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He held his left hand on the steering wheel and the right sat on the stick shift. He booted it down the highway so the engine revved up. He jumped it into fourth gear for a few seconds, then coasted in neutral. He drove like this late at night and it made Amanda sort of woozy, but mostly irritable, to be starting and stopping like some damn fool.

"Let's just go home. I'm tired," she said again.

"That's where I'm taking you."

"In the opposite direction?"

It was nearly nine o'clock at night and Amanda had been on her feet all afternoon. She only wore a short white top, sleeveless and cut above her belly button, with tights, a cut-off jean skirt and sneakers. Though she was cold and her uniform was in the knapsack on the back seat of the car, she wouldn't put it on. The blouse was getting old and had stains in the front from tonight's shift. Alphie had the blower on and she reached out and turned off the switch.

"What are you doing?" he asked and turned it back on. "I'm cold."

"You'll be colder if you walk," he said and chuckled, nudging her with his elbow. She didn't laugh. He gave a sigh like he was disappointed in her.
"Why are you driving in the opposite direction?" she asked crossly.
"Because I'm high," he said and his voice sounded like Jack Nicholson in The Shining. He revved the engine and jumped it into fourth again. When he came back into neutral he gave a sigh of satisfaction, then put his hand on his lap instead of on the stick shift. They coasted till his hand snapped out and turned the fan off and rested back in his lap again. He eased the car onto the gravel and turned at a driveway that led into an empty field.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning around," he said, without making a move to put the car in reverse.

He looked at her for a while. Amanda thought his face seemed empty, as if he was still stoned (which he couldn't have been by now) or he was dead stupid. She tried not to smile at the thought in case he got the wrong idea. She was angry.

"Well?" she said, trying to sound frustrated. Though she hadn't noticed him pull down his fly, he began fishing in his pants. "Oh, Alphie," she said. "Come off it." He grinned at her, with his swollen dick in his hand. The car was still running and their lights grazed the dried grass of the field. Her voice was quiet and soft. "Give it up. I want to go home."

Something inside her felt funny. He could be greedy, and she didn't mind that so much if he was pressing down on her, or grabbing too hard, or just grabbing when he shouldn't have been. She didn't mind as much because at least it was about her, and what he wanted. Sometimes the greediness made her feel important. But every now and again he'd do this - whip it out as if it was something she hadn't seen. Or in the middle of sex he'd just stop, pull out, and beat off over top of her until he came, which could be a while. How could she complain? What do you say to a guy who does that, other than don't. It never seemed right, but he wasn't hurting her.

"I'd turn the car off if I was you. Someone might pull over to see what's wrong."

He was watching himself now and didn't look up. "If I leave it running I can just back out."

His breathing was ragged. He held his balls in one hand and fisted his dick in the other. Occasionally he smacked it against the steering wheel. Amanda thought that was stupid. He looked small and ridiculous. She wanted to get out of the car and walk into the field to leave him to his business but was afraid he'd drive off without her. Maybe she was supposed to touch herself, or watch. She had no idea.

She sat beside him in the car and thought that if she hit him, he might just hit her back. She had to hold her hands in her lap so that she wouldn't strike out and scratch him, up and down his face.

"Having a good time?" she asked dryly. She gave an exaggerated yawn. He didn't answer. Amanda could only guess that he didn't realize what he was doing as he watched his right hand beat himself off, while the left had a glassy bit of precum on its thumb that he brought to his lips and smacked off. "Frig," she said. "Get it over with." She tugged on the loose weave of her skirt, pulling the stray ends off and rolling the white cotton bits together.

After his breathing sped up and the hiccup of his orgasm squirted itself out, Alphie leaned back in the bucket seat and closed his eyes with a long satisfied sigh. Amanda gritted her teeth. She wanted to bite him till she drew blood. Or hammer a pencil in his ear.

"That's it, Alphie. We're through." She felt very satisfied saying those words. She felt suddenly adult.

Without moving his head, he snapped open an eye. "You mad at me?" he asked innocently.

"Yes! Take me home."

"If you're mad at me, we should talk about this first."

With her lip thrust forward and a set jaw, Amanda stared out the side window.

"Come on, baby," he nudged her. "Come on, talk to me."

"Go fuck yourself."