You Want A Dirty Story? I’ll tell you a dirty story, then. Okay um… you’re at a strip club on a Tuesday night and there’s a girl there, just watching, and she’s hotter than all the strippers. She’s into it. She loves it. And then she sees you and looks into your soul and says, “I don’t usually do this kind of thing…” but she invites you out to her car and gives you a private show. Yeah. The radio is playing old county songs and she straddles your lap in the passenger seat and begins grinding against you… and her face is getting red because she’s a little embarrassed but she… she keeps riding you until the song stops. And then there’s a pause and the host says something about a charity 5k. The two of you lock eyes and for a moment you really see each other. And then she starts kissing you and- And everything smells like cheap perfume and sex and old car. Another song starts to play and she’s got her tongue in your mouth. She’s got your lips in her teeth, her hands in your hair. The parking lot is dark but the neon signs from the strip club provide just enough light for you to see the sparkle in her eyes. And then she starts to unzip your pants. Kinda fast, like she might not really mean it. For a minute there it’s just you and her lips and her hand. Just when you think it’s almost over she stops. “How far do you wanna go?” She asks. Her voice is an unsmoked cigarette. She pulls her panties to the side and things keep on going farther, all the while leaving little bitemarks- On your neck. Bitemarks you’ll have to explain away in the morning but right now all you can feel is her moving against you. The radio fades into the distance, her breath becoming the soundtrack. And god, you’re close, you’re so close… For just a moment, nothing else exists. Just this sensation between you and this stranger, on any random night. Just this magic of the universe. Everything… everything comes together, then. And you groan and she moans and then it’s over. And she straightens her skirt. You sit below her for a moment longer, an advertisement for chewing gum plays on the radio. You open the passenger door. She gets out. And you get out. And you both think about saying something, but neither of you do. She gets back into her car - the driver’s seat, this time. You don’t lock eyes again. You walk to side of the building and pull out a cigarette from your pocket. She drives away. That’s the end of it, so. Tomorrow you’ll tell your wife that the bites on your neck must be a rash and she won’t believe you. She takes the kid and goes to her mom’s. You’ll be too hungover to care. She won’t leave for good, anyway, though part of you will wish she would. But tonight, just for a little while, nothing should matter. Not when you’ve got this unsmoked cigarette in your hand.