Piece of Ass by the Dashboard Light

In high school, Joey Baptista had an Alfa Romeo GTV. Joey was a cute boy because he was first generation Italian and his father ran a landscaping company that required months of shirtless outdoor activity. But it was the GTV that made the man. Hopped up on testosterone and a shot of Jack Daniels, Joey would kick me and the car into overdrive as he swerved around streets, curbs and a few unfortunate lawn gnomes.

Second gear was my favorite. It made my slippery, over-Armor-All'ed leather seat throb with such an urgency that I was convinced my panties would become the first-known case of spontaneous combustion in Massachusetts. Of course, Joey loved it too because I would squeal and grab his thigh to avoid sliding off the seat and smacking my face into the Black Flag decal on the dashboard.

Alas, things started heading south when Joey decided Missy Cartright's double Ds made a better hood ornament than my 36 Cs. I'd like to think it was also because, unlike Missy, I hadn't fucked the entire defensive line of our football team, or anyone else for that matter. But to this day, I'll proudly say that the beautiful, throaty, GTV was the one that popped my cherry.