He saw her across the parking lot after the show. Late Sunday nights, everyone’s going home, they’ve got work, class, some morning reason to witness the next morning. She lingered on after the crowd melted off into diminishing flocks around her. Like a halo of people, they broke to frame her, cut out against the red brick and asphalt with a vignette of cigarette smoke.

They pulled together from opposite ends of the lot, yellow lines falling beneath their feet as feeble once-barriers to things that needed to happen. Speech was a thread that pulled their mouths together until it was drawn taut and disappeared. Now there were only vowels that passed between the marginal parting of their lips. They flurried to an automobile with a jumble of keys and hands already navigating past the borders of hems and tumbled into the back seat.

The lot was empty except for one other car at the far end. Naturally, this was not an issue for them. Skin came under the bleary examination of moonlight and chilled vinyl seats. Hands fidgeted, wandered, explored, found and held.

A dense fog and a misty rain present throughout the day fell to their cover. Nothing flowed in the delicate straight line commonly imagined. They fumbled often and bumped frequently into door handles, bruised themselves on seatbelts, and struggled to pull clothes apart from each other’s bodies.

Questions would commonly hurry to the rational mind;

What’s her name?

Whose fucking car is this?

Have I seen him somewhere before?

Is there a condom in here anywhere?

But there was no reason. There was no narrative, no linear passage of movements from one to the next. Only the convulsing of urges shooting like arrows through hands and fingers. There were only adjectives and onomatopoeic language that dwarfed words. There were only eyes, mouths, fog and rain.

He ended up on his stomach somehow. He breathed heavy and she straddled his back. Her hands gained their free reign over his bared back and they moved and touched and felt and scratched. The slowness was amazing and unbearable. He felt her nude inner thighs clenched around his behind and her unkind teeth making their way down his neck.

He wanted to turn over, flip her, take her, enter her, make this car alive with louder sounds.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

He felt something cold and plastic press softly against his lower back. It grazed him lightly, traveling down towards his ass. It let up momentarily, and her hands left his back. At this point it could have been anything had it not returned colder and moist. Her hands did not return to his back.

He wanted to move, he tried, but she pushed him back down. He wasn’t lost to it completely, just confused. He tried to move once more.

“Stay.”

And for some reason he did. His muscles loosened and he succumbed. She pressed and he felt the pressure and distant stinging draw ever near. She moved in slowly, the deeper she went, the greater the pain. He tore up the vinyl seat with his teeth, he grunted and screamed…but he never told her to stop. His knuckles cold splotchy pink and white and his fingertips were numb. Her hips now sealed themselves against him and he felt a pain never explored in a place and a time not quite known and hardly expected.

She leaned onto his back and kissed his shoulder gently and he breathed deep. Once she felt his knuckles loosened, she drew back and pushed once more. And again. And again. And again. And again.

Fleeting pain blended into a faint and rising pleasure with smooth brush strokes. His grunts and screams were not things he was used to hearing, but she understood that they were no longer serrated with pain and she pushed harder harder harder harder pulling his hips up under her with her fingernails.

He eased up and pinned her against the car door and she pushed back unrelentingly. He howled low and gravely with one of her hands clutched tightly between his writhing fingers. She grunted in a furor louder with every thrust. He grabbed at his teeth marks in the vinyl and tore it to shreds. Light tufts of padding scurried in the scrambled air and adhered to their sweat, saliva and tears. She jerked her hand from his and he soon felt her knuckles rubbing against him, twitching rapidly under the strap at her hips.

He came. She came. They disassembled in a heap, still moaning and whimpering. She was still inside him and now that they had stopped moving, they felt the chill from outside blanket their skin. Their sweat began to cool and dry and they looked away from each other. Unfamiliar with the conventions for an occasion such as this.

They forgot.

They no longer remembered the features of their faces. He no longer remembered those features that drew him across the lot to her waiting mouth and her open hands. She no longer remembered what she had to do in the morning. They recovered each others’ faces in the blankness of the aftermath and kissed for the first time in an indeterminate number of hours. They remembered the parking lot and the show and Sunday night. Sunday night. The night before everything else. They remembered their clothes and looking up; they remembered the car across the lot and the people inside.

Who had called the police.