This story is a short one, so I’ll fly through it. I thought about not adding it or throwing it into an appendix or solely putting it on my blog, but I felt the shock value of it was significant enough to let it through. It was about 1 AM and I had started to make my way towards downtown for the crowds. Usually I wouldn’t be out this late on a Thursday night but it was a holiday weekend and I was off the next day. I figured it would be a good opportunity to make some extra coin. So far that was not the case as I had had only one call so far this night. I was about to hit the interstate when I received a request from the south side of the not-quite-as-big city. As luck would have it, the route has me heading down the busiest road in the area and I’m catching every single red light. Which brings me to my next issue: why the fuck are there so many people on the road at 1 AM on a Thursday night / Friday morning?
I pull into a shopping center parking lot that I’m somewhat familiar with because there’s a pretty good tattoo shop around. I am immediately greeted in front of a sport’s bar by a gruff bearded gentleman wearing head to toe leather. Think more “biker gang” and less “bondage gimp.” As he flags me down I coast up to him and lower my window. He greets me with a smile and fucking sunglasses at night. He proceeds to tell me that it is a friend of his that requested the ride and that she would be out momentarily. Before he finishes telling me this, a tall brunette steps out of the doorway in a white tank top and black jeans. She is slim and rather attractive, late thirties to early forties and about a pack a day habit. Her face showed her age but what I could see of her body surely didn’t.
The brunette flings the back door open and plops down in the back, confirming she was in the right spot before closing her door. I assured her of who I was and she told me her name and that she was a waitress at this establishment. She seemed tired after a long shift and by the time we got out of the parking lot on onto the main road, she had gone silent. That’s fine with me, it’s not that easy to force and fake a conversation. I saw a curious movement in my mirror and glanced up to see her in the back rubbing her hand across her breast. I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she had an itch or needed to adjust her underwire. It’s the same for guys. Sometimes our balls just plain get in the way and we’ve got to do some adjusting. Just don’t adjust too much then you have to walk around with a book or something in front of your crotch. Unless you can tuck it into your waistband. But for her, it was a rather long itch.
The ride was rather short, we were only going a few blocks; less than ten minutes total. As we were pulling into her neighborhood I heard a sigh come from the back seat. I looked in my mirror to see her leaned over with her knees together and a hand between her thighs. Doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She’s tired, it’s been a long day. Maybe sitting like that relieves back pain from wearing those uncomfortable heels she had on. I don’t know. I don’t wear high heels particularly often.
We slowed to a stop in front of a plain white house; the exterior and lawn devoid of decoration. Not even a porch light shone in the dismal looking abode. She cracked her door and stuck one leg out before pulling her purse out and laying it in her lap. She started pulling items out and inventoried what she needed; keys, phone, etc. Everything important was followed with a “Need that. Need that.” She then pulled out a gold-foil wrapped Trojan condom with a “Hope I need that.” As she returned her items to her purse and looked up at me. I was hoping she was looking for cash for a tip, but no such transaction exchanged hands.
Her: “This is going to sound weird.”
Me: “I hear that a lot.”
Her: “I bet. Can I see your hands?”
Me: “I haven’t heard that one before. I’m not armed, if that’s what your worried about.”
Her: “Oh no, just want to see something.”
I’m thinking “Bitchin’! I’m going to get my palm read!” and I turn towards her the best I can; raising my hands in front of me with my palms out. The expression on her face changed slightly and she poked my left hand. Curious as that was, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe she was looking for a gnarly gang tattoo or something. She opened her door the rest of the way and began to step out.
Her: “That’s a shame.”
Me: “What’s that?”
Her: “You’re married.”
She was poking at my wedding ring, which apparently disappointed her. She grabbed her purse and stepped out, turning back towards me and leaning back in the vehicle.
Her: “I was going to let you eat my pussy.”
She closed the door behind her and walked away. I’m glad she didn’t give me time to respond because I’m not sure I would’ve known how to. We are all familiar with the old adage: “Eating ain’t Cheating” but what do you say to “missed opportunity” like that? “I’m sorry, but thanks for the offer?” “Well now you and my wife have something in common; I’ve sexually disappointed both of you.” “Can’t we just cuddle?” I drove a way with one thought making me smile. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one fishing for a tip.” Just the tip.