February 27, 2005

A single sunbeam sneaked through the curtains, cold and bright, throwing light on our wrinkled and sweaty bed. Our eyes blinked with recognition and our bodies softly awakened seeking caresses and human warmth: hands grasped flesh under bed sheets; cock and cunt overflowed with longing and potency; tongues caressed shoulders, breasts, and backs of knees. I came in fistfuls of ecstasy, and she smiled, hair draping her face.

After three more hungry kisses, we leaped out of bed to drink coffee. I ate sardines with my fingers (“I’ll never kiss you again,” she said). But she did, in the shower, after she soaped my back and flooded the floors. And once we were dressed, I packed the bags in the car while she blow-dried her hair and we stepped into a blue, blue morning to see Tobermory.

The entire town was deserted. Snow covered the harbour and the ferry docks, and we hopped fences to reach forbidden heights. We chased away pigeons, and they came back bothered and murderous. Tobermory is infinite in the winter: from the ferry docks you can see past the frozen islands and trees all the way into eternity.

“Let’s go to the lighthouse,” I said, grabbing her hand. Five minutes later I removed my coat and my heart trembled when I stepped onto the frozen ice. Despite a few ominous cracks Laura came after me, her red scarf dancing in the wind. Hand in hand we walked across the ice from the lighthouse to the mainland, and when we reached the other shore our breath was gone and our eyes were wild.

A speck of red followed us on the ice. A fox. We watched it make its way across the lake and for a moment we wanted to rush after it. “Restrain yourself,” she said. “Animals can sense stupid.”

An hour later we were on the Bruce Trail, skipping over frozen ground. The day was splendid: the ice and sky were orgasmic and we climbed high onto the cliffs until we thought we would die. Every step threatened to plunge us into an abyss of ice, so we found the most desolate crag and sat on frozen rocks to eat our lunch. When she eats apples, seeds get up her nostrils. We talked about our night of lust, and even though my balls were painfully frozen, up there on the cliff I wanted her.

We made our way back and rested our heads on cracking ice. We felt free and invincible until we reached the car. When we tried to leave, the wheels spun madly but the car went nowhere. We were in the middle of the wilderness, miles away from Tobermory, possibly surrounded by bears. “We’re so fucked,” I thought.

I pushed the car, she accelerated, and the wheels simply dug themselves deeper into the ice. Instead of weeping, I had to be a man: I unzipped my pants. A hot stream of urine landed on the ice, melting it. I pushed the car again while she gave it gas, and it lurched forward, across the road, getting stuck in another muddy ditch.

I couldn’t piss anymore. “And my aim is no good,” she said when I asked her to empty her bladder. Thus, instead of urine we got blankets from the trunk, and I pushed and hollered until my arms were sore. After an hour of pushing we only advanced one meter thanks to the blankets.

And that’s when two snowmobilers came along, shiny and golden in the sunset, and we pushed the car over the muddy blankets and out of the ditch. Laura kept driving and I ran after the car waving my hands. She hollered and laughed when I got to her, and we rushed away from the Bruce Trail, riding like demons towards St. Catharines.

We drove in the night on lonesome roads with a full moon shining above us. She shut off her headlights and drove in the dark. Now and again the car disappeared in patches of fog that seemed to radiate in the night. In the icy fields gothic churches floated above the fog and we were awed. The night was so beautiful, I stripped naked in the passenger seat to experience everything. She giggled madly, no longer able to control the car, until she stopped on the shoulder and turned off the lights.

“I didn’t know whether to slap you or fuck you,” she said. Her hands moved across my body and I whimpered, and soon we were riding in the night once more, all the way to St. Catharines where we found wine, beautiful people, and a warm bed that smelled like girl. And that was the second day and the second night, and it was good.

This is the second part of the story about a car, a boy, and a girl. The first part can be read here. Come back tomorrow to hear about St. Catharines, rapids, and toys. And until then you can always read her story.