling. I wonder if this counts as public sex. 

“Don’t honk your horn when you get here, text me and I’ll come down,” I texted him, it was already one in the morning and I didn’t need him waking up my cousin, who had school in the morning.

“I’m here,” my phone pinged.

I looked at my phone as I got out of the shower. I made the obvious choice to wear a little black dress without underwear. I listened in to make sure my cousin was asleep before I turned off my lights and crept out of the house. 

I got into the front seat of his car as he stared at me for a while, he smiled and placed his right hand between my thighs. “Where are we going?” I asked when he started his car.

“I know a place by the beach that’s usually empty around this time,” he spoke softly while massaging my thighs. I felt myself moisten as his hands crept deeper between my thighs. 

He drove for about 20 minutes asking me about my day and my hobbies. I answered as vaguely as I could, this was not a boy I wanted to remember, neither did I want to be remembered by him. His number wasn’t even saved on my phone, I don’t even think he could pronounce my name. As we made our way on the freeway, he stopped at a red light, ripped his hands from between my thighs, smirked then licked his fingers. 

It was simply the most erotic moment I had ever had at the time.