I just bought a new car because my old one broke down a few weeks ago. The make, model, year, color, and mileage are really inconsequential; the only thing that matters are the bench seats up front, and those are all I want to talk about. Most of you probably already know where I’m going with this.

Late last week I was sitting at my computer, writing an article about my car. I was debating what would be the best way to bang it out on the bench seats and give the car a proper christening, because my experience with hooking up in cars is, admittedly, limited. I should warn you, if you are offended by the concept of drunken pre-marital sexual activity, you should probably stop reading now. In fact, you should probably stop reading my column all together.

I’ve never had sex in a vehicle before, and frankly I haven’t felt like I was missing out on much. That’s probably because all the cars I’ve owned have been pieces of crap. No one wants to make love in a junky 1996 Ford Escort… Wagon. Be that as it may, the whole idea has always seemed a little forced to me. Why maneuver around the steering wheel and gearshift when I have my own obstacle free bed? My bedroom also has the added benefit of having a place to fall asleep immediately afterwards, and room to stash all of the whips, chains, blow up dolls, and other accessories.

Before I could finish writing what would have been today’s article, I decided to learn by doing. Trial by fire, if you will. Let me say this, there is a right way and a wrong way to hook up in your car. While I’m still trying to figure out what the right way is, I can now definitely say that I have discovered the wrong way.

My partner-in-crime and I snuck out of a party at my house on Saturday night. Instead of disappearing into my bedroom like normal people, we headed for the car (because I have been talking these bench seats up like a used car salesman). I was a little worried because there were people hanging out in the parking lot 15 feet away from where it was parked, but it’s amazing what a little alcohol and a persuasive female will make you do.

The car was cold and needed a minute to warm up. As the engine heated up, though, so did things in the front seat. A little light music set the mood along with the cackles and screams of drunken people in the distance.

Just as I started to really get into it and forget that there were people outside, probably watching us, that all-too-familiar white light shining in my eyes blinded me. Startled, I looked up to see a dark figure looming behind the glare outside my door. The police officer didn’t waste any time; he gave a few sharp knocks on the window and opened the driver’s side door so fast I almost fell out onto the pavement. If I hadn’t left the doors unlocked I may have been content to just let him enjoy the show and get arrested afterwards, but I wasn’t smart enough to think of that. As we both scrambled to collect ourselves, and our pants, the officer gave us his decree, “You know, she’s doing a hell of a job but you guys have to find another place to do it.” I swear he actually said that.

He walked away before we could even offer a reply. When I was finally able to sit up and look out the window, I saw THREE cop cars surrounding us. Each car had an officer hanging out the window and laughing. I’m glad the Baltimore County Police had a productive evening. We got out of the car and ran back to the house, laughing hysterically, eager to tell everyone what had happened.

I’m not ready to give up on the idea just yet. It’s just that next time I am going to have to pick a better place to park, if I park at all.

And now no one I know will ever want to ride shotgun in my car again.