If there wasn’t a girl then you were lingering near the register of any convenience store with an attached inbay-rollover wash, chatting up the clerk while buying your beef jerky, asking her about the different options of the carwash and her general feeling about the effectiveness of the automatic wash compared to the archaic elbow grease style, hoping she’d say well, let me show you as she flips the front door sign to Closed and hops into your Buick Regal and leans over you, breasts resting on your cheeks as she punches her employee code into the kiosk, four numbers, slight heaves, press, release…the conveyor grinds and the girl that sells you cigarettes and jerky doesn’t hesitate or giggle but bites hard on your lip, your neck as you recline and glide into the pink foam and blue foam and yellow foam and she is so wet even before the end of the first high pressure wash, ripping at your jeans, grasping at your dick like she’s slipping off a cliff and you’re that tiny (or, like, average sized) bit of foliage growing inexplicably at the rocky edge.

Expiration Decade

Your hair is starting to fall out and your eyes cross more every day despite your hope that the soft swell of bags beneath them will provide stabilizing weight.  You are nearly thirty, old enough now to have old sports injuries and those do not bode well for the awkward athletics of your carwash fantasy.  Maybe a decade is the exact time it takes for fantasy to mature or expire.  And now, a crossroads.  You could do it and it might be fun but then it will be real and you might regret having lost the magic of having a fantasy to retreat to in times of great distress.  You could not do it and then the fantasy might drag on and torment you until you hate it and hate yourself too.  Or you could do it and love it and have the fantasy morph into a fetish (the compulsion) and you must assume there are often regrets with fetishes too.  Or you could do it and it could be better than anything you’d ever imagined and you could die perfectly happy for having figured out the trick for bringing fantastical things to life without the loss of luster.  Or whatever: a crossroads means now or never.