Carrie had suggested we go for a ride in her new two door BMW coop.

In the parking lot we slipped into her bucket seats. Carrie took over from there.

At nearly 90 miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as Mul Holland (?),

a sinuous road running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains.

Where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle in and out of turns.

Sometimes droping down to 50 miles per hour, only to immediately gun it back up to 90 again.

Fast, slow. Fast, fast. Slow.

Sometimes were wide turns. Sometimes a quick one.

She preferred the tighter ones, the sharp controlled jerk swinging left to right before driving back to the right.

Only so she could do it all over again.

Until after enough speed, and enough wind and more distance then I'd been prepared to expect.

Taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of and never visit, I heard her say...



Hey pretty, don't you wanna take a ride with me, through my world?

Hey pretty, don't you wanna kick and slide through my world?

Do you get the gist of the song now?



I can't remember the inane things I started babbling about then.

I knew it didn't really matter. She wasn't listening.

She just yanked up on the emergency brake, dropped her seat back and told me to lie on top of her.

On top of those leather pants of hers. Her hands immediately guiding mine over those soft, slightly oily folds.

Positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tabs. Small and round like a tear.

Then murmmering a murmmer so inaudible that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear,

she seemed far, far away.

"Pinch it," she said, which I did lightly.

Until she also said, "pull it," which I also did.

Gently parting the teeth one at a time down, under and beneath the longest unzippi