It was Sheila's turn to drive, and he let her, crouched next to her in the passenger seat. The top was down on the little MGB because she wanted it that way--and Sheila always got what she wanted, and Sheila never admitted when she changed her mind.
And the road moved beneath them, throbbing, vibrating...
They'd been driving for hours now, were covered with road dirt. Filth: like a second skin. He could take it, could drive for days without taking a bath, but knew it was bothering her. Sheila had a thing about personal grooming.
He liked that in a woman.
Driving and dirt; dirt and driving. Hours and hours of this. He knew it was getting to her, really getting to her, but didn't say anything. Just waited. Her hands held the wheel, eyes locked on the road. Then, quickly, she looked over at him...
"Clean me," she said. "Clean me now."
"Here? In the car?"
Smiling, one hand still on the wheel, she reached with her other hand into her purse--and slowly removed a moist towelette...*
* Please understand that I do not wish in any way to cast aspersions on the "Moist Towelettes," one of the famous "girl groups," of the 60's (unfortunate term, but that's what they called them); Delika Tessan was the lead singer, I think she used to be Phil Specter's girlfriend before...well, no need to bring that up. A first-rate group whatever her name was.
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