Lioness Limousine

I let Olive do her thing for a few minutes while I thought about Charlotte. I had met her a year and six months ago and if anything I loved her more than ever. The problem, of course, was that the future was cloudy once we were both out of college.

I put that out of my mind and listened to her moaning in the back. I was aware of passing signs (Sheridan Expwy-Triboro Bridge), a huge Marlboro billboard, then the Bronx River housing project. The traffic began to speed up just as Olive did. We were going through the Bruckner interchange when she had a loud, completely uninhibited climax. I saw her lean forward and then flop back against the seat.

"Is everything satisfactory, Olive?" Maybe that sounded like dry wit. It was certainly fun to see Charlotte get so excited by her own scenario.

"Oh God, that was just amazing. I just came so hard!" Then she was against my seat back again, breathing heavily; I could detect her perfume. "Paul, you know the city, there must be some place we could park right now. I don't think I can wait to go back to Manhattan." She sounded quite insistent about it.

"As a matter of fact, I do know a place right up ahead."

"You're still stiff, aren't you?"

"Yes ma'am, if you want some, I have it for you."

She wagged a finger at me and laughed, "I knew it, you have some bad boy in you after all." Everything was going smoothly, I thought, and I exited at Pelham Parkway. Olive noted a monument, a column to our right inside the park.

"What is that thing for?" That was a Charlotte inside joke, because we had had a picnic at the base of this monument the previous spring.

"It's a World War I memorial to the dead of Bronx County."

"That lady on top, the statue, her boobs are hanging out."

I said, "It's winged Victory, I think. When you're allegorical you can wear anything you want." I remembered the former statues of the old Penn Station, Day and Night. Night's breasts were bared too.

Trackside in the Amtrak age

I drove around a traffic circle and arrived at the driveway. The gate at the far end was indeed open. If our luck held out there would be no one down at trackside.

I said, "Olive, I suppose this isn't the most scenic spot."

"It's fine Paul, I'm not concerned. I know you're very diligent about these things. That's why I trust putting myself in your hands."

I hoped her faith in me was justified. I turned right and drove past an abandoned building that looked like it had been a passenger station. For a few seconds, my mind was not on sex but security and I tried to assess the situation. I didn't know if Amtrak even had a police force of its own. If workers showed up we could just zip out of there. But if cops arrived, that would be a different story. If they caught us in the act, would they laugh it off or charge us with something?

When we arrived at the bridge at the end, I said, "Look, I'm going to turn the car around, just in case we have to leave in a hurry."

"I get it, you certainly are thorough. You think of everything."

I was still concerned with the logistics, "I wish the foliage here was thicker, but it's only April."

I got the car pointed outwards and turned off the engine. She wagged her finger again to get me into the back seat. I got out and opened the back door on the driver's side. Olive went for me as soon as I was next to her, wrapping her arms around me and kissing me hard. "That mari-jah-wanna makes me extra horny." It would have done the same for me too but I had to drive. "Would you like me to suck on you?"

"No, I'm going to be fine," I said. "I'm ready to go right now." I was starting to forget about the big, bright world of tracks and buildings outside our Pontiac's windows.

She said, "I guess you appreciated my Cross-Bronx monologue. It would be splendid if you went down on me though." She leaned back and spread her legs. "I know it's been a while since you've seen any pussy." Well, it was only about four days but in the let's pretend timeline it had been many months. As I began to lick her she said, "And it's been a long time since your Miss Entwistle had any sex herself." That confirmed what I had earlier suspected.

It was amusing that she kept her hat on for this and it was likely she would so for our entire time together here. Charlotte knew I liked that; there were times when she wore only a hat and shoes during our trysts.

She said, "Chuck, that poor sap, he rarely would do this for me. He complained he didn't like the taste."

I stopped and improvised a line, "At Lioness Limo our motto is, 'it's a pleasure to serve you.' " Perhaps it was not my best line ever but Olive laughed anyway. "Besides, I think you taste great." I went back to my task.

"That pathetic Chuck, he couldn't find a clitoris if a chart was attached to the headboard." I tried to stifle a laugh but I think my guffaws just tickled her pussy more.

In a little while she said, "It's time, get up." She undid my pants and took my cock out. "I knew it would be a nice one. Do you need some stroking?"

"No Olive, I'm ready right now if you are."

It wasn't the time or the place for a long, leisurely screw; we could do that later this evening. This was going to be a bit more than a quickie, but not that much more. I entered and began a vigorous coupling with her. She put her right leg up on the driver's seat so I had a good angle on her cunt.

"You're such a horny bad boy. I knew you could be had with just a panty flash and a whiff of pussy."

"And you're such a hot, sweet lady - it's an honor to be your driver."

Some caution remained in me because I kept my pants high enough to cover my ass. Olive would have none of that; she reached back to yank them down. My trusts became more rapid and her legs were moving around the interior of the car. In short order she said hurriedly, "I'm going to come again, oh please, we can time it together I think."

She grabbed my behind with both hands and told me, loudly now, "Come on, push, push harder." Then she said, "That's it, I'm there, shoot in me already." I arched my back and eagerly complied with her wish.

It seemed very quiet as we lay in each other's arms, inside our glass and metal room in the middle of a metropolis of twenty million. Then I heard a train before I saw it though I the windshield. It was coming up fast around the bend to the south. There was a dissonance I suppose between being on top of and inside a woman and witnessing this spectacle just outside that made me stare at it.

An old electric locomotive in a gaudy Amtrak paint scheme rushed past, pulling a string of new Amfleet coaches. Olive raised herself a bit so she look out the back window as the train crossed the bridge. When it was gone I said, "We really should get out of here." I was surprised at how fast we uncoupled and got out our respective doors and into the front seat. We were laughing as I started the engine; now all they could get us on was trespassing at the most.

She held me again. "Paul, after your shift is over, I want you to come down to see me - tonight."

"Sure, I can do that."

She wasn't done yet, "I know we don't know what the future will bring, but will you, I hope, give some of yourself to me? I'm not sure what I mean."

I knew what she meant. "Of course, relax, everything is going to be okay." I thought, these women, the real ones and their characters, they really could get to you. Olive was worried that I would dump her, discard her, maybe tomorrow, maybe soon after. On another level I was impressed that Charlotte could imagine all this through Olive's eyes.

As I started to drive through the yard she looked around the car and said, "Oh, where are my panties?"

"You're sitting on them."

We were still giddy when we reached the end of the driveway. Perhaps this was the way Bonnie and Clyde felt after a successful robbery; some banjo music should have been playing on my life's soundtrack. We're the Barrow gang, we don't rob banks anymore but we do fuck in train yards.

I was still trying to get my clothes in order. "So, Mrs. Ruxton, where to?" An excursion through Connecticut was no longer necessary.

"Let's go to that Italian neighborhood, Arthur Avenue, I can pick up something for dinner."

It was only a short drive over there. Olive stayed pressed up against me, her arm around my shoulders. She mostly talked about her ex, Clarence Ruxton.

"He was such a dip. As I said, he'd complain about cunnilingus, as he referred to it. 'A barbaric practice,' that's what he said."

"I think I would have divorced this guy myself."

"I offered him whatever he wished sexually to keep him happy but it was a waste. He didn't seem that interested in anything. I couldn't even get him to spank me when I was naughty."

"That's really unfortunate."

She looked at me, "I bet you think I'm a very naughty lady."

"I don't think it, I know it!"

Bittersweet

I found a parking space on Crescent Avenue around the corner from where she wanted to shop. As I waited in our getaway car I could feel more of the tension leaving me. The sun was shining on the roof so I cracked the window open a bit. The next thing I knew I was coming out of nap as she knocked on my window.

"Ah, young man?"

I cranked it down further. "Olive?"

"No, enough of that, let me be Charlotte again."

She got in next to me and said, "I've got some ravioli and sauce for us tonight." She knew I had to bring the car back first. "Could you take me over to the A train in Inwood?"

"The quickest way to Sugar Hill in Harlem."

"And Chelsea too."

On our way to upper Manhattan I asked her about her character. "Where did you get the name Ruxton?"

"It's a suburb of Baltimore. In my East Village days I knew a girl from there."

"How about Entwistle?"

"That's Peg Entwistle. She was disappointed with her acting career, so in 1932 she jumped off the H in the Hollywood sign."

"That's certainly a dramatic why to go."

"Yes, she made sure she was remembered."

When we got to the subway station I asked her, "When I get down there tonight, how about you be Olive again?"

She nodded, "Sure, I'd love to do that. I see you kind of like her."

I did like Olive, she was warm and funny. Was it right to have a yen for Charlotte's character? Would Charlotte herself feel jealous? I'd been through odd twists with these games before.

I said, "Will she still have the stockings and everything?"

"Of course, and I'm sure she'll have a few surprises for you."

"By the way, besides paying her bill, Olive should tip the driver too."

She mock-scowled at me, "I think you've already gotten your tip, young man," and she laughed.

I said, "I love you sweetie."

"I love you too, baby." She kissed me goodbye and got out.

I figured with the drive back home and then the ride down on the subway a good two hours or more would be used up. I anticipated what new activities Olive would have ready for me. It was likely that she shared Charlotte's kinky interests and if that was true there could be some over-the-knee corrections for an impudent rich lady or an irresponsible young driver.

As I drove north I began to think more about the overall state of our relationship. Charlotte had been my girlfriend for longer than any of the other students I had met at City. In two months she would finally finish the bachelor's degree she had been working for, on and off, since 1967. That fall she would turn twenty-eight.

I, and the other hand, would be twenty-one in a few weeks, and I wouldn't graduate until the following year. We had only talked about this in passing, but we both knew her life was ripe for a major reset. Any long-range role for me in that seemed very unlikely. We said we loved each other, but I had heard that before from other women and I knew how fast that could end.

Possibly by September I would be starting a new semester without anybody for the first time in two years. Perhaps some freshman girls would join my college newspaper and as a senior editor I would meet some new prospects. I had been writing mostly essays in the last year but my output had dropped off. I simply had fewer topics in my young life that I thought were worth writing about. Well, maybe my love life was interesting but I wasn't going to publish anything about that.

I needed a distraction so I turned the radio on. I caught the middle of song that seemed appropriate for my bittersweet mood; the second verse seemed to be about me.

Did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees
Hot air for a cool breeze
Cold comfort for change?
Did you exchange
A walk-on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

But which woman was the chorus referring to? Charlotte had once predicted that I would marry Michelle. I used to think it was plausible but that had evaporated long ago.

How I wish you were here
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl
Year after year
Running over the same old ground
And have we found
The same old fears?
Wish you were here.

******

[The "quickest way to Sugar Hill in Harlem" refers to the Duke Ellington song "Take the A Train." City College students use the train to commute to school, which is in the adjacent neighborhood to the south.]