I wanna’ tell you a story, a story of raging hormones and first love and parking lots that we all suspect you are probs familiar with.

When I first met my bf of six years, we would systematically drive into a parking lot to "park our car". We were pre-adults, had undeveloped frontal lobes, so we spent a couple minutes smooching and whispering things like “I love your nose, it’s so weird, I want to cast it in plaster and save it forever” and “your eyes be so creepy when you look at me like that, I wish I could dip them in Jake’s Seafood Restaurant garlic butter and eat ‘em,” and “I wish I had your pores,” you know, normal romantic stuff.

One day, things went to far, and I was running late for something, and more than annoyed at how into me my boyfriend was at the moment. He just couldn’t seem to contain the overwhelming “love” and since I was much too prudish to give him a blowy in a parking lot, with my encouragement he reluctantly decided to take care of business there himself. It was sort of hot—but wrong.

In the midst of this, a parking patrol guy must have noticed two people sitting in a steamy car. My bf was too engrossed in whatever was occurring beneath his belt to care, and I was too busy checking the time on my phone and wondering if I should google some "dirty talk", so I could get him to release earlier and make it to wherever I had to go.

It was then that my bf noticed a shadow approaching and looked out his window as the man approached from behind, unaware but probably suspecting something unholy was occurring. (continued...)