We did it in the back of his car at the drive-in, we didn’t care who saw, if anyone saw. He parked in the very last row, dead center, and we made it through the previews sprawled out lazily in the back seat, nipping sips from a water bottle full of gin, until he lifted his head from my lap to my mouth and kissed me so savagely my lips were bruised. The opening sequence of a superhero movie flickered through the windshield, reproached us, but we weren’t there to see the man of steel.
He laid me down flat on the seat, so if I looked up I could see stars through the back window, pushed inside me, and licked my neck with tongues of fire, I swear being together was like burning alive, scorched with the heat of the car engine, heat of the explosions on screen, heat of a thousand suns. We fucked like a dying star, like we had light years, like we would never see each other again. And when he finally laid his head on my chest slick with sweat, when we couldn’t see through the windows for the steam rising off our bodies, when we were both shaking and straining to stay inside our skins and escape into each other’s, I’m telling you it was like love, not love but something like it, a moment of happiness pure as molten silver, happiness like a meteor streaking across the sky.