Here's the scenario: Towards the tail end of a Merlot-fueled, yuck-fest of a first date, I manage to steal a darkened sidewalk kiss, right around the corner from The Cub Room on Sullivan Street. After a bit more wine tasting/hand holding, I sense that Phase I of the evening is starting to lose its legs. We are at least 100 blocks away from either of our apartments so I do the natural thing and flag down a cab.
As she’d ducking down to get in the car, she hesitates and turns to me. I’m totally sensing some trepidation on her part; not 'date rape' trepidation, but 'you've already shown yourself to be aggressive, so don’t try any funny stuff' trepidation. I give her a pretty disingenuous 'don't worry, I'm harmless' lip curl. It's enough to convince her. She slides in.
The mix of anticipation and uncertainty, especially on a first date, reaches a peak just about now. The events of the next fifteen to twenty minutes (depending on traffic) are very much, ahem, up for grabs . "Two stops, please," she bleats cordially to the driver while looking directly at me. Very well, but if I'm going home alone, I'm damn well going to maximize this cab ride.
I eschew screwing around and put my hand on her leg a few blocks into the ride. I'm happy to learn that it’s not immediately brushed off. She moves closer. So much for no funny stuff.
The fast twitch muscles in my fingers begin to heat up, as we kiss the taste (which had notes of plum and licorice, fyi) out of each others' mouths. I can hear the blood thumping into my eardrums and feel the adrenaline swooshing around the rest of my head. I fast-twitch her left bra strap over her shoulder. She recoils a little bit at first, but I quickly pursue, trying to stomp out this sudden pang of chastity. It seems to work as we’re pressed hard against the door, my hand up and through the bottom of her shirt.
On the other hand, my other hand is elsewhere and initial readings indicate that she's as hot and humid as a late afternoon in the Brazilian rainforest, as is the vinyl seat beneath her. I hear a whoosh now. The driver has flipped on the rear defogger - and not because of the weather. My eyes are drowning in wine and lust, as I'm sure, are hers. This, of course, is right at the point when we exit the FDR Drive...Fuuaaack! I should have told him to take First Avenue.
All things considered, it's probably a good time for her to start buttoning-up/drying off. The cab stops. I look at her with as much wine-sloshed, puppy-dog as I can muster and ask her if I can get out with her. I know the answer but there's no reason for her to look at me as if I just asked her to split the cab fare.
Magically she's freshened herself up enough in last fifteen seconds to face her doorman. I kiss her goodbye, as she climbs over me and out. I now know that in ten blocks or so, a Saturday Night Jerkfest to end all jerkfests will soon be in the offing. Before that however, I unfortunately have to face my doorman.
This story is not unique and I've always been quite a taxicab Lothario. But I don't think it's just me. I really believe that many, many girls are closet exhibitionists (if you haven't seen the skit in Woody Allen's Everything You Wanted to Know about Sex, but Were Afraid to Ask, where he's married to a woman who can only have sex in public, you must.) What better and safer way for them to express this, but in a cab. Only one other person in the room, whom they'll never see again, and he's facing the complete opposite way. It's softcore for sure, but it's still a very public display.
I try not to analyze it too much and once in a while I do get the Heisman. Maybe it's merely that some girls are just as horny as us. What do I give a shit? I'm happy to oblige. And if there is a next time, the cab is probably making just one stop.
This time, unfortunately, it's only Jerkfest fodder. At least I have some new material.
***********
Next time you see a Geico Caveman commercial, close your eyes and see if you visualize Bill Walton. Then immediately open your eyes and get that image out of your head, for chrissakes.
No comments:
Post a Comment