Kyrie suggested we go for a drive in her new two-door BMW Coupe. In the parking lot we slipped into her bucket seats.
Kyrie took over from there. At nearly ninety miles per hour she zipped us up to that windy edge known to some as Mulholland,
the senuous road running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains, where she then preceded to pump her vehicle in and out of
turns, sometimes dropping down to fifty miles per hour only to immediately gun it back to ninety again. Fast, slow, fast-fast,
slow. Sometimes a wide turn, sometimes a quick one. She preferred the tighter ones, the sharp controlled jerks, 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 than 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 want to take a ride with me
Through my world
Hey pretty
Don't you want to 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 know it didn't really matter. She wasn't listening.
She just yanked up on the emergency break, dropped her seat back and told me to lie on top of her, on top of those leather
pants of hers, extremely expensive leather pants mind you, her hands immediately guiding mine over the soft, slightly oily
folds, positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tab, small and round like a tear. Then murmuring a murmur 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
unzipping of my life.
Hey pretty
Don't you want to take a ride with me
Through my world
Hey pretty
Don't you want to kick and slide
Through my world
Hey pretty (hey pretty)
My pretty baby
Rocking through my world (my world)
Hey pretty (hey pretty)
My pretty baby
Rocking through my world (through my world)
We never even kissed or looked into each other's eyes. Our lips just trespassed on those inner labyrinths hidden deep
within our ears. Filled them with the private music of wicked words, hers in many languages, mine in the off color of my only
tongue. . . . Too bad dark languages rarely survive.
Hey pretty
Don't you want to take a ride with me?
Don't you want to take a ride with me?
My baby
Rocking through my world (though my world)
Don't you want to take a ride with me?
My baby
Do you get the gist of the song now?
