Her

I awoke. There was no alarm save the constricted feeling in my chest. It was 3:30. The dream of ten seconds before was dissolving and I had no idea where I was.

My breathing steadied and I realized that I was at home, in my own bed, next to Mrs. Greyhound. But I was thinking of her. The weight of secrets heavy on my shoulders, I was sneaking out in the dark, for her.

Carmen was already in the car, but not from anticipation. She was there because she was there--doing me a favor--bored, unmoving, and yet full of inner power that drew me like moth to flame. We did not talk while driving to the city. We seldom talk. Words cannot contain her. She is raw physical and sensual energy. Words cannot reach her, for my words fail in her presence.

We finally reached the place set for our rendezvous, the darkened and silent park. As if she needed anything from my hands, I help Carmen Tequilo from the car, placing her upright, taut and quivering in the heavy morning air, thick with moisture and the smell of the moment. I run my hand lightly down her flank. Did I hear an intake of breath? Does she need this too?

As quickly as it was there, it evaporates. She treats me coldly and matter of factly, but I will not be denied. I will warm her. I will have her. Carmen Tequilo, I am consumed.

All is in readiness. She is underneath me and her slender shoulders are pinned by my arms. I mount her and we move together, slowly at first, silently in the dark. No sounds. No words. Just ever increasing speed and power--two bodies joined at the core and indistinguishable from one another.

My weight on my elbows, I see her beneath me. Is that pleasure in her visage, sensual delight in her sleek torso? Does she like the speed too? Blood rushes and my pulse quickens. Sweat is dripping from my forehead and running down my chest in rivers of exertion. Ever faster, ever stronger, stroke after powerful stroke, until I can wait no longer. It is time . . .

to take off her front wheel, put her in the trunk and go to the office.