On the other half.

Like fine linen, she longed to be held close to the skin; like a fine Italian automobile, she longed to be pushed to her limits.  These things were for tactile enjoyment, and not to be shelved for subsequent jealous glances.....

The prancing horse emblem on the hood seem to call to me, call me to a slap fight, my open hands versus the front hooves of the beast, and all the while, her positively oozing on the seat like spilled milkshake, and me, called to action, energetically at a loss for which button to push first, having so many causes.

She also longed perhaps to be wiped away, like an olive brine stain, or perhaps pushed lovingly to the side, like an annoyingly energetic pup.  If I smacked her bottom with the newspaper, know it was endearment, and perhaps a smatter of nuisance, a little thumbnail of anticipation, a guiding hand perhaps, like the shepherd of old, from the wilderness and towards a promised land, me and thee, me and thee, and the supersize grapes and all that.  Cream.