I remember going back into the car with her. We kissed passionately. We licked each other's tongues. We grabbed onto each other, two lonely souls braiding for that cold spring night. I fondled her breasts and moved my kisses downward, her neck, her collar bone. I pulled off her bra and licked her nipples. I still remember her beautiful small nipples--smaller than D's, but tender and erect, with their wrinkles, exposing themselves ruthlessly with that extreme texture, their bare essence of sensitivity, in my mouth, massaging my lips. I remember being so hard, so ready to let it all out, and giving myself up to that feeling of heat and sacrilege.
I remember her pushing me away. She pulled herself together and told me to take her home.
I remember being in that empty car. She waved me good bye. I remember feeling lonely and crying, even though I didn't think that she was necessarily the one for me. I remember driving into a dark, quiet corner in a neighborhood park, parking under a dense canopy. I remember the moonlight, and I was bawling. Then I jerked off. I pulled off my tuxedo and came all over the dashboard. Pathetically, it was my father's car. I cried some more after that, wiped it off with my handkerchief and drove home.
I never told anybody and I don't expect anybody to understand. That was how my adolescent ended, with a rejection and a whimper. I never talked to her again.