a 2015 dodge caravan

I push open the screen door of my grandmother’s home. The chilly Wisconsin air hits me hard in the face, stinging, and prickling at my exposed skin. The dark driveway is immediately illuminated by the motion censored garage security light.

“Shit!” I mumble reactively under my breath. I stand, as frozen as the ground around me, at the foot of the porch as I wait for my mother or my grandmother to yell, or a light to turn on, signalling that I’ve been caught. I anxiously scan the exterior of the house. My mom’s bedroom window, my grandma’s, the kitchen, the living room… there’s nothing but stillness.

Thank god.

***

I stare up at the dome light of DLDAVE’s 2015 Dodge Caravan. He was sweet enough to fold down the seats in the back to make a bed for us. I feel like a princess as he tells me how tight my hole feels. I am the luckiest boy on Earth. 

I focus on the dome light again. 

I never asked DLDAVE why we’re hooking up in his car. I mean, it’s obvious—he’s married to a woman, probably has 2.5 kids at home, if his choice of automobile tells me anything. I glance at his face, twisted in pleasure, on the verge of release, and suddenly, I feel something unexpected: pity. This is probably the best time he’s had in… who knows how long? I don’t even know his real name.

I wonder if my grandma could see me right now? I wonder what she’d say. Something mean, but honest, and never what I would expect. It would probably be a critique on my hair or my choice of underwear. Something surface level, but still personal enough to hurt my feelings.

“I’m getting close!” DLDAVE announces to me. I take the que and grab my semi hard dick and beat it off quickly so that as his moans escalate mine do as well. We don’t cum at the same time. After DLDAVE twitches to the point of seizure on top of me and impregnates me with his fourth child, I bust my load on my stomach. I’m pretty surprised with myself. Normally I don’t have the ability to cum on command after I’ve made myself upset by picturing my hook-up’s personal life. 

Today was a triumph.

DLDAVE—Eric, apparently—flops down next to me, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. I really don’t like personal questions after sex. Or before. Or ever, really. Especially when I know I’ll never see someone again. It’s probably linked to my emotionally unavailable parents, which is probably linked to my intimacy issues, which is also probably linked to my co-dependency problems and my fear of abandonment. But none of that is relevant right now.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I smirk, pulling him closer. “I never told you.” A well-worn deflection, one of my favorites.

“Okay, mystery boy,” he chuckles, my defense mechanism working exactly as intended. I am a beautiful enigma he’ll never solve. “Tell me something about you.”

“I got into a fight with my grandmother today.”

Eric hums in response, a lazy, wordless acknowledgment. His fingers trail absentmindedly down the curve of my spine, tracing the dip at the small of my back before gliding back up.

"She’s, like, so old. I don’t know why I can’t just let her win. I have a problem with that—I can never just let something go when I know I’m right. I should be the bigger person, let her have it. Win." I pause, rolling the word around in my mouth like sour candy. "As if a disagreement is something you win. No one actually wins an argument. It’s just about who runs out of things to say first. ‘Winning’ would mean you changed the other person’s mind. And that never happens."

Eric is looking at me, but he isn’t listening. His gaze lingers on my face like he’s studying a painting, and then, his fingers brush against my lips.

"You have the most beautiful eyes," he murmurs.

“It’s okay, though,” I say, effortlessly pivoting the conversation. “I don’t think she likes me very much anyway.”

Eric tilts my chin up and presses a kiss to my forehead. “How could anyone not love this face?”

He’s sweet. A good man, or at least, a man who wants to believe he is. I should let him hold on to whatever fantasy he’s projected onto me, let him keep the version of me he’s created in his mind. I should. But I don’t.

“It’s not my face that’s the issue.” I sit up, slipping my underwear back on.

Eric follows, sitting up beside me, his lips brushing my shoulder. “I think you’re perfect. I’m sure your grandma would agree.”

For a fleeting moment, I almost believe him.

“What would you say is so perfect about me?” I say, half curious, half calling him out on not knowing me at all.

“You seem harder on yourself than you should be.” Eric says.

“Don’t need to be a therapist to figure that out.” 

Eric blinks, momentarily thrown. Maybe it was a little harsh. But I’m not wrong.

He exhales, like he’s about to say something profound. “You have this tough outer shell. Sarcasm as a defense mechanism. You act like nothing gets to you, like you don’t care, but I see you.” He places a hand on my arm, squeezing gently for emphasis. “You pretend to be detached, but deep down, you feel things so intensely. You love so hard. You push people away because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but all you really want is to be loved. You crave connection, but you don’t know how to let yourself have it.”

He pauses, eyes searching mine like he’s reading some invisible script written across my face. “You think if you act aloof, you’ll stay in control. But you’re not as guarded as you think you are. I can tell—because right now? You’re letting me in.”

I stare at him. I should correct him. I should tell him he’s completely, wildly off the mark.

Instead, I just smile. “You’re adorable,” I say, patting his cheek.

Eric is clearly projecting. 

What is it with men? They cum in you once and suddenly think they’ve unlocked the deepest recesses of your soul? Like they’re enlightened now? It’s almost sweet. Almost.

I rest my forehead against the cold passenger-side window as Eric drives me back to my grandmother’s house. Outside, the snow-dusted streets of small-town Wisconsin glide by, quiet and untouched. Picturesque, in a way that makes my skin itch.

I could never live here.

Something feels off. A strange, lingering heaviness settles in my chest. I glance over at Eric—hands on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, expression unreadable. For someone who just poured his heart out to me, he looks… empty.

“Hey, Eric,” I say, choosing my words carefully.

“Yeah?”

I hesitate, then ask, “Are you happy?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches, thick and uncertain. Finally, he exhales.

“I have a lot of love in my life,” he says.

And just like that, we’re pulling up to my grandmother’s house. Eric doesn’t linger. He gives me a small nod before speeding off, no doubt rushing home to shower off the night and crawl back into bed with his wife.