Here In My Car

The first “success” story of my permanently futile dating life was at long last being reciprocated in my attempts to get under a girl’s shirt. Making the move while driving, I struggled to focus as my hand nervously worked through an obstruction. Having never felt a breast before, I was thoroughly perplexed by their odd, cloth like feel.
Turns out it wasn’t the shirt I had penetrated, but rather my automatic seatbelt. I looked over to see the most blatant “you’re an idiot” stare I’ve ever seen.
She cancelled our next date to watch “The Even Stevens Movie.”