Three-Way on the Freeway - Part Three

Hello again. Thanks for stopping in for the conclusion to the "Three-Way on the Freeway" series. Here's a recap of the story thus far:

Part One: 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.

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

Part Two: Before we even left the parking lot of the Tiajuana Country Club, the two lovebirds started going at it. Their passion became more and more intense. Meanwhile, I kept up an internal monologue designed to help me stay focused. This worked fine for a while. Then it happened. My personal space was invaded.

Click here to read "Three-way on the Freeway - Part 2"

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

So here I am, barreling down Interstate 10 at sixty-five miles an hour, with a couple of apparent sex-addicts in the back seat of my cab, humping like a pair of mad bunny rabbits hopped up on crack and Viagra. As if it wasn't distracting enough to have to listen to their animal noises of lust, and contend with the motion of the car in three dimensions (forwards due to the motive power of the engine, and back-and-forth, and up-and-down due to their wild sexual gyrations), now I had to deal with the additional distraction of the the nympho grabbing my seat. What next? Were they going to roll down the window and hang out, tongues flapping in the wind, like a couple of puppies on a Sunday ride?

I wish. At least then, with just a simple jerk of the wheel, they'd be hurled from the car, and from my life. Sure, I wouldn't collect the fare. But I was confident I could avoid manslaughter charges.

"Hey, Officer, I'm sorry they fell out of the car. Truly, I am. But everything happened so fast. They rolled down the window, started hanging out and before I knew what was going on, I had to swerve to avoid some road debris. It's a damn shame that they fell out, and died, and all of that. But what could I do? It was just so completely unexpected! By the way... did you happen to get a look at her rack? Niiiice!"

Sure, Joe Law might have his doubts about my sincerity, but what could he prove? That would be my story, and I'd stick with it.

Would I really do something like this? Well... probably not. But it's kind of fun to think about it, don't you agree?

Anyway, the Ballerina grabbed on to my seat back to steady herself while she rode the Convict like he was the last helicopter out of Viet Nam. Hard, fast, and low, dodging anti-aircraft fire all the way to the coast. This was really becoming tiresome. But I'm a professional. I just had to get these two sexual neutron bombs to the university, collect the fare, and move on with my life.

All at once, he bucked so hard that she was thrown up into the headliner, striking her head. Pausing momentarily to rub her noggin, I has a brief respite from the distraction of her yanking on my seat back. But a few seconds later, after she recovered from the blow to her melon, she moved to place her hand back on my seat.

And missed, grabbing my shoulder instead. And started to massage it. In the blink of an eye, I had gone from being in the car with them, to being part of their act.

I was part of a Three-Way on the Freeway.

Her hand upon my should started to meander. Towards my neck. Up my neck. Through the hair at the back of my head, to the hair at the top of my head. She ran her hand through my hair for several seconds, and then must have realized what she was doing, because she removed it. Probably because King Dong grabbed her, and maneuvered her around to the bottom of their personal dog pile.

"At last," I thought. At least that distraction was gone. With just a few more miles to go, it looked as if the coast was almost clear. But I still had to bring this train wreck in for a landing.

I pulled off of the freeway, and turned onto Mill Avenue, aiming the car straight at the university. Just two more miles to go, more or less. Things were calming down a bit in the backseat. Maybe they were through.

Almost as if they were reading my thoughts, and wanted to prove me a liar, things started heating up a bit. Switching positions once again, they renewed their energetic gym-nasty-ics. With a twist. She placed her legs straight up in the air. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I noticed that she was wearing boots. Black. Calf-length. With three-inch heels. Should she decide to kick someone, those things could be deadly.

Monkey boy started plunging up and down between her legs as if he was drilling for oil in the Saudi Arabian desert. Naturally, each time he went down, he displaced her legs to the side. The deeper he went, the further apart her legs went. Closer and closer her boot came towards my head. Would I survive the last three blocks to their destination? I was beginning to have grave doubts. But things had gone on too long. I had let events spin too far out of control.

Wham. Her leg hit the head rest on the top of my seat, jarring me slightly. Oh heck, that wasn't as bad as I had feared. Then it happened again, slightly harder. Again, harder. Again. And again. And again. The rhythm on my headrest became a steady staccato on the head rest. These boots were made for stomping.

Wham... wham... wham... wham... It was if some giant, insane woodpecker had flow into my cab, and was drilling my seat as if looking for dinner. Wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... wham... WHAM!!

Because she had shifted slightly, her boot missed the head rest, and landed squarly on my brain-case. This was too much! I had to do something! Quickly, before her boot clocked me again.

Thinking fast, I did the only thing I could think of in the heat of the moment. Glancing at the side-view mirror, because the rear-view was occluded, I saw that the coast was clear. I slammed on the brakes, tumbling the lovebirds off the seat, onto the floor of the car.

They apparently did not notice that anything was amiss, because they kept going at it like a couple of frantics minks. But at least I was safe from a possible concussion. And only one block from the end of the trip.

And good thing too, as I had only one block left of my sanity.

Pulling into the driveway of the dormitory they had named as their desination, I was almost free from my nightmare. Just a few yards to go. The action in the back was reaching a crescendo. Mere feet from the entry to the dormitory, they both sighed their final sighs, groaned their final groans, and moaned their final groans.

How had they managed to time the climax of their passion play so perfectedly? Had they done this before? Surely I would have heard the rumor!

I really didn't care. Approaching the door, I slowed to a stop. I could hear them rearranging their clothes. Glancing at the meter, I was about to announce the fare. But, before the words were out of my mouth, the were both out of the car like a shot. They walked behind the car, towards the doorway. I knew that it was an automatic locking door. Should they get through it, I would be unable to follow. Were they trying to stiff me? As if!

I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt, and hopped out of the cab, intercepting them at the back of the car, between them and the door.

"Hey! How about something for the effort? This isn't a hobby for me. It's my living!"

Looking sheepish, as if he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Orange Jumpsuit reached into his pocket, and pulled out his wallet. The Ballerina peered through the rear window, to look at the meter.

"The meter says nineteen. Give him thirty. He was a good sport," she said.

My heart began to melt. All of a sudden I was willing to forgive her for kicking me in the head, unintentional as it might have been. We both watched as he opened his wallet, sliding out a ten and twenty. She looked away. He slid the ten in with his thumb, and skinned out a five, as if he had practiced this grifters trick.

Sonuvabitch! I know I should have called him out on it, but I just wanted to be done with them. I took the money, and put it in my pocket. He looked at me, grinned, looked away, and headed for the door. She started to join him, but paused for her parting words:

"I hope we didn't distract you too much."

Sucking it up, I lied. At first.

"It's okay. There was no harm done. Up until the point when your boot hit me in the back of my head!"

She laughed, and headed for the door.

I couldn't resist a parting shot.

"Hey? How 'bout next time you get a room? I'm a cabbie, not a hotelier, for crying out loud!"

The door closed on their laughter.

I got in the car, sighed, turned off the meter, put the car in gear, and drove away.

Surely, the rest of the night would be all down hill. My nightmare was over.

Thanks for listening. I just had to get that off my chest.

Sincerely,

The Cab Guy