Page 142 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

He grits his teeth, pumping his dick rough ‘til he’s only half limp.

Then he rolls the rubber down fast, slams her chest down into the trunk, and forces himself inside, balls-deep before he goes soft again.

She moans, head hangin’ forward.

“Ohh, baby, that cock. That fuckin’ cock. So perfect…”

Behind her, he’s a zombie, dead-eyed, with two fingers rubbin’ her clit raw, while his cock punches into her, makin’ her choke on her own cries ‘til they split apart and echo back in the garage.

Her legs give out.

She’s shakin’, her drool streakin’ across the Civic’s chipped paint.

Whatever she’s sayin’ is all white noise—his ears hear nothin’ but a buzzin’, like they sealed themselves shut so he don’t gotta hear her moanin’.

“Shit—fuck—I’m comin’,” she moans and moans and growls.

He drives into her through the last waves.

Until she’s spent.

Until the shakes fade.

That’s it. That’s what she came for.

That’s the moment she’ll rewatch in her head and call it a fairy tale.

And he didn’t even let her see his face.

“You love me. I know you do,” she says, calm and delusional.

Everything in him stops, the words cutting into him.

The nerve to toss that word in his face to try and take that from him too.

He yanks out, fist ballin’ to keep from explodin’.

He strips the empty rubber off and stuffs it into his pocket.

He didn’t come—never does—but he ain’t leavin’ it behind for her to keep like some fucked-up trophy. It happened once. Blew his fuckin’ mind.

He opens the car door, snags a jacket off the backseat, locks back up, and wipes himself down with the sleeve, then her thighs. Next, he’s yankin’ her skirt down ‘cause she ain’t movin’ fast enough.

She’s slumped across his trunk, arms stretched wide, not movin’, like his dick nailed her there.

“That do it for you?” he mutters through his teeth. She’s pantin’ with her cheek smashed to his Civic, heart floatin’ somewhere he’ll never follow. “Stay here. Breathe for a sec. I’ll grab us water. Two minutes. Don’t move.”

She nods, all floaty with a dazed grin.

He checks the pockets of the jacket, then chucks it into the trash before walkin’ out of the garage, leavin’ his car behind without botherin’ to look back.

Then he fades into the dark, the end of the night feelin’ like a curtain call.

Spotlight dims.

Audience fades.

Show’s finally over.