Pent up

I always have the window would down whilst driving, even in the coldest weather. With the window closed it's too much like driving a four wheeled tomb; I get tense, claustrophobic and then manic. I don't have too many passengers so don't get many complaints.

I ran over a kid a few years ago, not my fault you understand, but since then I don't even like having the seat belt on, it's so constrictive.

They say things happen in slow motion, but that's not true; that happens later during the action replays, like a channel that's on endless repeats with a broken remote control. The car breaking even as the kid hits the bumper, almost cartwheeling into the windscreen, fracturing it into a unique spiders-web. Luckily I never saw his face as he hit, just heard his screams later on.

Since then my window is wound all the way down so I can feel that there's an outside world, so I'm not totally disconnected to what's really going on. I'm not this tiny metal box on wheels...

I mean, you ever notice when someone's in an accident they identify with their car? “You hit me!”... nope, not at all. My car collided with your car, no physical contact between our respective flesh and blood bodies took place. People get very possessive about the slightest thing happening to their car. Their wives and kids... ah, who cares? Touch their car and there will be hell to pay.

Me? I had to drive, I didn't necessarily enjoy it. My job was off the beaten track -a pre-fabricated office built in the grounds of a working farm, on the site of an old slaughterhouse (I kid you not!) and my girlfriend lives about an hour away from me, so I need a car and as she doesn't drive, and can’t be bothered to travel to see me, I don't have much choice!

Anyway, this particular night I've finished work and am driving to see her; over an hour away, and we have tickets to see a film. It’s one I'm really not bothered with seeing, but we're going with a couple of her detestable friends and she wants to show me off.

Both of us have been kind of undateable and met on this website for the terminally clueless, and actually made a pact to stick with the relationship no matter what. She's in her 40's, so is about eleven years older than me and no longer wants to be single. Going for a trophy boyfriend means she can push me around, and she constantly makes me wish I had never made the vow.

Twenty minutes into the drive and it starts to rain. Hard. I don't mind getting wet sometimes and it takes a lot for me to wind the window up, but this time there's a strong wind blowing the rain right into the car and I'm getting soaked. I have no choice now.

I try winding it down a crack but it's no use, I'm still getting wet; brilliant! It's an open road and no cover, and it's pretty much straight for the next half an hour. Remember to keep breathing deep and level...

I'd love to say that the relationship has some perks. I mean, the first date was great, don't get me wrong. We spent the whole night talking and had so much to say, we just clicked. Six hours just flew and then she said, “Well, I'd normally invite you home as I don't believe in waiting for a few dates to fuck, but I'm tired. Maybe another night?”

I was bowled over to say the slightest. I wasn't even sure whether I found her attractive, but she'd already moved on to the next stage. The irony was, she was happy to fuck but not to kiss. Intimacy problems? Just what was I getting involved in?

I found out the next night....

Seems she didn't even want to wait for the next date. It was the only time she visited mine and she just turned up at my doorstep with a bottle of wine in her hand. I don't even recall giving her my address....

Anyway, we screwed for most of the night. I was woefully inexperienced but she actually liked that and enjoyed teaching me. Better to break someone in afresh as old dogs don't like learning new tricks.

But not hugging or kissing...on the mouth anyway. The sex was great though and I wonder if that was what kept me going back.

The traffic stalls with half the journey still to go and the film starting in less time than it takes to get there! I said to her not to get the early booking, but she did it deliberately. I'm her boytoy to do her bidding as she sees it. She'll pout and all that crap, but if I try to exert any control then she just laughs. I just can’t stand my ground to her, hence tonight. Her showey friends, Tracey and Paul -all la-dee-da but I really couldn't give a shit what car he drives or the amount of money he makes. She's an inferior decorator or an unemployed museum curator. They have more money than sense and want to go to an arthouse film where all you see is those annoying closed captions and stilted images, where you need to either forget what you’re watching or get thoroughly confused with who's fucking who. I mean, that's all those films are -sex, sex, sex- and if it wasn't for the fact that it turns her on more than usual I wouldn't bother going. (I'd much rather see the latest Danny Dyer film).

However, because Tracey and Paul are going they'll act as a damp squib -the anti-matter equivalent of viagra. They should be distilled, bottled and given away to sex maniacs as a curative.

They're actually grotesque in their saccharine falseness and complete insincerity. It's obvious that they care as much about each other as they do themselves, but they act like two newlyweds in a carry on film.. .but they look like bloated warthogs..

This isn't good.. I can feel my mood changing; I can feel myself getting really claustrophobic, I need to open the damn window! Need some fresh air or else I'll start going crazy and tonight is not the night for that to happen.

The road ahead blinks in Morse code as more brake lights flicker and then dominate the landscape. We're going nowhere until the traffic clears, and it's still whipping up a storm and I can't open the window in case the car gets flooded.

That doesn't stop me from trying the passenger window though -genius!

And for a while it works, the fresh air calms me right down but then I see the bloke in the lane next to me. He has his window partially wound down and I can hear his music  playing; it's something like Coldplay or something equally as depressing and crass, and he's arguing with the woman in the passenger side so he turns the volume up even louder and I'm starting to get a headache now. Part of me wants to shout at him but I shut my window again and try to find something to concentrate on.

It's unlikely that I'm going anywhere for a while now and I know that I'm going to be late and miss the first part of the film. She'll see it as a personal attack because I don't like her friends and there probably won't be any sex tonight -which is, I think, the only reason I put up with her shit.

Our pact means nothing to me. It was something else that she got me to promise in mid-blowjob. It had been years since anyone else had willingly done that and with her mouth inches away from my begging cock I would have willingly sold my mum into slavery.

There was only one thing I could do now though and that was ring her.

She wasn't happy, and that was putting it mildly. Imagine the voice of a Dalek crossed with an angry Roseanne Barr and you're close... Of course, the Warthog friends of hers were listening in and passing comment in the background. They never approved of me in the first place as I saw them for the frauds that they really were.

She wouldn't let me have a word in edgeways and the crackling of the phone made her voice sound worse -if such a thing were possible.

The rain pelting on the windscreen and windows, the brake lights flashing out an epileptics nightmare, the car closing in on me and the idiot next to me still rowing with his wife, readying to strike her and then the bastards behind start honking their horns –none of this is conducive to my worsening mood!

And then she gets inventive with her nagging. Why not? I'm a captive audience and her friends are giving her fresh ammunition, constantly feeding her nuggets. Apparently I've no imagination, no money, inexperienced in bed and I wear a raincoat.... I kid you not, she actually said that she hated the fact that I wore a raincoat. She's embarrassed to be seen with me when I wear that 'thing', she thinks I look like a degenerate...

That's it... the Mac was a gift from my parents and I love wearing it (it reminds me of Humphrey Bogart!) and with everything else that's happened on this journey so far, everything that I've kept bottled up since meeting her, everything that's happened in my whole life, I finally let it rip.

It’s a brilliant, cascading hate filled, bile flooded tirade; a wonderful waterfall of pent up frustration; the damn finally swept away.

The rain ceases.

The bloke in the car next to me stops trying to hit his wife and turns the music off.

The frantic brake lights relent and the traffic actually starts moving again.

“Got to go, darling.” I say and hang up on her now hysteric sobbing. Guess I’m no longer her little miracle worker....

I pull off at the earliest opportunity and head home with the window open, singing along to Queen's 'Keep yourself alive' at the top of my voice. Back at home I have the best wank of my life; completely guilt free. Bliss!