muses_gonewild: 49. The backseat of your car
His relationship with Helen Jones was a fleeting one--no more than any of his others, however--but exceedingly more memorable during the summer of 1998. She drove her father's '67 Camaro. He wasn't a big car person--only a stint working in a garage when he was 14 gave him an appreciation for mechanics--but he could tell it was a beautiful old car, worn but well taken care of, much like Helen.
She had a feisty, rebellious streak that for some reason appealed to him, and many times they would go driving out on unpaved mountain roads at less than safe speeds just for the hell of it. He had a sensitive, cynical streak that for some reason appealed to her, and many times after their joyriding, they would park on a rocky clearing watching the sun go down and the stars come out talking about the changing world around them.
It might have been love. He hated to think that it was merely a way to pass the time, even though that was what they were doing. They grew a lot in three months that he wasn't sure most couples did in three years.
When she put the car in park, she took no time sliding into the back and enticing him to follow with a sultry look one hot June evening. He followed, laughing. "What are you doing?"
"Just get over here." She grabbed him by the collar and pressed their bodies together.
"Isn't it a little cramped?"
Helen smirked. "No, I'd say it's just right," she replied, groping for the zipper of his jeans.
They never discussed what their relationship was, only that it was, and it was only going to last the summer before they parted ways again. It might have been love; it might have been simply a fling. Certainly, if nothing else, it was memorable.
She had a feisty, rebellious streak that for some reason appealed to him, and many times they would go driving out on unpaved mountain roads at less than safe speeds just for the hell of it. He had a sensitive, cynical streak that for some reason appealed to her, and many times after their joyriding, they would park on a rocky clearing watching the sun go down and the stars come out talking about the changing world around them.
It might have been love. He hated to think that it was merely a way to pass the time, even though that was what they were doing. They grew a lot in three months that he wasn't sure most couples did in three years.
When she put the car in park, she took no time sliding into the back and enticing him to follow with a sultry look one hot June evening. He followed, laughing. "What are you doing?"
"Just get over here." She grabbed him by the collar and pressed their bodies together.
"Isn't it a little cramped?"
Helen smirked. "No, I'd say it's just right," she replied, groping for the zipper of his jeans.
They never discussed what their relationship was, only that it was, and it was only going to last the summer before they parted ways again. It might have been love; it might have been simply a fling. Certainly, if nothing else, it was memorable.