Drive Special Edition – Crosstown Traffic

This is a special edition of my Drive series of stories which came to me as a result of tonight’s events.

The traffic in the cities of the western world gets worse by the year. I’m lucky in that I only have to skirt around the edge of a city on my way back home. I’ve been fortunate enough never to have worked in a city centre. It would drive me mad not to know that the countryside is only a few footfalls away.

As the urban sprawl increases and everyone has a car the road network, even in our relatively rural location, can get snarled up. That happened tonight. The road into the village is being resurfaced and some bright spark ignored the “loose chippings” sign and the 10 mph limit currently in place at a T-junction about a mile from our house. The policeman who had the unenviable task of redirecting frustrated drivers on the best way around the accident on the narrow roads told me that the driver had put the car through a wall. I hope he’s alright, though I’m not feeling terribly well disposed towards him as it added 45 minutes to my journey home.

Anyway, stuck in traffic, the intense sun turning my small, non-airconditioned car into a mobile oven I spotted someone. She wasn’t local, I’d have noticed her before. She was just the type Suzanne likes, strong features, mid to late 30s, sun glasses, dark brown hair, black top with large white polka dots gathered under a pair of sensuously curved boobs. She was sitting in an old, but beautifully maintained cream MGB GT. It was a rag top, an early one, before the hideous plastic bumpers that were fitted to make the vehicle comply with US safety regs.

I was stationary on the main road, she was trying to join the flow of traffic from a sideroad, but nobody was going anywhere. I acknowledged her and indicated, with a nod, that she could pull in front of me, when the queue moved enough for her to do so. She nodded back and smiled her gratitude. It was a slow smile. It started off as a genuine thank you, but lingered like a lover’s kiss, not wanting to end. I smiled back. She dragged her gaze away from me. Obviously enjoying the flirtation, safe in her car, me confined to mine, a little mutual appreciation. No strings. A mutual ego boost.

My collar was already undone, tie loosened. I pulled on the parking break and killed the engine. We were going nowhere. She fanned herself with her left hand, chin raised, head carelessly thrown back, brown hair cascading over the seat back. Careless my arse, she was preening for my benefit.

She retrieved a bottle of mineral water from the passenger seat and unscrewed the top. She opened her mouth to receive the bottle, slowly, carefully, glancing in my direction to ensure her audience was watching. Air bubbles displaced the liquid in the bottle as she drank long and hard. Thirst sated, her lips relinquished the container. She allowed a trickle of water to spill, down her chin and onto her chest. The sunlight glinted on the rivulet as it disappeared between her breasts.

I smiled a lascivious smile.

The traffic moved a few meters forward, she pulled into the space and we were confined to exchanging glances in her rear view mirror while the traffic crawled until our paths diverged at the next junction.

Pity she’s not local.

Tags: jimi hendrix, crosstown traffice, cross town traffic, flirting