Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I drove a yellow taxi in New York long before Uber, Lyft, Juno and so forth made the whole thing so app based. You had to hustle out there and know where to find passengers on your own. Also, there was no GPS to help you navigate. I had a map unfolded on the front seat and other maps in my bag.
Our fleet was mostly Checkers, but we had one Chevrolet Impala as an experiment. It supposedly had capacity for only four passengers, not five like the Checker with its weird jump seats. Passengers and drivers would often ignore the capacity limits. I suppose the insurance company would give us grief if there was a serious accident and people got injured. Oops, we only cover five people, not eight.
I liked the Impala anyway, even if didn’t have the great visibility of Checker cars.
On a mild Wednesday evening in October, 1978, I had the Impala and had taken someone from Manhattan to Jacobi Hospital in The Bronx. I usually cruised back on local streets looking for a fare. There was no point in driving back to Manhattan empty.
I was headed west on Lydig Avenue, a narrow crosstown shopping street. At Wallace Avenue, a dark-haired woman hailed me and she got in the back. She said, “I’m going to 79th and Amsterdam eventually, but first I’d like to be driven around for a while. It relaxes me and helps clear my head.”
That was the first time I had gotten that kind of request.
“Any particular place you’d like for that?”
“Start off with the Bronx River Parkway, go southbound. Don’t worry about the meter, just let it run up.”
I had gotten a brief look at her while she was in the street, and now I tried to glance at her in the mirror as I put the car back into gear. The Impala didn’t have the huge interior space of a Checker, so she was pretty close to me.
She was dressed simply but neatly with business attire of a blazer, white blouse and a light-gray skirt. Perhaps the most notable item was her dark gray, brimmed hat. I looked at her face in the mirror again. She had a strong, New York-girl face with a prominent nose. It wasn’t at all dainty or “cute.” Her skin had a nice olive complexion. There was a certain intensity in her that I noticed over the course of the evening. I also would detect something else, a kind of sadness or anger that I think she was trying to hide.
We had just reached the first light at White Plains Road when she said, “By the way, do you like my hat? It’s new; this is the first time I’ve worn it.”
By this time I’d learned to always praise a lady’s hat or purse or anything else if asked for an opinion, “Yes, it really looks good on you.”
“Why, thank you.” Then she said, “How about my shoes? I have these nice strappy new sandals tonight.” She put one leg up on the back of my seat. The partition was slid back; I was often careless about that so I could hear what people were saying. I had only to glance over to see her black sandal right next to me. Otherwise her foot was bare – she had no stockings of any kind.
I called them “very cool.” I didn’t think cab drivers threw the word “chic” around very often. Then she leaned forward to look at the right side of the dash where there was a holder and a light for my hack license.
“So you’re Paul. I’m Minerva.”
“Nice to meet you.” She sat back and I noted an odd smile, more like a smirk. I had never known a Minerva and I wondered what her last name was. I imagined it being one that made for an awkward combination, something like Schumacher or Grobdruck. I had even known a kid in high school from the unfortunate House of Slutsky.
We had a few blocks to the Parkway entrance. “I guess it’s a bit lonely driving a cab, isn’t it?”
I wasn’t that good with cabbie small talk, “Sort of. You meet a lot of people briefly and then you hardly remember them in a week.”
“It must be hard if you have a wife or girlfriend, I mean with the long hours and all. If you don’t mind me asking, do you have a wife or girl out there?”
I had also learned that, when meeting a new female, one should be cautious about revealing one’s past or present romantic status. I did know that few if any women got involved with taxi drivers they met on a ride or elsewhere. It was not like Travis Bickle and Betsy the campaign worker. I decided to say, “It’s sort of unsettled right now.”
She laughed at that, “Okay, unsettled, I get it. I suppose I’m kind of unsettled myself at the moment.”
Just to be conversational I said, “Really, how so?”
“Well I used to be married, but I’m separated now.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Again I heard that clever little laugh, “Don’t be sorry. He’s the one who’s going to be sorry, you can be sure of that.”
At this point I was circling up the entrance ramp to the southbound Parkway; for the next mile or so we’d be passing the Bronx Zoo. I was managing my first impressions of this Minerva. Already I was wary of her, and I let her have the next line. I was guessing she was in her late twenties or even about thirty. I was twenty-three at the escort güngören time.
“So Paul, do you get women who try to pick you up or do you try to get them yourself? I mean for more than a cab ride, of course.”
I had to improvise something. Already I knew that the low status of cab drivers didn’t make them desirable pick-up material. Probably the only women they ever banged in their cars were streetwalkers.
“Actually Minerva, it’s not an exciting job in that particular way. Maybe it happens sometimes, but it hasn’t for me.”
Now we were going over a soaring trestle above some subway yards; we could see the Midtown skyline to the south. We were near the first major junction point, the one with the Cross-Bronx Expressway. I said, “Do you want to take this?”
She interrupted, “No, just keep going south.”
Then she said, “I get it how this job is not exactly a pick-up paradise.” She seemed to be insinuating something about social class there, but I was hardly surprised by that.
She had more to say, “However, I bet there are times when girls do tease you.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Oh, just for the fun of it. You’re up there and they’re back here. You can look all you want but you can’t touch. You know, a little power game, for some kicks.”
I was getting unnerved by this the game but I was surprised at how fast Minerva made her next move. She said, “Like this,” and she put her feet up on her seat cushion, pulled her skirt up and spread her legs.
We were at the next junction – the Bruckner Expressway – and I had stopped at a traffic signal. I looked back, and there was enough light from the streetlamps for me to see up her legs and notice her bare bush. She had no stockings and no underpants. Like her face, her body was also not dainty. There was a certain solidity in her bare limbs that caught my attention.
She said, “Turn on the dome light.”
“Somebody might see you.”
“Fuck them. We’re going to be zipping down the road anyway. If they see me, they can jerk off about it later.”
I did turn on the dome, and as the signal changed I accelerated into the southbound Bruckner.
“So Paul, notice anything unusual?”
I looked back again, “Yeah Minerva, you’re not wearing any panties.” I sounded surprisingly churlish. “Why is that?”
“I guess it just makes me feel so damn sexy. I’m such a hot woman that I have to express it however I can.” Now she leaned forward on the back of my seat and said quietly, “But I do have a back-up pair in my purse. I girl should always have a spare, just in case.”
Just in case of what? But I didn’t ask. She went back to her legs-spread position with her feet up on the seat cushion. I figured I would let her have the next word, and I didn’t have to wait long.
“So do you like me being nude under my clothes? Do you like my pussy? I mean, it’s hot and bare and more than a little damp, so I assume you do.”
I felt uneasy. I didn’t trust Minerva; I knew she was toying with me to satisfy some less than savory needs of her own. That was what bothered me about Minerva’s display of herself.
I couldn’t come up with a response, so I said nothing. Meanwhile, I kept to the right-hand lane so I didn’t have to deal with the faster traffic in the other two.
Minerva wasn’t dissuaded by my silence. She said, “Being separated, I do get horny at times. Quite a lot, in fact!” I heard another of those snarky laughs, “It’s hard to date guys who are – well, who are satisfactory by my standards anyway.”
On this elevated section of the Bruckner, she had a new gimmick for me. She pushed her skirt back down; then she got her feet on the floor and turned around. That was so she could wave her ass at me.
“Look at my nice, tight skirt. And it has a zipper in the back. You know what you’d see if you pulled that down?”
I called her on that, “Your asshole, I assume.”
“Oh, you’re crude.” But I could tell she wasn’t really offended. “By the way, does this skirt make my behind look too big?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
That made her laugh, “So you like girls with some flesh on them?”
I decided to give her a backhanded compliment, “Yes, Minerva, and you’d be one of them.”
“Then I’m the girl for you.”
Yeah honey, go on a date with me and we’ll confirm that.
Soon she was sitting back in her skirt-up, legs apart position. She reached into her purse and pulled out something, “You know what a dildo is, correct?”
Just because I was a cab driver didn’t mean that I was stupid. “Yes, I know what it is.”
The one she pulled out was a white plastic tube. “This isn’t one of those that’s shaped exactly like a penis. There’s something – I don’t know, vul-gah about those. And it’s not a vibrator, but it’s certainly thick enough to be effective.”
Just as she positioned it against her crotch she said, “I’m not one of those girls who uses vibrators; no electric assist for me. bayan escort Completely manual, hands-on; that’s more than adequate. And this thing does have a substantial thickness to it, as I mentioned.”
I wasn’t completely sure why, but I was finding her very annoying. Do I actually dislike her?
She asked, “Paul, you’ve seen women masturbate before, haven’t you?”
“Of course I have.”
“Right, one of those unsettled girlfriends of yours,” and she laughed. I thought, I hope this chick gives me something really good as a payoff when she’s done with her stunt. She continued, “It’s fairly simple, I just move my trusty joystick in and out while my other hand circles my clitoris. Not too close, just around the edges. Here, I’ll show you.”
I had driven to the southern edge of the borough. If we were really going to 79th Street, I had several bridges to choose from to enter Manhattan. I decided to stay on course and follow the road around until it turned back north and became the Major Deegan Expressway. Minerva would tell me if she wished otherwise.
Minerva, however, was busy pleasuring herself. I would catch her in the mirror, and I would turn my head as often as I dared. My curiosity got to me in spite of myself.
She had to tell me her thoughts, “I like imagining this guy at work, the boss of my boss. It would be a real coup if I could score with him.” Why, do you plan on screwing your way to a promotion? I wanted to say that but I didn’t. I was also bugged that she seemed to be done flirting with me, if that was the correct term for it, and she had moved her focus to this guy at her office.
She continued in that vein, “It’s not happening yet, however. He likes these little blonde twats; he can’t appreciate a voluptuous brunette like me. Give me some time, though, and I’ll bag him.”
I had to know, “Are you thinking of him now?”
“Oh yes, very much so.”
I noted again that I wasn’t the object of her present fantasy. But what did you really expect?
I had seen other women do this to themselves and it had always been entertaining. Of course, it was usually followed by a vigorous screwing which, for me, made for a great second act. I was already surmising that this Minerva might not offer much more on this particular evening. When we were passing Yankee Stadium I was feeling more detached from whatever she was doing back there.
My mind wandered, and I thought of Joan Didion’s Maria Wyeth driving aimlessly around Los Angeles’s freeway system. It seemed one could do that on New York’s expressways too, but a nighttime excursion offered the best opportunity.
I thought of going east on the Cross-Bronx Expressway, which would take us in a big circle back to our starting point. However, I distrusted that road; it was one of the most treacherous highways in the country. I stayed the course and continued north. I thought of the straight shot up to Montreal 370 miles away.
Minerva’s legs were far apart and her feet were still up on the seat cushion. She didn’t have anything to say to me, but she was moaning about somebody named Don. I assumed that was the studly managerial guy she wanted to bang for office success.
It didn’t take her long to climax. I knew women could do it fairly quickly when in the right mood, and Minerva seemed motivated now. Just before she came she cried out, “Oh Don, you have a huge penis; my cunt is open for you!” That was followed by something unintelligible. Then she collapsed back into her seat and relaxed.
I hadn’t been driving particularly fast but we were nearly at Van Cortlandt Avenue at this point. She said, “So I bet you’re turned on. I assume you have an erection now?”
Despite my pose of indifference, I had gotten aroused anyway. I decided to tell the truth and be as casual as possible about it, “Yeah, Minerva, I definitely have one now.”
She giggled and said, “How about you take it out and show it to me? Just exit the road somewhere.”
I tried to gauge how to handle this. I decided to be coy or clever or whatever. “If you’re so eager to see my dick, how about we park and I go back there with you? You won’t be disappointed.”
“Oh no, you’re staying up there. I can look over the seat back.”
I was keeping track of how far north we were traveling. In a few minutes we’d cross the city line into Westchester County. I had to turn back soon if I didn’t want to go too far afield. Minerva had more plans. “If we do park, you can jerk-off for me. I want to see how far you can shoot it. Maybe get it onto the speedometer.” Yeah, and who gets to clean that off? I will.
I persisted, “As I said, I’ll come back there for that. You can give me a hand, so to speak.” I tried to sweeten the deal, “I’ll rub your cunt and clit at the same time if you like. I’ll even go down on you after I’m done with myself.”
“You will not!” I thought I had offered some pretty good terms there. “As for yourself, you’ve already got two hands. You don’t need mine, so stay in the escort güneşli front.” I already knew that in chick-speak “you’ve got two hands” meant, quite literally, “go fuck yourself.” Her voice softened, “I do have some hand lotion if that would help.”
I gave myself a couple of moments to consider her offer, “No, I think I’m going to take a pass on that.”
“Why, you watched me? That was like a free peep show for you. They pay to see that downtown.” Somehow the gender dynamics of “watching” were different when the roles were reversed. I would do it for a girlfriend but not a stranger.
I tried to explain that to her, “For a guy to do that, in front of a woman – unless he has something going with her – then it’s kind of humiliating. And you and I definitely don’t have anything going.”
“Really? You’ve got some nerve. You’re an arrogant little creep, you know that?”
First I had to decide on a turn-around location. There was an interchange at McLean Avenue that would work fine for that. Then I had to think of a comeback to her statement. My usual tactic in life was to placate people, but now I decided to get dramatic.
“Actually, Minerva, you are a cock-teasing little bitch, that’s what I think.”
“I beg your pardon?” I knew it was not a good sign when a woman said that.
“You heard me.” I went for more nastiness, “Also, you seem to be a whore at work, screwing the managers to get promotions you probably don’t deserve.”
She handled that with more restraint than I had expected. She was fuming but fairly quiet about it, “I don’t have to take this shit. Take me back, drop me at that diner at 231st and Broadway.”
I had entered the road again and we were going back south. “All right, 231st it is.” For the first time that evening I drove with some hustle. Minerva sat silently, arms folded, staring out the window.
At 231st I pulled up across the street from the diner. “What’s the fucking fare?” I was impressed with her venomous attitude.
“Seventeen forty, miss.”
She pulled some bills out of the wallet in her purse, “Here, take your damn money, asshole.” She hurled her roll into the front seat and bills fluttered onto the cushion. She stayed in her seat as I said, “Hey honey, I hope you get that promotion.”
I counted my take: six singles. Something was amiss. Usually when people couldn’t pay they would just got out and left. They might say, “I’ll be right back” or “I’ve got to go upstairs and get some.” Then I’d never see them again.
In one or two cases they would put whatever they had available into the money slot to placate me. In all these situations – fortunately they didn’t happen too often – I had little recourse. I wasn’t going to get out and chase them. Calling the police would be a waste of time. In those cases I had to make up the shortage myself. I knew some would come back in the 49% of bookings that was my paycheck.
But Minerva just sat there as if daring me to do something. Something about her arrogance reminded me of the Phyllis Dietrichson character from Double Indemnity, although she wasn’t blonde as Barbara Stanwyck had been.
Since she was sitting there, I did say something, “You’re still here? You do know this is not even close to being enough.”
She seemed quite calm, “So what do propose to do about it?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
She thought about it a bit and then said, “Just keep driving.”
I almost asked her where to go, but I didn’t. I considered the long trip down to 79th Street she had first proposed. I had stopped the meter, but out of sheer habit I almost turned it on again. Instead, I just shut it down entirely. I knew the light on the roof would be on now.
I wandered west to Bailey Avenue and then I headed up the hill on Van Cortlandt Avenue. I figured I’d go back to Lydig and get rid of her.
Along the way, she said, “Since I’ve been such a naughty lady, you should give me a good, long spanking.”
I was so surprised that I pulled over to the curb. “You’re playing with my head again.”
“No, I’m completely serious.”
I dared ask her, “Do you want it now, and on your bare behind?”
“Of course, that’s the only way if could be effective. We just need a spot with some privacy.”
I called her bluff, “I know a good place; we can be there in a few minutes. It’s behind the subway yards.”
I drove to the back of the Jerome Avenue yards. There was a tall cinder-block wall that hid the tracks. Cars had to park head-in on this particular block, so I pulled into to a gap and turned off the engine and lights.
“This looks pretty good,” she said.
“Leave it to a cab driver to know where to go.”
I still suspected that this was a prank. In a moment I said, “I have to get in the back with you.”
“Then come on over.”
I shrugged and went back there. There was more light from streetlamps than I would have preferred. Anyway, we could see each other fairly well.
I said, “I’m right handed, so you know how to place yourself.” I was still prepared to find that this was all a stunt and she’d laugh at me. But she did get herself into position. She put her feet on the floor and placed herself across my lap. Then she reached back and yanked her skirt up. I already knew she wasn’t wearing panties. She kept her hat on.
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