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lowered herself into the seat, and buckled her seatbelt.
    I had always explained how I hated cars, and rode my bicycle to make a statement regarding my opinion of the freedom it represented. As much as I did enjoy riding my bike in California, riding it in Kansas was an entirely different experience. The wind, varying temperatures, and rain made riding it on a daily basis almost impossible. For me to buy a car, however, would have been impossible. My rent, utilities, and booth rental at the shop was about all I could currently afford. To think some man I didn’t even know had bought me a car was impossible for me to comprehend, but him allowing me to use it for the afternoon wasn’t so much of a stretch.
    “Ready?” Riley asked.
    I buckled my seat belt, turned her direction, and shrugged my shoulders. I knew how to drive, but it had been a long time since I had done so. The futuristic cockpit of the BMW made me a little nervous to say the least. Riley having one and knowing the intricacies of it helped make me slightly more comfortable.
    “Yeah,” I said as I looked at the rectangular key fob.
    There was no key on the fob.
    “As long as the key is in your pocket or purse or whatever, all you do is push the button on the dash. It’ll start it. And you push it again to shut it off when you’re done. So, push the button and start it,” she said.
    I pushed the button on the dash and started the car. The low rumble from the engine echoed against the long line of brick buildings along the street. The rain had all but stopped for the time being, but the windshield was covered in droplets from sitting outside from what had now been no less than fifteen minutes. As I nervously searched for the windshield wipers, Riley reached over and pressed a lever on the right side of the steering wheel. I glanced up in time to see the wipers wipe the windshield once.
    “They sense the rain in that mode,” she said. “If it starts raining, they’ll wipe it off.”
    As strange as it seemed, I was nervous. “So…”
    Riley reached toward the lever in the center of the car and wiggled it. 
    “Just push the gas, and flip those little levers up and down. You’ll get the hang of it here pretty quick,” she said.
    I situated my foot against the accelerator pedal, checked over my left shoulder for traffic, and pressed the pedal down after seeing no traffic approaching. The car felt as if it had been shot out of a cannon, lurching into the street with so much force it pressed my body into the seat. Within an instant, the engine was revving so high the sound from the exhaust was a loud shrill.
    I pulled against the lever on the right side of the steering wheel. The car lurched forward once again and the RPM’s came down slightly. I pulled the lever again and the car lunged slightly and the engine slowed down to a light drone. I glanced down at the speedometer.
    In the few seconds of driving, and without doing anything but trying to pull away from the curb, I was going 80 miles an hour.
    “Shit,” I shouted as I pressed against the brake.
    Riley laughed. “You’ll get used to it.”
    Living on the cusp of being poor white trash and seeing he clearly lived somewhere in complete contrast made me believe the differences between Wilson and me were enough that I would never get used to the things he may do to, for, or with me.
    However.
    I was anxious to find out.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    WILSON
    I doubt many thirty year old men worried about what their parents thought regarding the woman they were going on a date with, but I couldn’t seem to keep from doing so. As a child, my parents were protective of me, and as an adult they weren’t necessarily protective, but they were certainly eager to learn about my every move and decision when it came to women.
    I was still, and would probably always remain, their little boy.
    Their expressed belief of their hopes – or requirements – regarding my choice of female companions prevented