Driving down the Dan Ryan, Graham handled that big black car. Swerving and dipping, he was in a hurry. Passionate, focused, and intent on reaching his destination. “Run, Forrest, run!” He wasn’t about to let car, truck, bus, or anything else get in his way. “Drive, Forrest, drive!”

Soon I began to feel like a Planters peanut as I began slowly roasting. “Turn down the heat!” I thought to myself, but then, why would he keep a lady cold? Not Graham. Graham is much too good for that. Graham has class. Why not make a lady warm? The warmer I was, the more willing I would be to undress. Ooh, Graham, you naughty boy you.

As if the fire needed any more fueling, Graham further intensified our clandestine expedition with the sounds of Wynton Marsalis funneling through his state-of-the-art speakers. The jumping red lights from his Nakamichi sound system were hypnotic as the intermittent levels began to take the rhythm of passionate lovemaking. Wynton was dancing the forbidden dance. Improvising the one-two, three-four patterns of bass, drum, piano, and horn.

As the bass went lower and the highs went higher and the seat got hotter, like a teakettle, I simmered, almost drowning in my own pool of lustful anticipation. Damn, Graham is good. “Drive, Forrest, drive! Drive this big black car till you can’t drive no more!” Owwww! I howled to myself, biting my fist, muting my moans. Owww!

Our silence screamed as I gained a greater appreciation for the unspoken. It was obvious that our union was more than contrived small talk. It was spiritual. It was soulful. Like the upper room, we were with one mind and on one accord. I shrank in the seat, willing to go with his flow.

Half an hour into the ride we pulled up to a dock. “I hope you like seafood,” he said. Being from Baltimore, and having spent most of my teenage life between the Inner Harbor and Lexington Market, it was impossible for me not to like seafood. “Of course,” I responded.

“Good, then you’ll love what’s being prepared for dinner.” I watched the cashmere from his coat stroke his seat as he exited the car. Trying to have some class, I stayed in my seat, not wanting to deny him an opportunity for another bout of chivalry. Like clockwork, he opened my door, and then reached for my hand. Raising from my seat, I exited his big black chariot and we began walking toward the dock.

“You have a boat?” I asked. Which was probably a stupid question given that we were standing on a deck looking at a sea full of boats.

“Yeah, just a little something. I hope you like it.”