8 Mile Therese Szymanski

Okay, so now here's the thing: Folks who know me—really know me that is—know I sometimes do things purely for the adventure of them. And that was about how and why I first picked up a woman on a busy street— 8 Mile (as in the) to be precise.

Do you remember a few years back when the power grid went out in huge chunks of the Midwest and East Coast? New York was down. And so was Detroit. And I almost went to Detroit that weekend, when it was wicked hot and there was no air conditioning to be had, but, fortunately, I decided not to.

See, I’d just lost my job. Well, actually, I knew exactly where it was— with someone younger who made less than I had. And who also didn't have a back problem due to stress from her boss continually firing folks and handing her their workloads in addition to her own. My boss pretty much broke me so I was unemployed with a really sore back.

I'd decided if my back didn't get better immediately, I'd go to Detroit to see my old masseuse, who was absolutely fabulous. Maybe she'd be able to fix me. Always gotta go for the dream, y'know?

Anyway, my nonmonogamous girl and I went to Gettysburg that first weekend, so I couldn't go to Detroit, and that turned out to be good, since there was a heat wave in Detroit and no power. So I went the next weekend.

I like driving at night. And although my speedometer died before I even left Maryland, I kept on driving—sometimes using others to pace myself. There were more than a few amusing times when I was following someone—so I wouldn't get pulled over for doing a hundred and fifty—and they ended up thinking I was auto-stalking them, so they'd start driving really erratically. (It reminded me a lot of this time in college, when I hit a deer in the middle of the night in winter and lost both my headlights.)

I arrived in Detroit at about four in the morning. Since I no longer had keys to my mother's residence, I parked in her drive and had a beer, as it was an unseemly time to waken her. When I finished that beer, I had another, and another. And a few smokes as well. (God, I still miss smoking. Quite a bit, actually.)

When I tried to sleep in my car, I was quite unsuccessful at it. Finally, my mother came outside. She talked at me while I drank more beer and sorted through all the state quarters I had brought her.

I tried to sleep in the brightly lit, too-warm spare bedroom. Of her condo. See, she had finally sold her house—after I came out on CBS evening news—and had gotten a condo. When I awoke, I detailed my car, even though I had to buy a buffer because my mom refused to admit she had the one my brother gave her somewhere in her house.

When I finished, I took a shower, started sweating, took my mom out to dinner, and she finally turned on the air in her condo, but it was too little, too late. I had to bail for cooler climes.

I went out to the bar. But it was Thursday. So it was dead. And so I went to the next bar. Which was closed as well for some odd reason.

En route back to Mom's House of Outrageous Heat, Sweat, and Torture, traffic was backed up for a train.

I noticed the car in front of me had its gas cap open and hanging.

I thought about getting out and letting the driver know about it, but I was in a really bad neighborhood, and if I got out of my car there, it'd get stolen.

It was A Really Long and Slow-Moving Freight Train.

So I sat and listened to CDs.

And the train went on. Slowly. And the traffic grew more congested.

And I sat. And listened to tunes. Flipping around. Dance-mix to Simon and Garfunkel.

If someone wanted to steal my car, they couldn't. Not now that I was boxed in—plus, the car in front of me seemed to be inhabited by two females (profiles and how folks sit can tell so much about them). So I really didn't have anything to fear from them. Unless they were armed to the teeth.

I left my car running and went to the car ahead of me. When I was still several feet away, I realized the driver s window was open, so I called out, "Excuse me, your gas cap is open and hanging. I'm just gonna close it all up, all right?" And then I did so. And walked back to my car and got back in and went back to listening to Simon and Garfunkel.

A back door of their car opened and someone I hadn't seen before got out. She swung her hips slightly as she sashayed back to my car.

She looked cute. Young and slender, brunette and cute.

I quickly lowered my window.

She leaned in, smiling, and said, "Hey, thanks for that. That was really nice of you."

I grinned back, and allowed my gaze to look her up and down. "No problem. Always try to help out."

"It was sweet. And anyways, we were wondering.. .are you going to the Rainbow Room?"

"Yeah, I am. You goin' there?"

"Yeah, we are. We'll buy you a drink. I'll buy you a drink, too." She smiled and went back up to her car.

Everything had just suddenly gotten A Whole Lot Better. I was just hoping these gals were at least twenty-one. I was thirty-four, so even twenty-one was way too young for me, but I was in a juvenile delinquency mood, so...I could live with twenty-one. But not a day younger. That'd be Bad and Obscene, and there really was a chance of that, considering the appearance of the young flirt who'd come back to my car.

They all got through the bouncer, which was a good.

So I joined them.

"So, Reese," Stacy, the blonde driver, who appeared to be the eldest of their group at a wizened twenty-six, said to me, "Are you from around here?"

I set up another pool game. "Originally. Now I live in D.C."

"So you're back here visiting family or something?" Sarah said, breaking in.

"Mostly visiting my masseuse, but I'm staying with my mom," I said.

"So you all are from around here?"

"I'm from California," Roxie said, taking her shot. She was my partner and was much better than me. "I met Stacy and Sarah and a bunch of other folks at this rally sort of nature thing in Oregon a few years back."

"Roxie came to visit and say goodbye to me and a few other friends before we move," Stacy said. "I'm moving to Long Island."

"There's a party tomorrow night at Emily and Lessa's," Roxie said, handing me a shot and letting our fingers twine slightly. "You should come."

I stared at Roxie. "Not theater/POW Lessa, right?"

"Hell yes, Lessa does theater—she's moving to Chicago to work for some troupe there," Sarah said. "Hold on, how do you know about POW? Pissed Off Wimmin?"

"Fuck," I said, "I wasn't a founding member or nothing, but I got in early on, and I was the earliest member who was still involved when the last POW production went up."

"You did theater?" Roxie asked, looking me over like a farmer judging a bull.

"Backstage stuff, mostly," I said. "Playwright. Stage manager. Director. Only acted when absolutely necessary. Like when Lessa forced me to." When I revealed my real name, not the nickname they now knew me by, Sarah and Stacy knew who I was.

These were all teeny twenty-something femme-type hotties, and I was feeling wicked oversized and old and butch... But they were the ones buying me drinks, so I just tried to live up to my cool black leather pseudo-cowboy hat.

But fuck, you don't really care about all that. What you want to know is.. .well, a bit past midnight, they decided it was time to leave. I walked them to their car and they decided en masse they needed to drive me those last ten long, lonely feet to my car. During that lengthy drive, Roxie produced a bong.

At the tender age of thirty-four I succumbed to peer pressure and took a hit off the electric bong (did you know they make them in electric now?), even though I never much cared for the stuff even when I was in college. And then I turned to Roxie, who was sitting next to me, raised a hand to cup her soft cheek, leaned in, giving her ample time to pull away, and kissed her.

She parted her lips, allowing me access to her mouth even as she raised a hand to twine into my short, dark hair, pulling me closer. I wrapped an arm around her, beginning to map the contours of her body with my fingers.

"Come home with me," I whispered. We'd pulled up next to my black sedan. Her friends were looking at us in the rearview mirror.

"Can you drive me to Hamtramck in the morning?" she asked. "That's where my bus is. With friends there. I'll need a ride back to it in the morning."

"Yeah, I can take you there," I said. "I can take you to a lot of theres." I ran my hand up her thigh, pressing my thumb into her inner thigh. When she moaned, I leaned forward and gently tugged her lower lip between my teeth, darting my tongue out to slide against hers.

"I'll catch you two tomorrow night at the party," Roxie said to Sarah and Stacy.

"Yeah, we kinda figured as much," Stacy said.

Once we were in my car, I was wicked glad I hadn't drunk much. Roxie leaned over to lick my neck as her hand crept up my leg.

"Tell me what you want to do to me," she said, even as she grabbed my crotch and nibbled my earlobe.

"Oh, baby," I gasped, taking her hand in mine and guiding it down my leg. "Let me get us home first. Then I'll have my fun with you." Sometimes it sucked being a sober adult.

She grinned at me, licking her lips, as her hand worked its way up my arm to squeeze my bicep. "I like the hat." She pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed. "I have this routine with a friend that I have to call. She's from back—" She spoke into the phone, "Hey Jenny, it's me, Stephie. I'm giving you the call. I was with Sarah and Stacy at the bar, and we're doing Lessa and Emily's party tomorrow night but tonight I'm.. .with Reese." And then she hung up.

"Stephie?" I asked, glancing at her, still carefully doing just five miles over the speed limit.

"Doesn't matter. I like Chicago. I like Roxie. Call me Roxie."

We shared a smoke in my mom's garage, since my car was non-smoking, then I lit another for her and went to get us beers while she smoked.

When I returned I put our beers on my mom's car, took the smoke, and hit it, then pushed her against the car.

I held her hands up behind her while I shoved my thigh between her legs.

She spread her thighs, opening herself up to me. "Oh, god, Reese."

I kissed and sucked down her neck, gently biting at her succulent pulse point, nibbling at her flesh.

I reached down, wrapping my arm just under her ass, picked her up and carried her inside.

I threw Roxie on the bed. Her legs were still entwined about me, so I fell on top of her, pushing down into her. She ground up into me, groaning, while our tongues and mouths fucked.

"Damn, you feel good," I said, lifting myself up on my arms to look down at her.

She raised her pelvis up against me, arching her back. "Mmmm, goddamn, I want you to touch me all over."

I kept my thigh between hers, and knelt, pulling her with me. "You're overdressed." The lights were still on and I stripped off her shirt and bra. I laid her on her back and kissed down her collarbone and caressed her breasts, running my thumbs over her nipples.

"Oh, god," she said, writhing under me, twining her fingers in my hair and pushing me toward her breasts. I kissed and licked one, then the other. But she wanted more contact. Direct contact.

So I grabbed one breast in my hand even as I licked the other nipple into total erection. I teased with my teeth as I tugged with my fingers. I bit even as I squeezed.

"Yes!" she cried, bucking against me.

She was moaning and squirming underneath me, her hands running up and down my back, twining in my hair, trying to guide me to where she wanted me...

I was squeezing and biting and she was writhing and riding my thigh like a big, bad Harley. "God, Reese, please," she said, starting a chant with the yes's and the please's.

I knelt at her feet, this time quickly undoing her jeans. I pulled off her boots and socks, then her jeans and panties, leaving her naked and exposed in the light of the room.

I lay back on top of her, rubbing all over her, then ran my hand down over her breast, her nipple, down her tummy, up her inner thigh... and then between her legs, sliding up and down her wet clit.

She squirmed and moaned and writhed, begging and pleading and moaning.

I spread her lips and fingered her clit, then slid a finger into her.

"Uh, yes..."

I nibbled on her neck. I kissed down to her tit and slipped a second finger into her. I licked her tit like a lolly and slid yet another finger inside of her.

I fucked her. I bit her nipple and pulled it. I teased her and was inside of her, slipping and sliding in her warmth and wetness and enjoying making her squirm and writhe and twist and turn.

I knew she was young, and she was tight. She hadn't been around the block quite yet. But this was likely the only time we were ever gonna be together, so I wanted as much of her as could be mine right now.

I'd put my toy bag right under the bed, since I believe in being prepared, and now I reached for my Astroglide, still fingering her pussy and lavishing attention on her breasts even as I opened the bottle one-handed. I quickly slathered my other hand with it.

She was wicked wet and turned on, but I knew she'd never had this done to her before, so I wanted to make this as easy as possible for her.

So I lubed my hand and slid yet another finger into her, working her cunt, fucking her with four fingers. I brought my other leg between hers, spreading her open farther. And she was tight. Wicked tight. I was surprised I'd gotten so much in her as it was. But I knew I could do it. And I wanted to do her right, and I wanted to be there first, and so I knelt between her legs, looking down at her in the light so she'd feel open and exposed and ...

... I shoved my fist into her.

"Fuck!" she screamed, practically sitting up as her eyes went wide, then she threw herself back onto the bed and her pelvis totally left the bed.

I left my hand in her. Letting her get used to the feel of it. Then I started moving it around, inside of her.

"God, yes, fuck me, please," she said. Squirming. More. A tear ran down her cheek.

I pulled her up into a sitting position. "Look at this," I said, making her see how my entire hand disappeared inside of her.

It was a pretty fucking hot sight, if I do say so myself.

"You have your entire goddamned fist inside of me," she said. Panting. Her muscles clenched around my fist, making me fear the breakage of bones, even as I felt her add to the lubrication.

"Yeah. I do."

"Goddamned it feels good," she said, lying back down, her face as wet as her sweaty body. "And it looked hot as hell."

It did. So I fucked her. With my fist. My entire fist. In and out of her slender and lithe body. I felt her inside and out and then I lowered my mouth to her cunt so I could taste her. I kept her legs open wide, nice and inviting, even as I licked her up and down, and sucked on her clit, pulling it into my mouth.

I ate her and I fucked her and I used my spare hand to twist and tease her nipples. But I made sure I kept my right arm tucked in tight so she couldn't dislocate my shoulder.

"Oh god, yes...yes...please...harder...more..."

She bucked against me. I thought my hand would break, the pain almost made tears come to my eyes. She writhed and I fucked her and I ate her, enjoying every bit of it.

"Fuck yeah!"

Afterwards, we had a couple beers and a few smokes. We sat in the garage, smoking, with her wearing my dad's old robe. Over dinner that night, my mom had mentioned that the robe was in the guest room closet, so when Roxie asked if I had a robe, I had a ready answer.

I'm sure Dad would've approved. If he lost his homophobia and all, that is.