The Ride Was Only Temporary

After a wild night at an Insane Clown Posse show, I met someone who changed everything for a few hours. We smoked. We laughed. We fucked like the world was ending.

No names. No numbers. Just heat, sweat, and a goodbye I never saw coming.

I wasn't sure I ever wanted to post this. But something in me said it's time.

This is a true story. And I still think about her.

The show had just ended, clown-town chaos, dark-ass alley venue in a random city where the dirt stains the concrete and the Faygo soaks your soul.

It wasn't a tour stop. Just one of those nights where the Wicked Shit showed up to rot the skyline, and I was ready.

As soon as that first bass drop hit for "Bang! Pow! Boom!", I did what I always do rushed the stage.

Security tried like they always do grabbing at me, yelling, blocking but I slipped through like grease. Caught the side rail, boosted myself over, and made it up front.

And here's the difference: I wasn't just up there acting wild. I was helping the crew. Carrying cases of Faygo, tossing them out to the others, passing bottles to the clowns, getting caught in it like a loyal soldier of The Dark Carnival.

Then, the last full box. Mine.

I went off. Jumping. Spraying. Twisting caps, launching them into the crowd. Singing every damn lyric. I hosed the crowd like I'd trained for it. My shirt stuck to my skin. My face paint ran down my jawline.

After the last bottle flew and the lights dimmed, and the Clowns left the stage I climbed down into the night. My heart was pounding. My lungs were coated in sugar and bass. I stumbled out into the humid air and lit a blunt, adrenaline still slamming through my veins.

That's when I saw her.

She was standing near the side of the venue, leaning against a wall, blunt in hand, legs crossed, watching everyone clear out like a queen who didn't need a throne.

Let's call her Cherry Pie. Not her real name but that's what we're going to call her.

She looked about 24, maybe 26 tattooed arms and thighs, perfect curves, full lips with dark gloss, piercing eyes that saw through bullshit, and a black tank top soaked in Faygo that clung to her tits just right. She had on white lace panties that had turned light brown from the Faygo barely showing beneath a tight little miniskirt that had twisted on her hips.

And that walk? Straight sin.

I was still wiping Faygo from my forehead when she looked up and grinned. "You went hard up there."

"That obvious?" I laughed. "You were helping pass bottles like a pro. Then suddenly you're center stage with your own box like you were born in the circus."

"I kinda was," I said, puffing the blunt. "You want tips?"

She stepped closer, bold. "Yeah. I wanna spray like that."

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Come back to my ride and I'll crack you open like a 2-liter."

She licked her lips, eyes flashing. "You always flirt like that?"

"Only when it works."

She bumped her hip against mine. "Lead the way."

Her skin was warm under my hand as we walked. We didn't talk much. Didn't need to. Just passed the blunt back and forth, her fingers brushing mine every time like an invitation.

We crossed the street together. Juggalos everywhere in lawn chairs, around trunks, on sidewalks, music bumping still smoking and reliving the night.

A couple of them recognized me. Not from the stage, just from years of this shit. They clocked me, saw her on my arm, and one of my homies shouted out, "Jesus is watching, fam!"

Cherry Pie didn't miss a beat. She flipped him off with a big smile, tongue out, ass bouncing with the gesture. We all laughed.

Everyone knew what was about to go down.

My ride in a dark, dead-end alley. The same place I'd parked the previous years in that town. Same spot I once fingered Karla in the backseat after a too-long hug turned into a bite on the neck. Same spot I swore I'd never take another girl again, right before Nikki texted me "you up?" in 2016

Same place I'd once caught Madison's perfume still in the backseat days after she ghosted me for good.

But tonight... this wasn't any of them. Or maybe it was all of them.

Because when Cherry leaned into me against the door, pressing her body close, licking my ear before whispering, "You better fuck me like I'm the only one who ever mattered," I swear to God... I saw all their faces flash behind her eyes.

We kissed like we'd done it before. Like we were remembering it. Her lips were soft but hungry. Her hands slid under my waistband without hesitation.

I opened the back, and we climbed in. She was already straddling me before the door shut. Already grinding, kissing touching, Already whispering things in my ear that made my heart feel like a fist.

Her hair was down now, still damp from the Faygo, strands falling in her face, sticking to her neck. I smelled her before I tasted her sweet sexy smelling perfume mixed with sweat and root beer Faygo, soaked into the lace of those panties she hadn't bothered to hide.

reached under her shirt and found her nipples pierced, hard, perfect, her areolas light and smooth, the kind that make your fingertips want to memorize them.

"Take your time," she said. "But don't waste it."

I kissed her chest. Bit down and sucked gently. Ran my tongue around both nipples and felt her hips grind tighter against my lap.

She reached down and undid my pants, pulling my cock out like it belonged to her. No teasing. No build-up.

Then she dropped down and started sucking like she'd been waiting for it all week.

I let my head fall back, lit another blunt, and groaned as she took me deep--wet, slow, precise, like she was savoring the taste.

She looked up at me as she sucked, her hand twisting around the base, her tongue teasing the head while her lips stayed locked around me.

"Fuck," I muttered. "You're insane."

She popped off just long enough to say, "You haven't even seen crazy yet."

Then went back down, deeper this time, her spit coating my shaft, her hand stroking rhythmically as she sucked my balls into her mouth one at a time.

I grabbed a handful of her hair, moved it aside so I could see every inch of what she was doing to me. Her eyes closed, then opened, and locked on mine while her cheeks hollowed.

"Get up," I said finally, voice thick.

She looked up, her lips glistening, and I lifted her chin, meeting her halfway with a kiss that tasted like smoke, soda, and my own dick.

She reached down, slipped off her soaked panties white lace, now tinged brown from Faygo--and was about to toss them to the floor when I grabbed her wrist.

"Nah. Gimme those."

She smirked and handed them to me. I pressed them to my face, took a deep breath. The root beer scent hit first, then the warm tang of her pussy, still wet and sticky from both the show and her own arousal.

I hung them around my neck.

She didn't say a word. Just lifted herself up, positioned me, and lowered onto my cock inch by inch.

We both groaned mine deep, hers high and breathy. She sank down slow, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me like she wanted to claim every part of me before the world ended.

Her legs locked behind me, her pussy tight and hot, gripping every inch.

We started slow. Grinding. Moving together. Eye to eye. No rush.

Then she bit my lip and said, "I want it harder. I want deep. Fuck fuck fuck."

She bounced faster, her tits jiggling, hair flying as she rode me like she was trying to leave a scar on my soul.

I grabbed her ass with both hands, lifting and slamming her down in sync with her own rhythm. The SUV was rocking now, windows steaming.

She started screaming real screams, not fake porn ones. My name. Profanities. Random shit.

"Yes... yes... deeper... fuck me, fuck me, don't stop make me yourwhore, make me your filthy little whore."

Then she pulled away, spun around, and got on all fours. "From behind. I want it facedown ass up like a slut"

I slammed into her, flesh on flesh, her tits smashing metal to glass, leaving foggy marks and streaks of sweat. The sound of our bodies echoed in the closed cabin. Her nails clawed at the window as I went harder.

"You like that, bitch?" "Yes! Fuck! Harder stick a finger in my dirty little ass too"

I slid a finger into her while pounding her from behind, and she screamed into the seat. Half gargled with my other hand around her throat.

I was losing control. And I didn't care.

I don't know how long we fucked like that. I lost track of time, of rhythm, of the outside world. I only knew her skin under my hands, the sound of our bodies slapping together, and the way her moans kept getting louder, rawer, more desperate.

She had her hands braced against the window, tits bouncing and smearing foggy sweat trails up the glass, ass arched back into me, thighs trembling every time I bottomed out. And fuck, she loved it.

"You hear that?" she growled, breath ragged.

"That's the sound of my pussy swallowing your cock, baby."

I slapped her ass hard enough to make it jiggle and she threw it back on me, smirking over her shoulder.

"That all you got, Faygo King?"

I grabbed her by the hair not rough, not soft and pulled her head back so she was forced to look at me as I rammed into her. Sweat dripping. Her eyeliner smeared. Perfect.

"Say my name," I whispered.

"Say yours?" she hissed through a grin. "Fuck I'll scream it. Just keep fucking me like that."

The whole SUV was rocking now. Back shocks creaking. Window almost cracking. My hands gripping her hips like she might float away if I didn't hold on.

She was saying wild shit. Dirty shit. Things I'd never forget.

"Stretch me open... fill me till I feel it in my stomach..."

"You feel that? That's you inside me. I want more. I'm to tight stretch me out with the big cock"

"Fuck me like I'm another little whore of yours. Fuck me like you hate me like a bitch who blocked you and still thinks about your dick."

My mind split open at that. I bit her neck and started thrusting like I was chasing every ex that ever left me inside her body. Like I could fuck the ghosts out of myself.

"You want every piece of me, huh?" I growled.

"I want to be all of them," she moaned back. "So you'll never forget."

At one point, she pushed me back into the seat, climbed back on top, completely naked, panties still around my neck. She started riding me again, slower this time, locking eyes.

"Look at me," she whispered. "Tell me you're mine... just for tonight."

I nodded. Couldn't speak.

She leaned in close, licked my ear, and whispered: "I'm gonna milk this cock dry. You better cum for me like it's your last time."

She was grinding. Gasping. Her soaked pussy clenching tighter and tighter until I couldn't hold it anymore.

"I'm gonna cum," I warned.

She didn't stop. Didn't blink.

"On my stomach," she said. "I want to feel it. Warm sticky cum. Mark me."

I pulled out quick panting, sweating--and stroked the last few strokes with her pussy arched up, tits hanging, hair wild, just how I needed to see her.

The first jet hit the condom still half-rolled at the base, and the next shot landed right above her pussy, the rest on her belly and across both pierced tits hot and thick. She moaned when she felt it smiled like it was exactly what she wanted.

"Fuck yes..." she breathed still panting. "That's how I wanna remember you."

She reached for her bag she through in the back. Got a baby wipe, then reached between her legs and touched the mess still dripping from her pussy.

She looked at her fingers, then at me, smirking.

"Messy," she whispered. "Perfect."

I cleaned her up with the towels I kept in the very back. Cracked a water bottle. She wiped me down. No rush. No awkwardness.

We slid under a blanket I'd kept from last winter and cuddled, her head on my chest, her leg hooked over mine like she wasn't going anywhere.

For the next two hours, we just laid there. High. Fucked out. Listening to faraway laughter, glass bottles clinking, and occasional screams from someone still hyped from the show.

No names. No lies. Just skin and sweat and silence.

Around 4:15 a. m., she pulled her skirt back on, stuffed her bra in her bag, and grabbed the knotted condom off the floor.

"I'm keeping this," she said giggling, no irony. "So I never forget this moment. I wanna pull it out one day and smile."

She shoved it into her pocket.

She didn't give me her number. Didn't ask for mine.

When I offered, she just smiled and said, "I don't do the whole texting-after-a-hookup thing. I like moments to stay moments."

Didn't say where she was going. Just kissed me once slow, soft, real and stepped out into the early morning haze like a phantom in lace.

And it weirdly made sense. Cherry Pie was the kind of girl who vanished before reality could catch her a walking secret you don't try to solve.

I figured I'd see her again eventually. Somewhere. Another show. Another summer.

But I didn't.

Few months later, someone messaged me out of nowhere. I didn't know them.

"Yo, wasn't that you with Cherry Pie after the clown show?"

"Yeah. Why?"

The message hit like a brick to the chest:

"She died in a wreck on the way to another show. It was snowing and a blizzard out. She hot black ice and her car flipped on the freeway. They say she died instantly."

Hardly an obituary. Just a flickering candlelight vigil photo with her in it. It her tagged under a different name.

But I knew. The tattoos. The smirk. That same wild look like she knew her ride here was temporary.

And I never got to say goodbye.

Just a memory. One night. One body pressed into mine. One voice still echoing in my head when the world goes quiet.

She was all of them. And none of them. A ghost I fucked in the backseat of my SUV and never stopped thinking about her.