Free The Punany Experience by Jessica Holter

what he had under the hood. He had never met a girl who seemed as strong as a man. It turned him on.
    He dropped her off and remained a gentleman that afternoon. But it only took a few weeks of conversation and a single date to get into her panties. She told him that she was a virgin, and as tight as her pussy had been, he believed her. But the way she worked her body told him she knew her pussy very well.
    Like most of the girls he met in East Oakland where he had picked up young chicks before, Korea had never been to San Francisco. Keith planned a fast and immediate seduction with a topless trip over the Bay Bridge.
    “Are we riding with the top down?” Korea asked when he picked her up for their first date.
    “It’s the only way to fly,” Keith said in his most charming voice, as he shut the door behind her.
    “Yeah, maybe, but I just did my hair, and I don’t want it flying,” Korea said.
    “I got you; open the glove compartment,” Keith said, starting the engine.
    Korea opened the glove compartment. Inside she found a comb, a brush, a mirror, Vaseline, and something that looked like a curling iron with no plug. She picked it up.
    “Is this a curling iron?” She turned it in her hand, opening and closing the lip. “How does it plug in?”
    “It doesn’t,” he beamed, pulling away from the curb. “It runs on butane.”
    “Lighter fluid?” Korea asked.
    “Yep. Pretty cool, huh?”
    “It’s really something. In fact, you’re really something. You got all the tricks, huh? Pull over for a second.”
    “You aren’t going to jump out of the car, are you?”
    “That depends on your answer to my question.”
    Reluctantly, Keith pulled over and turned the car off. “What’s up?”
    “What’s all this stuff in here for? Are you a pimp or is this car a chick trap?” Korea looked serious, and directly into his eyes, searching for even a hint of a lie.
    “No, I told you. I have a good, honest job.” Reading the disbelief on her face, Keith reached into his wallet and flipped it open. “Here is my ID, and here is my union card.” He handed her the wallet. Korea examined the cards. He flashed a smile that would have made Billy Dee Williams proud and smoothed his neatlygroomed mustache. “Open the billfold, and you’ll find my pay stub.”
    Korea closed his wallet and handed it back to him. “Okay. I don’t need to be all in your bank account like that. I’m going to let you know right now; I bite.”
    “Your point is taken, little lady.” Keith started the car up and headed toward the 880 Freeway. “It’s called a Clicker,” he said, nodding at the creative curler in her hand. “Keep pushing the button until it starts. It’ll spark like a lighter.”
    Korea put the gadget inside the glove compartment and closed it. “I’m cool,” she said, pulling a scarf from her coat pocket. “I don’t put heat on my hair. I wrap it.” With that, she tied the scarf on her head and sat back.
    The engine of the Mustang roared across the bridge at eighty miles per hour while Too Short paced the cross-water escapade with gut-wrenching bass that lay the cadence for his “Freaky Tails.” It was the kind of song that you couldn’t help but rap along to. Korea let her version of the rhyme spill from her Wet & Wild glossed lips.
    “I met this girl, her name Korea. Korea was so vicious, she could eat cha.”
    Keith laughed as Korea rapped over $hort’s voice. Keith nearly butted the car in front of him, trying to watch her sexy lips move. But Korea didn’t notice; her eyes were closed, and she was in the trance of the hottest rap bass line to hit the scene since the Sugar Hill Gang put poetry to a commercial beat.
    The faster the car moved…the more wind in her face, the better Korea felt. Perhaps it was the clean air and the ride. Or perhaps, she thought, it was just
the knowing;
the kind of knowing one cannot be taught, the thing the old folks called wisdom. In the fifteen minutes it took to cross the