Three-Way on the Freeway - Part Two

Hi there. Thanks for stopping by again. Welcome to part two of "Three-Way on the Freeway." Please allow me to recap the story thus far:

One Tuesday night in July of 2001, I was hanging out with a bunch of other cabbies, discussing things we'd like to see happen in our cabs. Someone mentioned that he'd like to see people having sex in the back of his cab. Several people agreed with this guy. I disagreed, considering this to be my nightmare. The very next night, Wednesday, my nightmare came true. Arriving outside of a suburban nightclub at about midnight, I discovered that my customers were waiting off to the side of the building. On the ground. Having sex.

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

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 1

And now, the rest (almost) of the story...

I really wasn't looking forward to this trip. Having spent a good portion of my adult life working in the field of Criminal Justice, I had learned a thing or two about human psychology. This enabled me to make some fairly accurate assumptions regarding a person's future behavior based upon a behavioral snap-shot taken at the moment I first meet them. Anyone can do this when the behavioral clues are screaming at them. But what if the clues are more subtle?

For example, that two people were having sex, in a relatively open place, is not the clue that needs to be examined. This is just an overt behavior, which in reality, doesn't really say much about the participants. The clue that needs to be keyed in on? How did they react when they were discovered?

When I came upon them, a more "normal" reaction might have been one of surprise, and embarrassment or shame. In this case, I would have expected an exclamation like "Oh, shit!", followed by a desperate attempt to cover themselves up, with maybe a "We'll be with you in a moment!" thrown in for good measure. This would have told me that they really hadn't expected to be discovered. A valid expectation on their part? No, but in the throes of passion, when the little head does the thinking for the big head, reality is often denied, and people do weird things in weird places. Like full bore, man-on-top-woman-on-bottom sex. On the ground. Off to the side of a nightclub in a white bread, suburban neighborhood.

But these two didn't react that way. They were nonchalant. They didn't care that they might be discovered, the proof being that actually being discovered was no big deal to them. I'm not saying they were hoping to be discovered, although that might have been part of their plan. They didn't care that they might be discovered because they really didn't care about what anyone else thought about them.

That they really didn't care about what anyone else thought about them also meant that they really didn't care about anyone else's feelings. What about my feelings of surprise, embarrassment and shame?

You might be saying, "So what's the big deal. Get over it. Don't be such a cry-baby. They we just having sex, for Pity's sake. Man up, and move on."

Fine. Your reaction is a valid one, unless you've put more thought into the situation, like I have. What about my other feelings, like the need to feel comfortable and safe with someone that I just met? Who's sitting behind me as I drive down the street. Inches from the back of my neck. How can I feel like I'm in control, in the presence of someone who's behavior is so clearly out of control?

Feel differently now?

I'm not saying I was scared, far from it. Just creeped out. But I would have been more comfortable with these folks if they had just waited inside the bar for me, like "ordinary" people do. Now, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn't have long to wait.

To my surprise, they got to the cab almost before I did, and hopped right in, as if nothing untoward at all had just happened. I got a better look at them. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, like people in jail might wear. She was dressed in a frilly, "foofy" dress, almost like a ballerina's tutu. Odd. It wasn't Halloween, and I didn't think that the nightclub was hosting a masquerade ball.

"Where too?", I asked.

"Over by the university," he replied.

I started the meter, and away we went.

The parking lot wasn't overly large, but there were a lot of curbs to negotiate before I could get to the street. Glancing in the rear-view mirror just before turning onto Ray Road, I could see they were already going at it, necking up a storm.

"As long as it's just kissing, and maybe some fondling, it'll be okay," I remember thinking. I wouldn't have to talk to them, in that case. Not that I wanted to, anyway. I accelerated east towards I-10. The university was about tewlve miles away, a fifteen minute trip, more or less, if traffic was light. Maybe it would be an uneventful trip after all.

But you already know what I was about to learn. It would not be an ordinary cookie-cutter trip. How do I know that I know that you know this? Well, obviously there would not really be a story if all they did was make-out the whole way. The title of this story isn't "Couple Found Humping Outside Nightclub." It's "Three-Way on the Freeway."

We weren't even a mile down the road before the floorshow started. Their fumbling and groping at one another became more and more frantic. It was so intense that the car was actually rocking. He pushed her down onto the seat, and got on top of her. Someone opened his zipper. He groaned, she moaned. She sighed, he grunted. The car started moving up and down, as if we were going over a series of speed bumps.

I started giving myself a pep-talk.

"Ignore them. You're a professional. Keep your eyes forward, and concentrate on what you're doing. This'll be over soon enough. Gut it out. This probably won't be as bad as the time you had to drive thirty miles with a woman in labor. Now that was a wild ride! Any stain they might leave can't even begin to compare with what would have happened if her water had broken!"

Thinking back on the experience with the pregnant lady calmed me down.

"This'll be a walk in the park, compared to that!"

And it was a walk in the park. If that park was named "Central." As in, 'Central Park in New York City.' A dangerous place to be after dark, and sometimes not very safe in broad sunlight.

Speaking of broads, as I got on the freeway, the two lovebirds switched positions. They rolled over, and she got on top. I knew this, because she was blocking my view of the rear-view mirror. He started bucking so hard, I wondered if she'd be able to hang on for the full eight seconds. They started to sound like two cats in heat.

Ten miles to go.

"You can do this! Ignore them. At least she's just making a baby, not giving birth to one!"

They switched positions again. And again. And again... They had more moves than the Kama Sutra.

"Forget about it. They're assholes. You'll be done with them soon, then they'll be out of your life forever!"

She got on top of him once more. Then it happened. To steady herself, she grabbed the back of my seat. What with his bucking, and her riding him like she was breaking a wild bronc, my seat began to be jerked back and forth. Shit. Just eight miles to go. But, it's very distracting to have your seat-back jerked back-and-forth. I did my best to ignore it. If this was the worst thing that were to happend, I'd be grateful and count myself blessed.

To be continued...

In Part One, I dedicated this story to my dear friend, Johnny Wraith, who had asked for me to write a story about women changing their clothes. Right now, even though he's over a hundred miles a way, I can hear his plaintive question.

"Hey, Cab Guy, you're on the Freeway. When do we get to the Three-Way?"

Patience, my friend, patience. All good things come to those who wait. Have patience. I certainly did.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 3"