"Sick of college already?" Michael asked her.
Breathing heavy in the phone, Erica partially laughed, and partially cried.
"Oh, so sick of it, M. Dorm life sucks. My roommate is so stupid. She's nasty -- and she'll fuck any guy who weighs more than a Volkswagon. My neighbors play Backstreet Boys every night. One prof hits on me, which wouldn't be a problem, but he's -- oh -- just older than my dead grandfather. And another prof hits on me, but I'm not so sure what I think about her yet."
"Too funny."
"Not really," Erica responded. "It's not really funny at all."
Michael -- 80 miles away -- scratched the back of his head and thought of his friend. She was having it rough. They'd been friends for about a year now, having met at an Everclear concert. He was older, 24. She was 18 -- about to turn 19 in a week.
"I won't if I don't survive this next week. If my roomie decides to have a threesome with two guys, it might cause a devastating earthquake," she lamented. "It might destroy the Midwest."
Erica wondered what M was doing -- that was her nickname for him. They usually talked about music or relationships ... but sometimes they talked sex. There were no secrets between them.
"I haven't even been able to have enough privacy to use Woody," she snickered. Woody was a black eight inch dildo he'd given her at her high school graduation.
"So you never get lonely," he had told her.
God, she thought, I am so lonely tonight. And while talking to M was good for a dirty thought or two, she really just wanted to get out of Urbana and go see him in Indianapolis -- but it was a long drive to make -- at least in her car.
As if he could read her mind, he made the suggestion: "Hey ... let's meet tonight. I can't stay out all night. I have to work in the morning," he said.
She smiled and frowned again. "Why on a Saturday?"
"Part of the job. You know that." Michael was a disc jockey for a Indianapolis radio station that played alternatives -- from B.B. King to Phish to The Replacements.
She wasn't going to turn him down. She hadn't seen him in two months and missed him -- he made her laugh.
"Meet me at our Bigfoot along I-70. We'll hang out for a few hours."
"I'm there," she responded.
It was a 45-minute trip for her, just over an hour for him. They pulled up to the gas station that sat along the state border of Indiana and Illinois. They hugged and got into Michael's car. It was 1 a.m. His 2000 Grand Prix looked good compared to Erica's 1989 Chevy thing.
"That's what Adam Sandler was referring to in 'Ode To My Car,' eh? Buy that from him?"
"Fuck you," she laughed.
"Please," he smiled. They were under a large billboard next to the gas station. On one side said: Welcome To Indiana - the Hoosier State. On the other, it said: Welcome To Illinois - The Lincoln State.
"I would, but I'd kill you."
"Not a bad way to die," Michael chuckled. They always flirted. He'd even caught her masturbating while they were talking on the phone once. Not that he didn't encourage that.
And not that he didn't get hard thinking about her, either.
She looked at his dark brown eyes. They captivated her. And his clean, straight teeth. He wasn't a kid looking for a piece, he was a friend that liked to see her laugh.
He looked at her. She was thinking something. What? He wasn't sure. She was wearing a sweet perfume on her neck. Her long brown hair draped down the front of her Everclear T-shirt that he suggested she buy at the concert. It was well word. Her breasts -- 34C if she wasn't lying to him, and he didn't think she was -- were lifted in their bra. Lucky bra, he thought.
She was cotton pants that she normally slept in -- she was thinking about going to sleep when the meeting was planned, so this was just a fun night. Her body and scent was turning him on.
"Thank God I'm with you. At least I have a little privacy now," Erica said. She had wanted to shock him for months now, and here was her chance. Her fingers fished into her bookbag she'd brought along. There, she felt it. She hestitated. Should she? Fuck it. You're only 18 once.
Woody The Dildo was lifted out of her bag.
"Hey, there's your old friend," M smiled.
"It's been a long time since he and I have had any fun," Erica complained.
There was a thick silence in the air of the car. The green glow of the clock-radio shined against E's smile. She leaned forward to M. "I've got to tell you something," she said.
He felt his heart skip and his cock swell. No way. Cool. No way. Oh yeah. Whoa.
"What's that, Erica?" he leaned forward, like they were telling a secret in a crowded room, even though they were in his car with the windows rolled up.
Instead of words, she took to action. She kissed his ear, ran her tongue along his cheek and against his lips as he finally turned his face to meet hers.
They had been friends for a year. Now, they were going to be lovers.
Their lips collided. They both thought: Wow. A good kisser. He was happy the car didn't have a center panel, and he was able to pull her against him. His fingers caressed the back of her neck and he kissed her shoulders. She pulled back from him and took off her Everclear T. He leaned forward and kissed her, reaching behind her and unclipping her bra. So much for the luck of that bra, now I have the luck, he smiled to himself. Her breasts -- 34cs -- invited his touch.
