The Dark Knight

by Steph

I was on my way home from Bethesda, Maryland and had just left the Beltway to take George Washington Parkway when my car started making a funny noise. Now, this wasn't something that frightened me. I owned a Yugo and it always made some funny noise or another. No, I didn't feel a twinge of fear until the acceleration became, well, mushy.

I'd owned a Volkswagen once and I remembered that mushy feeling all too clearly. It begins like the weakness of your arm after you hit your funny bone, only this feeling comes through the foot from the gas pedal, a weakness that, despite the car's best effort, doesn't go away. It's the feel of a blown gasket, of a seized engine. It's a car's version of a heart attack.

I did the only thing I could do. I pulled over.

Pulling over on George Washington Parkway at night is a bit creepy. There's nothing resembling civilization from the time you hit the Beltway until you hit Arlington. The road is rather narrow and cars travel rather fast. All too close to the shoulder, the trees lean over you as if threatening to swallow you.

I turned on my emergency blinkers and hoped a cop would notice. Then I sat there with the doors locked and every mirror adjusted so that I could see what might possibly creep up on me. I barely cracked the window to let out the smoke from my cigarettes.

No cop came by. Matter-of-fact, none of the cars seemed to notice me and I wondered if they all thought that I deserved my fate having bought a car made from slave labor in the first place.

I bought the Yugo because it was the only car I could afford at the time. There was no research except that which said, this is cheapest. Later I heard all the stories and jokes about the Yugo and it's "no go" reputation. But it took me from California to Virginia, so it did the job it was hired to do. However, it didn't like Virginia heat or Virginia cold, and I guess the trip took something out of it, because it really was never the same since it crossed the Rockies.

The car clock said twelve fifteen and I began to think I was going to spend the night in the car. This freaked me out. It scared me enough to stay awake in the dark on a road that became more deserted with each passing hour. If I slept, well, who knew what gargoyle might find me an interesting plaything before eating me. Of course, I knew I wouldn't sleep.

I turned the ignition and heard the high-pitched moan of pain that said, "No please, do not make me go". I tried again, then gave in to pity, pulled out the key and stuck it in my coat pocket. I checked the doors, cracked the window a bit more and lit another cigarette despite the stinging in my eyes from all the smoke. Then I began to watch the clock.

Clocks were meant to drive people insane, which is why I never wear a watch. When I wear a watch, I feel like I've been implanted with a control device that records my every moment, forcing me to slow down or speed up according to its will. I prefer to use clocks that aren't attached to me, and even then, I just glance at them. We fool with time so much, moving it back and forth as if we could actually control it. I personally think it ends up messing with us out of revenge.

These are the things I think about to avoid thinking about that movement in the trees. Was it the wind? Was it an animal? Was it some serial killer watching his next victim? Its better to think about time and space and wonder if I'll ever have enough space to store all the stuff which takes so much time to collect.

A headlight sent my mind into wary hope. I stared into the rearview mirror as that single light brightened. Soon I heard the sound that accompanied it, a Harley sound. There was no mistaking that sound, nor the sound of a Harley as it geared down. The light approached more slowly and my nerves stretched. Around here, Cops didn't ride Harley's.

I swallowed, gripped my keys in my hand and waited until he pulled to the side of the car. The smoke billowed out of the car as I rolled the window down just a little more.

He wore jeans, a black leather jacket, black leather gloves and black boots. He lifted the visor of his helmet but I couldn't see his eyes through the dark.

"You need some help?" he called over the sound of the hog.

He had an accent. He leaned closer, motioning for me to roll down the window. I rolled it down another inch, my hand ready to roll it up again.

"You need me to get you a tow or something?" he asked.

I nodded, sighing inwardly. Yes, a tow would do.

"Yes, that would be great!" I shouted.

He looked at his watch. "Do you know where I could find a place open?"

"Maybe Arlington," I shouted.

He nodded. "Sit tight."

"Yeah, thanks."

He nodded again, touched his gloved hand to his helmet and drove off, disappearing in moments.

I shut the window and sighed. Oh please, let this guy find something. Oh please, let the tow driver accept my AAA card. Damn! Why didn't I tell that stranger to call AAA and give him my number? DAMN! I only had six dollars and a maxed out credit card on me. Well, I suppose they could hold the car. Except, who'd want a Yugo as collateral?

An hour and seven cars passed. Then, to my delight, I saw the tow truck, its yellow light beaming like a friend's smile. And, as he came closer, I saw the bold sign of AAA. I wished my savior would return so I could kiss him.

When the tow truck slowly passed me, a single headlight appeared behind it. It pulled over and stopped a few yards behind my car.

Pushing trepidation, and the fear that they were in cahoots and wanted to ravage my young and nervous body, aside, I unlocked the door and stepped outside into the cold fall night, my AAA card in hand. Yellow light flooded the area from the tow truck.

The Harley guy dismounted with a grace that caught my eye, and the tightness of his jeans kept my eyes locked. He reached to pull off his helmet and the action interrupted my rude stare.

"Great, yeah, he didn't know if you were a member," said the driver, taking the offered card.

"Uh-huh," I said and then remembered to shut my mouth. I couldn't tell you what the tow truck driver looked like because I couldn't look away from the man approaching me.

He had a long dark mane, tied back except for the loose locks that hung on each side of his face, a face of such exquisite beauty that it almost hurt to look at him. He had high cheekbones and full lips and large eyes that seemed to laugh, yet not derisively. He looked like someone I could trust completely. No. He looked like someone I could surrender to.

"Sorry it took so long," he said with that accent that wasn't familiar except in that it was obviously of Hispanic origin. Then he offered his hand. "Tony Ramirez."

I took the hand firmly and realized he had taken off his gloves. The hand enveloped mine.

"Thank you so much," I finally said. "I thought I was going to end up spending the night out here."

He looked around. "That could be dangerous."

The way he said dangerous sent a shiver straight to the V of my legs.

Then he turned his attention to the tow truck driver, so I turned as well.

"Sorry lady, there's a hold on your service."

I took the card back, hot with embarrassment. "How much to tow it to the nearest station?" I asked.

"Seventy-five dollars."

"Oh," I said.

"Well, then, let's get going," said Tony Ramirez. "Its damned cold out here." He walked with the tow driver towards the truck and I leaned on my car, wishing I could run into the woods but knowing I was too much of a coward to do more than think about it. When he finally left the side of the truck, he was smiling and the tow truck driver began unhooking the belts.

Tony Ramirez offered his helmet. I took it, thinking he wanted me to hold it for him for some reason. Twice, I tried to take my eyes off of him. Once, when he raised his eyebrows and grinned like a mischievous god and the second time when he pulled a knitted cap from his jacket pocket and pushed it onto his head.

I tried. I failed. I could not stop looking at him, despite my financial embarrassment, despite my usual paranoia about strangers, despite my utter exhaustion, which, by the way, had been forgotten the moment he took off the helmet.

"Well, put it on," he said.

"Put what on?" I asked.

"The helmet. Unless you'd rather ride with that guy."

I put the helmet on.

"You ever ride before?" he asked, reaching into the car for my purse.

"Once or twice," I said. "I need that binder. Do you have a place to put it?"

He grabbed the binder out of the back seat. The tow truck driver took my car keys, and then I followed Tony to the Harley where he stuffed my purse, my binder and my latest stories into his pack. I pulled the helmet over my curly hair, waited for him to mount, then slid behind him and adjusted my position while I found my footing.

He turned and winked at me as the engine roared. He yelled something and I leaned forward to hear him, but he didn't repeat it. Instead, we left the shoulder and headed south.

I hadn't been on the back of a Harley for more than a year, but one doesn't forget what it feels like to have all that power between one's legs. I've ridden with those who knew how to handle that power, and those who didn't. Tony Ramirez fell into the first category.

My winter coat from California could barely handle the cold autumn Virginian night, yet staring at the back of him through the dirty visor somehow kept me warm enough. It never occurred to me to wonder if he was taking me anywhere other than the garage where my Yugo would end up. I simply didn't care. I could have ridden behind him to Miami and never noticed we had left the state.

When we pulled into Ike's 24-hour service station, I felt the sudden dread that I was about to be dropped off.

We sat in the lot, idling. Tony turned to me and asked, "you want to get a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," I said. He could have asked if I wanted to rob a bank. I would have said yes.

So, we rolled across a narrow street to Rebecca's 24-hour diner and maneuvered around two big rigs. He switched off the hog and I slid off, then he rolled it closer to the entrance.

"You've ridden more than once or twice," he said, dismounting.

"So have you," I said, removing the helmet.

He handed me my purse and smiled. I blushed.

The moment we walked inside the diner, I realized how badly I needed to use the bathroom and excused myself. To my horror, the first thing I saw in the bathroom was myself, my hair sticking out in all directions, my face pale from lack of sleep. I looked like hell and I had no makeup in my purse. The best I could do was tie back the frizzy mop that I called hair and wash my face with cold water to restore some color. I applied moisturizer to my overly dry lips and then relieved myself.

Tony waited for me in a booth, two cups of black coffee steaming on the table. I sat and added milk to mine.

"I can't begin to thank you enough," I said. "And I have no idea when I'll be able to repay you. I'm unemployed at the moment."

"Don't worry about it," he said, his smile a cross between seductive and fatherly, which actually made me a bit uncomfortable. "Do you live around here?"

"Alexandria," I said. "Outside of Old Town. What about you?"

"I'm just passing through, on my way to Jacksonville, Florida. I've got a cousin there."

"Wow," I said. "So, do you always stop to help damsels in distress?"

"Always," he said, and I believed him, despite the mischievous twinkle in his deep brown eyes.

"How long have you been driving?" I asked.

He pursed his lips, "hmm, maybe twelve hours now."

"That could be dangerous."

"I thought I'd look for a motel."

"I've got a couch." I didn't say it was a pullout sofa, and that was the only bed in my teeny tiny basement apartment. Then I remembered the mess I'd left that morning and almost wished I hadn't said anything.

"I would not want to impose on you," he said.

I smiled now. "That's ridiculous. After all you've just done for me. Hell, you could well have saved my life. I insist."

"All right," he said with hardly a moment's hesitation. He looked out the window. "There is your car. Your Yugo." He laughed softly and I couldn't help but laugh with him and at myself.

We drank our coffee. He told me that he was from Puerto Rico and that he had been working as a private detective. On his last job, he'd nearly been killed. I noted the creases on his forehead when he talked and how they deepened when he stopped talking.

"I must be tired," he said, his voice soft and husky after a long silence. "I don't usually talk about this."

"You haven't said much," I said. "I'm sorry you were hurt." I meant it in both ways, physically and emotionally. He only nodded and stared into his cup.

"Well," he said, pushing his cup away. "Let's find out what happened to your car."

Across the street, the mechanic and the tow truck driver stared at the engine in disbelief.

"I never saw this before," said the mechanic without looking up. "Damn piston melted. In all my life, I never saw that happen before." Then he looked at me and scratched his head. "This here is the worst piece of crap to ever call itself a car and lady, I doubt you'll find a mechanic in the state of Virginia who'd try to fix it."

"How much to haul it off?" I asked.

"I'll give you twenty-five for the scrap," he said.

I pointed to Tony. "Give it to him. He paid for the tow." Then I went through the car, pulling out everything that wasn't attached. This consisted of a pack of Kleenex, several pens, an old lighter and a notepad, a sign that I didn't trust the car with anything valuable. I signed the car over to the mechanic and he gave me the receipt and transfer papers. Then, like with the Volkswagen a year after I replaced the engine, I turned my back on it and walked away.

A few moments later, I was giving Tony directions to my place.

By the time we pulled up to the house and climbed down the cement stairs to the basement apartment that was my current home, it was nearly four in the morning. My basement studio was a bit messy, but I was too tired to care, and I don't think Tony noticed. He entered the bathroom. I unfolded the couch. When he stepped out, he looked at the opened bed and then began pulling off his boots while I stepped past him to use the bathroom.

When I came out of the bathroom, he was under the covers and asleep. In my underwear and a t-shirt, I slipped under the covers on the opposite side, lifting them just enough to discover that he lay naked in my bed.

I lay still for almost five minutes, thinking only one thought. There is a naked Adonis sleeping in my bed.

I woke with an arm around me and a hard penis pressed against my backside. In my half-sleep state, I mused that I missed this feeling since I broke up with my boyfriend. Then I remembered who belonged to the appendages I so enjoyed in my languor.

Lips opened on my shoulder. A finger brushed my left nipple. Fire erupted in my groin and I let air out as a soft sigh through parted lips. The hand began to massage my breast and belly while the penis rubbed against me. I wondered if he was still sleeping, or half sleeping.

The answer came when his hand moved down and tentatively pushed at my panties. I pressed my backside against his groin. He kissed my shoulder and the back of my neck as he pushed my panties down towards my knees. The hand reached between my legs, which parted to expose my ready state. His fingers dipped into my wetness, causing him to moan. The moan continued through me as he began to massage my already hard nub. His other arm pushed beneath me to take over my nipples. I reached behind to stroke the smooth line of his hip and thigh, encouraging him to continue.

Then he slipped into me. I arched my back, matching his rhythm at once, my hand gripping his hip behind me, his hands manipulating me into oblivion. He filled me perfectly, stimulating my every nerve so that I soon wanted to increase our pace. Instead he slowed, extending our lovemaking and the depth of my delirium. He nibbled on my neck and shoulder. I released soft moans of ecstasy then suddenly cried out as the first orgasm waved over me.

The pace changed. His soft breath became louder. His hands became possessive. My moans turned to gasps as each thrust seemed to find new depths within me. In one movement, he was over me, gripping my hips, while I lay face down, gasping, my head swimming with the sensations that flowed through me, as if that first orgasm had not ended. Suddenly, I was on my knees, rising with the pull of my shoulders. His arms held me upward, his face pressed against my back. His penis controlled me completely. Each thrust sent me further beyond reason. I felt like a goddess, for surely only a goddess could ever feel such pleasure. And yet, the sensations began to tighten once more, like a balloon ready to burst. The feeling grew until it seemed both pleasure and pain. His breath changed again. Uncontrolled passion came out as hot wet breath on my back, along my spine, below where he pressed his forehead into my neck.

"Querida," he said.

I cried out, his word setting off an explosion inside of me. At the same time, he gripped my hips and thrust with such intensity that it forced us both forward.

I lay face down. Tony's body covered mine. We both breathed heavily. He lay so still, I thought he had gone back to sleep. That was okay, I thought and felt myself falling towards slumber.

"You don't have a kitchen."

The words roused me. I turned and faced him, still naked under the blankets, on his side leaning on an elbow and facing me. Just looking at him made me forget what he had said.

"Maybe we should go out and eat breakfast."

His words roused me again. "I have a hotplate for coffee," I said. "But otherwise I'm sort of a cold food person."

He reached and stroked my hair, which I guessed was sticking out worse than usual. "How long since you worked?"

I pressed my lips together. "Well, you know, there's a recession going on. But I sold three stories last week, so I am working. Just don't tell the unemployment office." I grinned at him and he returned the smile with something between pity and understanding.

"Its our secret," he said, then he pulled me close.

Our mouths met for the first time in a slow explorative kiss that made me feel as if my body might melt into his. We broke only once so that he could remove my T-shirt. I had long since kicked off my panties, though I had no idea when. The endless kiss continued, our perspiration moistened bodies pressed tightly together in a state of bliss. My hands explored the tight muscles of his back and buttocks and thighs, sending their findings through nerve endings to a brain without cohesive thought. With my eyes closed, I pictured him clearly, his large kind eyes, his understanding smile, the unruly wave of his hair, a beauty I'd only thought to admire from afar, yet here he was, in my arms, in my bed.

Slowly we adjusted our positions until I lay on my back, his body over mine. My legs spread to accommodate him, then rose and embraced him, pulling him closer, slowly, like dancers in a slow tango. And still we kissed, our tongues becoming our prime form of communication. He lifted himself slightly and entered me and we shared the sigh of our joining. I thought that now would be the best time to die, for I had reached the apex of my life, of pleasure, of joy and of contentment. And yet, he demonstrated my misjudgment as his soulful touch raised me to an ever-higher level of bliss.

He is a god, I thought, and I shall forever worship him.

I do not know when our mouths parted for I was lost in the ecstasy of him. I could not hear my own cries or know my own body as separate from his. When he cried out and froze with his final thrust, I opened my eyes and saw him, his head thrown back, his lips parted, his hair tumbling about his perfect face. The vision imprinted itself on my mind, connecting itself always to the highest pleasure one might achieve.

Moments later, he rolled onto his side, taking me with him, our chests heaving.

"May I use your shower?" he asked after we had both retrieved our breath.

I didn't want him to stop holding me but I said, "of course."

While he showered, I retrieved my panties and T-shirt, turned on the electric teapot and reluctantly folded the bed away. I laid his clothing neatly over the sofa and then dared to look at myself. I smiled. Of course, I looked like I'd just been wrestling in a damp bed. My hair stood straight up in places. I began cleaning up until I heard the water stop in the bathroom, then turned off the teapot just before it began to whistle.

"My turn," I said, as he stepped out naked, except for a towel around his waist. That was when I first noticed the deep scar over his belly. I averted my eyes and passed him into the shower.

When I came out, he had made us both coffees with my single cup Melitta coffee maker. He offered me a cup with cream and no sugar and it touched me that he remembered from the night before. As I dressed in jeans, I noticed that it was nearly noon.

"So where can we get something to eat?" he asked, pulling on his boots.

"There's a diner about a mile down the road," I said, clipping my hair back. I started for the bathroom to add a touch of makeup.

He stopped me as I passed him, stood and pulled me into his arms. Without a word, he lowered his mouth over mine and again, I became his in my surrender. Parting, as they say, was such sweet sorrow.

I had my own helmet, leftovers from a very long and very bad relationship. He laughed when he saw me pull it out of my only closet.

"So, you are no stranger to my kind," he said, tapping the tiny Harley decal on the side of the helmet.

"Not really," I said, "but it's been awhile."

"I couldn't tell," he said, again with the mischievous gleam.

We stopped at Dottie's Café and ordered omelets despite the hour. We talked about Virginia, or at least the little I knew of it, and then he asked me where I was from. So I began to talk about myself until he knew all about my bad relationship and how I escaped it by traveling from one coast to the other. At times throughout my pitiful tale, his eyes hardened, which made me like him more. But in the end, all he said was, "it's a good thing you left. Guys like that don't change, they just get worse."

"Now you," I said.

He sighed, put down his fork and leaned forward. "They say never mix business with pleasure. I forgot to follow that rule and paid the consequences."

"She shot you?" I asked, emphasizing the she.

He nodded. "I would have died, too, except she thought I already was dead and didn't shoot me a second time."

"What happened to her?"

He shook his head and looked out the window. After a long silence, I realized he wasn't going to answer, so I dropped it. I had a feeling it would be one of those mysteries in my life, one of those questions never answered because once he left I would never see him again.

"You know," he said. "It is very pretty out here. The perfect time when the leaves are changing, but they have not yet fallen. It looks like a nice day to ride."

I looked out and saw the autumn of the east coast surrounding us. It was Wednesday and the kids had not yet been let out from school. Only light traffic passed the corner where the diner sat. Trees lined both sides of the street, except on the corners where small shopping centers stood with half full parking lots. The sky spread over us in a crisp blue.

"It is a nice day," I said.

"So where should we go?" he asked, giving me a boyish grin.

"How about the beach?" I said.

He laughed, slammed his hand on the table and said, "let's go!"

I meant the Potomac. He meant the Atlantic. We met the sea in late afternoon, ate softshell crab sandwiches and watched the ocean waves until all we could see were shadows in the night while the sound of the sea lulled us to silence. From the brightest to the more distant, the stars blinked into view. We sat on the beach bundled in our jackets, holding hands like newfound lovers.

"I am going to leave first thing in the morning," he said, his voice, with its soft accent, melding into the sound of sea and bird and wind. He squeezed my hand as if to reassure me.

"I guessed you would," I whispered. I lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles.

"I promised my cousin," he said.

I didn't answer. It was a strange feeling as we rose and mounted the Harley, strange in that I didn't feel sad at all. Instead, I felt blessed, first to meet him, then to spend two nights and a day with him. It seemed to me that he was not a man to be held like a possession, for that would deny others the gift of him.

And besides, I was certain that there were other damsels in distress out there, those who had only fallen under the spell of cads, those who needed to know that there were other men, kinder men, who could find them attractive and desirable. Who better to teach them than this god?