Notes From the Backseat by Jody Gehrman Page B

his tongue; it was a strange, intoxicating flavor—the tang of my body mixing with the heat of his.
    When I pulled his shirt off, he produced a condom from his wallet and sat it carefully on the arm of the couch. I watched the muscles of his back, sweaty and glistening as the track lights pooled on the glossy surface of his shoulder blades. I just couldn’t believe I was actually with this guy—he was so made to order—with his rock-star hair and his cut shoulders. Why would he bother with me when he could have the bionic blonde?
    Before I could muddy the moment with worry, he unbuttoned his fly and dropped his jeans to the floor. I sat there Indian-style on the couch and he touched my hair with the tips of his fingers; I pulled his boxers down slowly and slipped his—okay, okay!—his throbbing member between my lips. I glanced up to see how I was doing and his eyes were closed in a look of total bliss. I slipped him in and out of my mouth until he was slick with saliva, glistening and hard, plum-colored. I’ve never really considered anyone’s cock beautiful, but Coop’s is different. Usually, sex is such a tense transaction for me, I’m just happy if it’s not gherkin-sized or flaccid. With Coop, I feel like I could fondle and caress it forever. The first time I saw it, I remember thinking, this is the one. Isn’t that weird? Like I’d been looking for something and I didn’t even know it until right then.
    After a long, slow blow job, he let out a soft groan and bent over me, searing my mouth with another famished kiss. The next thing I knew the condom was on and he was inside me, the full length of him pushing in, deeper, moving slowly, watching my face like he wanted to memorize every inch of it. I leaned back against the cushions of the couch and smiled with dizzy pleasure as I felt my body making way for him, yielding like warm river sand. Outside, one of the neighbor’s dogs howled and a gust of wind rattled the sliding glass doors. I could still hear Steven snoring his long, rattling snores, but I tried not to think about that. I wanted to tell Coop something—I didn’t know what. I ached for words as nuanced and delicate as what he made me feel, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate and it was too late for talking, anyway.
    He kept moving, faster now, finding his rhythm, pushing against me and into me, his eyes closed in concentration. I felt the familiar climb, the roller coaster slowly cresting the hill, one excruciating moment building on the next, and then the drop was visible, the plunge just around the bend, and his moan unleashed a great white heat inside me. My mother’s house flew apart in a blinding flash and in my head the scream I let out was primal, electric, terrifying, but the sound that actually slipped through my parted lips was barely more than a breathy little gasp.
    Â 
    Just so you know, I’ll probably take a Sharpie to all the above before sending this. It’ll look like World War II correspondence after the censors had a crack at it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but at this point you’ve become sort of irrelevant. I mean writing all this down is starting to transcend the usual aim of a letter—to entertain or inform or whatever. Now it’s therapy, and we’re talking high-crisis treatment like shaved heads and electric shock. When you handed me this notebook I thought the whole idea was pretty daft, but now I see the method to your madness; if I weren’t committing this shit to paper, someone would have been hospitalized by now and there’s a good chance that someone would be me.
    At the risk of sounding presumptuous, I know what you’re thinking. How did Gwen go from a blinding orgasm to nearly carving her initials into Dannika’s annoyingly wrinkle-free forehead?
    I’m getting to that.
    Coop and I had a quick, post-coital snooze. I awoke to the sound of a flushing toilet and