JOHNNY SAMPSON

No one is supposed to know, so we meet in secret. Hotel rooms are expensive—but your Honda Pilot with the darkened windows makes it easy to hook up in parking garages. Perfect. The seats fold down to provide more than enough room for us to fuck in almost any position. Meanwhile, the “oblivions” (as we called passersby) didn’t have a clue about the number of orgasms you were having mere steps away from them. People would get in cars right next to us and drive off while I was inside you, pausing to keep the car from shaking. Once, a custodian at the building set up his ladder next to the car and changed the fluorescent lights right above us. We lay still, holding hands while naked, with sly smiles on our faces until he finished. Then we went one more round before driving off with an $8 parking tab. “DANIEL”

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