Three-Way on the Freeway - Part One

A few days ago, one of my loyal fans, and best friend, Johnny Wraith, left me a message saying, to the effect, that he'd like to see me post a story about women changing their clothing in the back seat of the cab. At that time I had to refuse, because up until that point in time, I'd never had the experience of having women, or even just one woman, change her clothing in the backseat of my cab.

So here we are today. Up until a few minutes ago, I was getting ready to go to work. My morning ablutions were complete. All I needed to do was get dressed, grab the keys to the cab, and hit the door, ready to start a new day of schlepping people around the Phoenix Metro area. But, for some reason Johnny's request kept turning over in my mind. He really wanted to read a story about women changing their clothes in the back seat of the car.

And I really wanted to give him that story! But, I didn't want to cheat. I didn't want to make up a tale, and pass it off as the truth. I'm just not built for that kind of dishonesty. (Oh, don't worry, I'm no saint. When a situation calls for it, I'll be as dishonest as I need to be to get the job done. But this wasn't one of those kind of situations.) And I couldn't just provide a fiction story of this type, because that would not have fulfilled Johnny's purpose.

You see, Johnny Wraith is a writer himself, and a good one. If he wanted to read a story about women changing their clothes in the back of my cab, I suppose he could have just written it himself. But he didn't. Not that he's lazy. If I asked Johnny to write me a story about women changing their clothes in the back of his car, he'd whip one out in about ninety minutes. Flat. So he clearly has the ability to produce such a tale. But like I said, such a story would not have fulfilled his purpose, which was to be titillated by a true story, one that happened to me, in the back of my cab, involving women changing their clothes.

You know, maybe titillated is the wrong word to use here, because it implies that Johnny was looking for some sort of sexual fulfillment by the reading of a story like this. Nothing could be further from the truth. He just really likes to read, or for that matter, hear, about weird situations that happened to other people. He says that they stoke his imagination, and make him feel more alive, as if he has had the experience himself, and has therefore received some sort of blessing from God in the form of an expanded consciousness. At least that's his explanation for what's going on, as near as I can tell. Whatever.

Frankly, I think that Johnny is a voyeur. Now, I don't mean that in some sort of a creepy, Peeping Tom, sort of way, skulking around bedroom windows at night, hoping to catch a view of some unmentionable goings-on. I mean that he likes to watch life, to experience it as fully as he can. He knows that he can't have every possible experience himself, but if he hears or reads about an experience, he is able to consume it, to take it within himself, so that he can have something of the experience. He says that this allows him to be more fulfilled as a person....

Damn it! Now I'm starting to do it! Here I am, making rationalizations for the behavior of another person, simply because that person happens to be my friend. Folks, it's time to face facts: my friend, Johnny Wraith, had a mild kink. He loves pornography, in all its forms, but especially the written word. I don't really think that he's addicted to pornography, though. His love of the genre is not debilitating. It is not all consuming. As far as I can tell, pornography has no negative impact at all upon Johnny Wraith's life. He functions as an otherwise normal person. Who just happens to like porn.

There, I've said it. It's out in the open: Johnny Wraith likes porn! Sorry, Johnny, for outing you! But it was inevitable. If not me, then someone else would have flung open the door to that particular closet. Don't you feel better, Johnny? I know I do!

So, anyway, with all of these thoughts in my mind, I sat down before my computer, still somewhat moist from my recent morning wake up shower, and began to bang out this post. Everything that I wrote up to now is a prelude to what will follow.

The story that you are about to read is dedicated to my best friend, Johnny Wraith. But, wait! Before you get all hot and bothered, keep in mind that it is not a story about something as mundane as women changing their clothes in the back of the car. But, this story might be just as good, maybe even better than a clothes-changing story. I call it...

The Three-way on the Freeway
About six years ago, in the summer of 2001, in those halcyon days predating the September 11 Attacks and the fall of the Twin Towers, I was working the night shift, driving a cab. Not that it's absolutely germane to the story, but I believe that it was late July when the events that I'm about to relate transpired. I had just started working for a large Phoenix-area cab company. But I wasn't a newbie in the biz, because I had just left another large cab company, for whom I had worked about four years. Because I had put in about five or six shifts per week over those four years, I had about 1100 to 1200 shifts under my belt. I'm not going to say that I had seen it all, because, even to me, it was clear that I hadn't. But I had seen quite a lot of "it."

So, on the night before the night during which the event that this story is all about occurred, I was at my favorite perch, a place where cabbies hang out waiting for fares. Several other cabbies were there with me, including a woman driver who at the time was a friend of mine. I'll call her Patsy. It's not her real name, but to prevent possible legal action (don't ask why; she's just that way), I've changed it.

I don't know how it happened, but we all started talking about things we either did, or did not, want to see happening the backseat of our respective cabs. I don't know who, but someone brought up the topic of people having sex in the back seat, while the cabbie drove. I don't remember if this person was pro or con, but I do remember Patsy's reaction.

"OH, I think that would be so cool!"

Do tell. I can't say that this surprised me in the least. I had known Patsy for about six weeks at the time, and had formed the conclusion that if it was weird, kinky or unsavory, she was into it. But don't get me started on THAT topic; it's the subject for another story. Or now that I think about, her story would probably fill a book. Yes, definitely a book.

I had to disagree with Patsy, and told her so, in a very pointed fashion.

"Let me tell you something. If there's one thing I hope I never see, it's anyone having sex in the backseat of my cab. And that includes all possible combinations and numbers of participants: man and woman, man and man, woman and woman. Man, woman and another woman. Man and dog. Woman and dog. Man, woman and dog. Woman, donkey and a parrot. Sixteen tiny reindeer and a horse that sweats. It just doesn't matter. I don't care who they are, in what combination, or what kink. Or no kink at all. If it's sexual in nature, I don't want to see it!"

Now I'm no prude. I have my preferences, and I'm sure you have yours, and I do not tend to make judgments based on those preferences. But I don't want an audience when I'm engaging in my preferences, and I don't want to be your audience when you're engaging in yours. Look: my cab is my office. Would you want me coming over and having sex in your office, on your desk? Messing up your paperwork? It doesn't matter what your answer is, you are not doing it in MY office, messing up MY upholstery. Frankly, to me, people having backseat sex were my nightmare.

Naturally, having said all this, my nightmare came true, the very next night.

On that fateful evening, at about midnight on a Wednesday, I got a call to do a pickup at the Tiajuana Country Club, a nightclub at the intersection of Ray Road and 32nd Avenue, in Ahwatukee, a Phoenix suburb. As luck would have it, I was only about five minutes away, so I was Johnny-on-the-spot. It turned out that it was a young, college aged-couple that had called for the cab. They must not have been expecting me to arrive so soon, because when I arrived to pick them up, the door host, a cute young thing herself, told me that they were waiting around to the side of the building.

"This can't be good," I said to her, as we both started walking to the side of the building.

"Why's that?," she asked in reply.

"Well, it's been my experience that when people are waiting for me around the side of the building, then trouble's abrewin'. Either they're drunk and passed out, or they're hiding something that they don't want me to see, or, they're puking their guts out. This last is usually not a problem. Better they puke on the side of your building than the inside of my car. But, sometimes they puke on themselves, and when that happens, then I've come all the way here for nothing."

"Why's that?"

"Well, when someone wears their bodily fluids on the outside of their body, I don't let them get on the inside of my car. If I don't let them in, then I don't make any money. So be it, the alternative is too gruesome to contemplate."

"Yeah, I see what you mean."

At this point we came to the corner of the building and looked around the side, but there no one was to be seen. But, I heard voices. Odd. Where were the people? I decided to solve this problem by asking in a loud voice,

"Did anyone call for a cab?"

A disembodied voice replied,

"We did!"

The door host and I both looked around, but couldn't see anyone.

"Down here!", said the voice.

I looked down. Where I saw my customers. On the ground. Both of them. A man and a woman. He on top of her. Doing you know what. Nice... But not really.

"Take your time," I said. "I'll wait over by the cab."

I turned and walked back to my car, the door host at my side.

"This ought to be an interesting trip, don't you think?." I asked her.

"I don't know, maybe it'll be fun!," she replied.

Maybe it'll be fun? Somehow, I had the feeling that we weren't EVEN on the same wavelength.

To be continued...

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Click here to read "Threeway on the Freeway - Part Two"