SOFIA: Dating Delinquency Prt. 3
To sneak out of my parents’ house, I removed the screen from my bedroom window, crawled up through the window well, and pulled close the glass behind me. Keeping to the shadows, I chugged down the street toward Suave’s house. I quickly located his vehicle that was parked on the curb beside his home and found the doors unlocked. With a quick search of the interior I located the spare key that was found hidden in the ashtray. The car started right up and I swiftly drove it out of the neighborhood. I waited for a few blocks before I activated the headlights and picked up speed.
Several minutes later, I arriving to the adjacent town where Sofia lived. I stealthily parked the confiscated vehicle a few houses down the street from her parents’ residence. I then made the rest of the journey through the dark streets on foot. Jumping the yard fence, I crept across Sofia’s lawn toward her basement window and made my presence known with a small knock. My Latina girlfriend quickly came to the window and slid it open.
“Keaton, what are you doing?” she whispered with an amalgamation of worry and excitement.
“I came to see you,” I smoothly replied. “You gonna let me in or what? It’s cold out here.”
Sofia cleared off the top of her dresser, which just so happened to be placed immediately below her bedroom window. I crawled through the window opening, crouched atop her dresser, and then hopped down upon the floor.
“How did you get here?” Sofia asked while hugging on me.
“I have my ways, baby,” I responded, while feeling a rush of blood surge into my hungry belly breacher, anticipating what was about to unfold. “You know that I can’t stand being too far away from you. I go through withdrawals and stuff.”
Sofia shivered from the chill coming through the open window. “It’s cold,” she said, grabbing her arms together. I closed the window, just as Sofia jumped back into her comfortable bed. In a moment’s notice, I stripped off my clothes and joined her beneath the covers. Making out maneuvers commenced. As my hands were roaming around Sofia’s soft body, I came to the pleasant discovery that she was not wearing any undergarments beneath her oversized, baggy shirt.
“Hey, isn’t this my shirt?” I said to Sofia after I noticed that she was wearing a shirt of mine that had mysteriously came up missing from my bedroom a few weeks earlier. “I was wondering where this went…”
“I was going to give it back,” she replied, while moving erotically in response to my caresses. “But it smells like you and it’s real comfortable.”
“It doesn’t fit you,” I said, while slowly removing the article of clothing from off Sofia’s bare torso. “I want it back.” I repossessed my stolen shirt, wadded it up, and tossed it on the floor beside the bed. “That shirt looks much better on the floor,” I commented, glancing over Sofia’s nude body through the moonlight that shined through her window.
Before I could heave in another breath, Sofia pushed me to my back, grasped my erect taco jabber, and straddled atop me. She hoisted herself up on her knees and inserted my bratwurst into her soggy snatch, pausing every inch or so to brace herself from the massive girth that was probing into her body. Once she managed to sheath the entire length of my baby leg, Sofia began to ride my long ranger with undulating hip movements. Her rhythm became increasingly faster until the box springs of her daybed started to creak and then finally caused the headboard to break loose from the frame bolts on one corner. While still inserted inside her dripping doughnut, I pulled Sofia’s body into me, held her by the waist and stood up from the broken bed. I then kneeled down on her floor and splayed her finely sculptured body out before me. Caressing her firm breasts, I sunk deep into her, tickling her belly from the inside with my beefy pole.
Over the next thirty minutes or so, I turned Sofia’s darkened bedroom into an adult filming studio, concocting every position imaginable. After I worked Sofia over to the point of exhaustion from her multiple orgasms, I squirted a thick load of sour cream inside her soft taco and then carried her back to the traumatized bed. Drained of my vital bodily fluids, I fell asleep beside Sofia with her naked body intertwined with mine.
I woke up at about three in the morning to the sounds of approaching footsteps across the kitchen floor above my head. “Get up!” Sofia said to me in a hoarse whisper. “That’s my mom. She’s going to see your car. Where did you park?”
“I’m down the road,” I mumbled, still being half asleep. “Don’t worry. It’s cool.”
“She comes down here all the time,” Sofia whispered while pushing me out of her slanted bed. “She don’t sleep very good and she usually wakes me up to talk.”
Energy surged through my body at the thought of Sofia’s mother catching me inside her daughter’s bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. I bailed out of the busted bed and scavenged some clothes from off the bedroom floor. As I was pulling on a pair of pants in the early morning darkness, I quickly came to realize that they came nowhere close to fitting me. By the time that I figured out that I had inadvertently scooped up a pair of Sofia’s pants from off the floor it was too late. Her mother was heard descending the stairs toward the open doorway.
A look of dread shot across Sofia’s face. I quickly kicked off her Guess jeans and scurried into her closet. With wire hangers falling down and sticking into my body at various angles, I pulled the hinged closet door closed, just as Sofia’s mother came walking into the bedroom.
My heart pounded with exhilaration as I peered out of the vents that lined the partitioned slabs of the closet door. I feared that the old woman would notice the unkempt nature of her daughter’s bedroom following the marathon sex session, take note of the destroyed bed, or perhaps spot my clothing or shoes upon the floor. Apparently unaware of the evidence of my presence that surrounded her, I watched as Sofia’s mother sat down upon the destroyed bed, carrying with her what appeared to be a wedding dress in her arms. A mother-daughter conversation then followed that concerned the elderly woman wanting Sofia to use her wedding dress for what she believed would be an inevitable union between Sofia and I. An uncomfortable exchange took place, as Sofia’s mother urged her to climb out of bed to try the dress on. Naked, and still with large amounts of cum stains upon the bed sheets, surrounding carpet, and caked around her inner thighs, Sofia awkwardly declined her mother’s suggestion and remained concealed beneath the covers.
“Well, alright then,” her mother finally conceded. “I guess I’ll just hang this up in your closet and you can store it down here until the time is right.” The aging woman stood up and approached the closet door. “You really should keep the fabric protected, though. Maybe we can get a dry cleaning bag to wrap it in for awhile.”
Trapped, I tried to inch my way further into the closet to avoid detection. My back pushed snugly against the inner wall. I had nowhere to go. With my raw rod dangling inelegantly beneath my legs and my nude body still smelling like sex, I closed my eyes and braced myself for the inevitable embarrassment that was about to transpire.
“Okay, I guess I’ll try it on!” Sofia blurted out from her bedside.
I opened my eyes and witnessed the shadow of Sofia’s mother abruptly turn around to face her daughter.
“Honey! What are you doing sleeping without any clothes on? Oh my gosh!”
“I just got really hot last night and couldn’t sleep,” Sofia stated, snatching the wedding dress from her mother’s arms and using the gown to cover up her bare body. “It’s no big deal.”
“Well, it most certainly is a big deal, young lady. Why, I never slept in the nude before and you—”
“—Look, mom, do you want me to try this on or not?”
A sharp silence permeated the air, mixing into the lingering scent of semen. I leaned forward ever so slightly to get a better look out of the door vents.
“Can you give me a little privacy so I can change?” Sofia asked her mother in an annoyed voice.
“Yes, dear,” the old woman responded, her tone lightening somewhat with her daughter’s compliance. “I’ll be right back. I’ll go wake your father!”
As the elderly woman shuffled out of Sofia’s bedroom and made it up the stairs, Sofia quickly tossed the wedding dress onto her bed and turned on a nearby lamp. She opened the closet doors and said to me, “Quick, get your clothes!”
I searched the bedroom floor and rapidly located my disrobed apparel. After yanking on my own pair of pants, I stuffed my head into my shirt, pocketed my socks, and slipped on my shoes. I then scaled the dresser by the window like a professional rock climber and slid open Sofia’s window. “I’ll see ya later,” I said to my Hispanic concubine, while pausing to climb out the windowsill.
“Call me,” Sofia replied with a kiss.
“Oh, wait!” Sofia called out. I looked back to see her extending to me my worn boxers inside her hand. “Don’t forget these.”
I smiled, grabbed my underwear from her, and made it through the bedroom window as fast as I could. With my crusty boxers clenched in my fist, I ran across Sofia’s front lawn and jumped the border fence. I quickly relocated Suave’s stolen car parked down the street and boarded inside. Still groggy, I threw my boxers into the passenger seat and cranked over the motor. I drove back home, reaching over seventy miles per hour down the abandoned country road.
I reached town at about half past three. As I was rocketing down Main Street, I was surprised to see a pair of headlights blink into my rearview. The vehicle quickly accelerated from behind me and I slowed down to the appropriate speed limit. I feared that a cop had spotted me racing through town in the stolen car. Or maybe my parents had realized that I was gone and were out looking for me. Instead, I was pleasantly surprised when Dirty pulled his truck from behind me and sped up to drive beside Suave’s car. We both rolled down our respective windows to yell at each other.
“You fuckin stole Suave’s car, man!” Dirty shouted out to me across his bench seat. “Oh my hell!”
“It was absolutely necessary!” I shouted back through the wind passing between our two moving vehicles. “I needed to make an ass run!”
“Hey! Pull over up there!”
I pulled Suave’s car to the side of the road as Dirty parked his truck behind me. He jumped out of the cab and ran up alongside the shitbox Chevy. “Let me in, dude,” he said, yanking the door open. “Let me drive.”
“What for?” I asked.
“‘Cause I wanna take this thing for a little ride. Here, scoot over.”
“Fuck you, man. I stole this thing fair and square. I gotta take it back before someone notices that it was gone.”
Dirty cocked his head and glared at me. “We’re talking about Suave here. Who’s going to care that someone stole his car? I mean, seriously.”
“Good point,” I said, lifting my legs up across the shifter to seat myself in the passenger side.
After commandeering the vehicle, Dirty decided to use the stolen car to go cruising along some of the side streets that had various dips and inclines built into their uneven surfaces. One such intersection was known as “Lucy’s Leap,” where many teenagers had previously bottomed out their transmission bell housings and undercarriages of their parents’ vehicles. Evidence of prior misguided navigation attempts across Lucy’s Leap were found etched and chiseled into the asphalt from where many vehicles had previously left scrape marks from driving too fast over the wretched lump in the road. Dirty sought to etch in a few more deep scratches into the incline and repeatedly raced Suave’s car up and over Lucy’s Leap, gaining several inches of air on each pass, and shooting up streams of sparks upon colliding with the hard street on the other side.
Rather than turning at the designated intersection where everyone else did to make these historic passes over Lucy’s Leap, Dirty took the shitbox Chevy a few blocks further on each end of the incline to navigate a turn and get more distance with which to accelerate. After a dozen or so passes, Dirty began whipping around the turns faster and with more confidence. During our final pass, Dirty took the intersection turn too wide and sunk the side of the car into a spring ditch that paralleled one of the side roads. Both passenger side wheels went into the ditch, high-centering the car on the embankment. Fortunately, the ditch was rather narrow but the car tilted over in such a manner that the entire right side was smashed up against the opposite bank of the ditch, preventing me from opening the passenger side door.
“Son of a bitch!” I exclaimed. “This is the second time in four months that I’ve been sitting in a car, stuck in a god damn ditch.”
“We just fucked up Suave’s car,” Dirty pointed out, as he began laughing hysterically. “That was cool.”
“Yeah, no shit. Let’s get out of here!”
Dirty exited the car through the driver side and I scaled over the gearshift and seats to follow him. Once we were both outside of the stolen auto, we examined the situation and determined that it was hopeless. The car was wedged into the spring ditch and could not be moved.
“What the hell are we gonna do now?” Dirty asked, still laughing over the situation.
“Fuck it,” I said. “Let’s just go. Your truck isn’t too far from here. Let’s just walk.”
Dirty continued to laugh. “What about the car?”
I shrugged my shoulders with indifference. “Who cares? It ain’t ours. Suave don’t know we have it. For all he knows, some stranger jacked it and wrecked it into the ditch. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Alright,” Dirty agreed, turning away from the wreckage.
We began walking down the street for Dirty’s vehicle, leaving Suave’s car for whoever might want it. A truck soon pulled over beside us and the teenage driver rolled down his window to speak. “Ya’ll need some help?” he asked.
“With what?” I replied.
“Ain’t that yer car back there in the ditch?”
“Well, we were driving it, if that’s what you mean,” Dirty said.
We both looked at each other in a dismissive manner and then continued trudging ahead.
“Don’t ya’ll want some help getting it out of the ditch?” the kid asked as we were walking away from him.
Dirty and I looked back at the kid, stunned by the inquiry. We had written the vehicle off and never thought of salvaging it or asking for help to get it out of the ditch. But help was offered nonetheless.
“Um, I guess so,” I replied.
“Yeah, sure,” Dirty half-heartedly added.
The driver coincidentally had a set of towing belts in the back of his pickup, as if he had done this type of thing before and prided himself on helping others pull their wrecks out of ditches. Perhaps he was patrolling the city streets, looking for stranded peers to aid with his services. Regardless, Dirty and I stood by as the kid backed up his truck, snatched up the towing belts, secured the shitbox Chevy to his towing ball, and yanked the wedged vehicle out of the ditch. We sarcastically thanked the young lad and then the kid drove off with a big grin on his face, apparently feeling like he had just accomplished something chivalrous.
I reacquired the shitbox Chevy and immediately drove it back to Suave’s house. When Suave returned home from his family vacation several days later, he discovered that his car had a severe steering malfunction, a broken suspension, and several sizeable dents along the passenger side body. I had a difficult time explaining how a pair of my dirty boxers were found inside of his ride which was mysteriously left all fucked up on the curb beside his house. I vehemently denied any involvement in the affair.