She climbed over the back seat once they cleared Queen Street, giggling as her wings, trapped under her jacket, brushed the roof of the big Crown Victoria he’d rented. She prodded at the radio and found a college station, staticky and amateurish, and nodded her head along with the mash-up mixes and concert bootlegs the DJ was spinning.Alan watched her in the rearview and felt impossibly old and strange. She’d been an incredible and attentive lover, using her hands and mouth, her breasts and wings, her whole body to keep him quivering on the brink of orgasm for what felt like hours, before finally giving him release, and then had guided him around her body with explicit instructions and firm hands on his shoulders. When she came, she squeezed him between her thighs and screamed into his neck, twitching and shuddering for a long time afterward, holding him tight, murmuring nonsense and hot breath.In the dark, she’d seemed older. His age, or some indeterminate age. Now, sitting next to him, privately spazzing out to the beat, she seemed, oh, 12 or so. A little girl. He felt dirty.“Where are we going?” she said, rolling down the window and shouting over the wind as they bombed up the Don Valley Parkway. The traffic had let up at Sheppard, and now they were making good time, heading for the faceless surburbs of Richmond Hill and Thornhill, and beyond.“North,” he said. “Past Kapuskasing.”She whistled. “How long a drive is it?”“Fifteen hours. Twenty, maybe. Depends on the roads—you can hit cottage traffic or a bad accident and get hung up for hours. There are good motels between Huntsville and North Bay if we get tired out. Nice neon signs, magic fingers beds. A place I like has ‘Swiss Cabins’ and makes a nice rosti for dinner.”“God, that’s a long trip,” she said.“Yeah,” he said, wondering if she wanted out. “I can pull off here and give you cab fare to the subway station if you wanna stay.”“No!” she said quickly. “No. Want to go.”
She climbed over the back seat once they cleared Queen Street, giggling as her wings, trapped under her jacket, brushed the roof of the big Crown Victoria he’d rented. She prodded at the radio and found a college station, staticky and amateurish, and nodded her head along with the mash-up mixes and concert bootlegs the DJ was spinning.
Alan watched her in the rearview and felt impossibly old and strange. She’d been an incredible and attentive lover, using her hands and mouth, her breasts and wings, her whole body to keep him quivering on the brink of orgasm for what felt like hours, before finally giving him release, and then had guided him around her body with explicit instructions and firm hands on his shoulders. When she came, she squeezed him between her thighs and screamed into his neck, twitching and shuddering for a long time afterward, holding him tight, murmuring nonsense and hot breath.
In the dark, she’d seemed older. His age, or some indeterminate age. Now, sitting next to him, privately spazzing out to the beat, she seemed, oh, 12 or so. A little girl. He felt dirty.
“Where are we going?” she said, rolling down the window and shouting over the wind as they bombed up the Don Valley Parkway. The traffic had let up at Sheppard, and now they were making good time, heading for the faceless surburbs of Richmond Hill and Thornhill, and beyond.
“North,” he said. “Past Kapuskasing.”
She whistled. “How long a drive is it?”
“Fifteen hours. Twenty, maybe. Depends on the roads—you can hit cottage traffic or a bad accident and get hung up for hours. There are good motels between Huntsville and North Bay if we get tired out. Nice neon signs, magic fingers beds. A place I like has ‘Swiss Cabins’ and makes a nice rosti for dinner.”
“God, that’s a long trip,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, wondering if she wanted out. “I can pull off here and give you cab fare to the subway station if you wanna stay.”
“No!” she said quickly. “No. Want to go.”