One Night in The Bronx

[The role play with Charlotte is in the story Lioness Limousine.]

Donna also appears in Donna in the Senior Year Ch. 01 and Ch. 02.]

******

"I really like that role-play you did with Charlotte. The one with the Lioness Limo idea."

That was spoken by my new girlfriend Donna Azzato, who I had met over the Labor Day weekend in 1976. She was referring to a previous sweetheart, Charlotte De Havilland, who had departed my life the previous June at the end of my junior year.

"Oh yeah, that was one of the best ones I ever had." I had allowed myself a few references to earlier girlfriends by mentioning some of the role-plays we had done. Donna had responded positively so I began giving her more elaborate details. On a date a few days earlier she had surprised me a bit by proposing her own idea.

Now we were sitting in her apartment on Barnes Avenue in the Bronx talking further about this. The Lioness Limousine idea had mostly been Charlotte's creation and she had done an impressive job. It was her take on the old trope of the mature but horny rich lady seducing her shameless younger chauffeur.

We had borrowed my dad's 1968 Bonneville as the stand-in for the limo, and over the course of a long ride from Manhattan to the Bronx her Olive Ruxton (née Entwistle) character had teased and finally fucked her youthful driver (played by me) in a yard next to Amtrak's Northeast corridor. (I had to do some previous location scouting to find a plausible place for this trackside trysting.)

Now Donna had her own version of this. Like me, she was a college senior but she was at the misnamed Manhattan College while I was at City College further downtown. Fortunately her apartment was only couple of miles from where I lived.

She said, "The idea as I've mentioned is that you will be a taxi driver and I will be your passenger. We'll use my Chevelle of course for this."

I had asked this before but I tried again, "And what's going to be the ultimate outcome?"

"Ah, I'm not going to tell you. It will be a surprise."

"Good girl, you're really getting it. But of course I can pull my own surprises if I can think of any."

What I also tried to explain was that if a game really got some momentum it wasn't always fun; toes could get stepped on and feelings hurt. She heard me but she hadn't actually experienced it yet.

The harshest one for me was when one of my earlier sweeties, Michelle Hanley, used a role-play for an impromptu exit strategy and dumped me right in the middle of it. It was at an East Village bar and she walked out of the place -- and out of my life -- with another guy. Arguably that was role playing that had turned into reality.

*****

On a mild Tuesday evening in late October, 1976 I had an extra set of keys for the 1971 Chevelle. I was grateful that this car-based game was going to take place after dark. Doing the daytime version with Charlotte had been a bit trickier. It wasn't that easy to find a secure place to "park" with a girl in the middle of New York City.

At dusk I went to where the Chevelle was parked and in a couple of minutes I was driving west on Lydig Avenue, a crosstown shopping street. We had agreed not to meet as ourselves earlier that day; thus the "stranger" pick-up would seem more realistic. At her corner, Barnes Avenue, Donna stepped from the curb and hailed me. She got in the back and said, "I'm going to 79th and Amsterdam eventually, but first I'd like to be driven around for a while. It relaxes me and helps clear my head."

"Any particular place you'd like for that?"

"Start off with the Bronx River Parkway, go southbound. Don't worry about the meter, just let it run up."

I had gotten a brief look at her while she was in the street and now I tried to glance at her in the mirror as I put the car back into gear. She was dressed simply but neatly with business attire of a blazer, blouse and a tight dark-blue skirt. Her usual dark-rimmed glasses where in place. The only anomaly was her dark gray, brimmed hat. I was sure I had never seen that before.

We had just reached the first light at White Plains Road when she said, "By the way, do you like my hat? It's new; this is the first time I've worn it."

By this time I'd learned, in a role-play or real life, to always praise a lady's hat or purse or anything else if asked for an opinion, "Yes, it really looks good on you." I wondered if Donna had bought it specifically for this role-play but I could find out later.

"Why thank you." Then she said, "How about my shoes? I have these nice strappy new sandals tonight." She put one leg up on the back of my seat; of course there was no partition as was becoming standard on New York cabs. I had only to glance over to see her black sandal right next to me. Otherwise her foot was bare -- she had no stockings of any kind.

Sexy seemed to be overplaying it, so I called them "very cool." I didn't think cab drivers threw the word chic around very often. Donna usually dressed well by 1970s college standards, but unlike this lady she didn't make a big deal about it.

Then she leaned forward to look at the right side of the dash where, if this had actually been a cab, there would have been a holder and a light for my hack license.

"So you're Paul." Okay, we'd be using my real name tonight. "I'm Minerva."

"Nice to meet you." She sat back and I noted an odd smile, more like a smirk. I had never known a Minerva and I wondered what her last name was. I imagined it being one that made for an awkward combination, something like Schumacher or Grobdruck. I had even known a kid in high school from the unfortunate House of Slutsky.

We had a few blocks to the Parkway entrance. "I guess it's a bit lonely driving a cab, isn't it?"

I wasn't that good with cabbie small talk, "Sort of. You meet a lot of people briefly and then you hardly remember them in a week."

"It must hard if you have a wife or girlfriend, I mean with the long hours and all. If you don't mind me asking, do you have a wife or girl out there?"

I had also learned that when meeting a new female prospect that one should be cautious about revealing one's present romantic status. Women seemed to like guessing but they might lose interest if one confirmed a dry spell. I went with, "It's sort of unsettled right now."

She laughed at that, "Okay, unsettled, I get it. I suppose I'm kind of unsettled myself at the moment."

Just to be conversational I said, "Really, how so?"

"Well I used to be married but I'm separated now."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Again I heard that clever little laugh, "Don't be sorry. He's the one who's going to be sorry, you can be sure of that."

At this point I was circling up the entrance ramp to the southbound Parkway; for the next mile or so we'd be passing the Bronx Zoo. I was already managing my first impressions of this Minerva. She seemed have some of Donna's directness but none of her unguarded sweetness.

Already I was wary of her and I let her have the next line. I was guessing she was a bit older than Donna, maybe late twenties or even about thirty.

"So Paul, do you get women who try to pick you up or do you try to get them yourself? I mean for more than a cab ride of course."

I had to improvise something. My guess was that in real life the low status of cab drivers didn't make them desirable pick-up material. I speculated that the only women they ever banged in their cars were streetwalkers.

"Actually Minerva, it's not an exciting job in that particular way. Maybe it happens sometimes, but it hasn't for me."

Now we were going over a soaring trestle above some subway yards; we could see the Midtown skyline to the south. We were near the first major junction point, the one with the Cross-Bronx Expressway. I said, "Do you want to take this. . .?

She interrupted, "No, just keep going south."

Then she said, "I get it how this job is not exactly a pick-up paradise." She seemed to be insinuating something about social class here, but that was basically what I had thought myself a few moments earlier.

She had more to say, "However, I bet there are times when girls do tease you."

"Why would they do that?"

"Oh, just for the fun of it. You're up there and they're back here. You can look all you want but you can't touch. You know, a little power game, for some kicks."

Now I was getting the outlines of the game but I was surprised at how fast Minerva made her next move. She said, "Like this," and she put her feet up on her seat cushion, pulled her skirt up and spread her legs.

We were at the next junction - the Bruckner Expressway - I had stopped at a traffic signal. I looked back, and there was enough light from the streetlamps for me to see up her legs and notice her bare bush. She had no stockings and no underwear.

She said, "Turn on the dome light."

"Somebody might see you." I didn't have to completely fake that worry-wart attitude.

"Fuck them. We're going to be zipping down the road anyway. If they see me, they can jerk off about it later."

I did turn on the dome, and as the signal changed I accelerated into the southbound Bruckner.

"So Paul, notice anything unusual?"

I looked back again, "Yeah Minerva, you're not wearing any panties." I sounded surprisingly churlish. "Why is that?"

"I guess it just makes me feel so damn sexy. I'm such a hot woman that I have to express it however I can." Now she leaned forward on the back of my seat and said quietly, "But I do have a back-up pair in my purse. I girl should always have a spare, just in case . . ."

Just in case what? But I didn't ask, and she went back to her legs-spread position in the back. I figured I would let her have the next word and I didn't have to wait long.

"So do you like me being nude under my clothes? Do you like my pussy? I mean, it's hot and bare and more than a little damp so I assume you do."

The game must have been getting into a deeper level because I actually felt a bit uneasy. I didn't trust Minerva; I knew she was toying with me to satisfy some less than savory need of her own. Unlike Charlotte's Olive Ruxton of last spring -- a character whose exhibitionism was good-natured and fun -- there was something unpleasant about Minerva's display of herself.

I couldn't come up with a response so I said nothing. Meanwhile, I kept to the right-hand lane so I didn't have to deal with the faster traffic in the other two.

Minerva wasn't dissuaded by my silence. She said, "Being separated, I do get horny at times. Quite a lot, in fact!" I heard another of those snarky laughs, "It's hard to date guys who aren't -- well, who are satisfactory by my standards anyway."

She reached into her purse and pulled out something, "You know what a dildo is, correct?"

Just because I'm a cab driver doesn't mean that I'm stupid. "Yes, I know what it is."

The one she pulled out was a white plastic tube that looked like a vibrator. "This isn't one of those that's shaped exactly like a penis. There's something -- I don't know, vul-gah about those. It's not actually a vibrator, but it's certainly thick enough to be effective."

Just as she positioned it against her crotch she said, "I'm not one of those girls who uses vibrators; no electric assist for me. Completely manual, hands-on; that's more than adequate. And this one does have a substantial thickness to it as I mentioned."

I wasn't completely sure why but I was finding her very annoying. Why do I dislike her?

She asked, "Paul, you've seen women masturbate before, haven't you?"

"Of course I have."

"Right, one of those unsettled girlfriends of yours," and she laughed. I thought, this chick better give me something really good as a payoff when she's done with her stunt. She continued, "It's fairly simple, I just move my trusty joystick in and out while my other hand circles my clitoris. Not too close, just around the edges. Here, I'll show you."

I had driven to the southern edge of the borough. If we were really going to 79th Street I had several bridges to chose from to enter Manhattan. I decided to stay on course and follow the road around until it turned back north and became the Major Deegan Expressway. Minerva would tell me if she wished otherwise.

Minerva however was busy pleasuring herself. I would catch her in the mirror, and I would turn my head as often as I dared. My curiosity got to me in spite of myself.

She had to tell me her thoughts, "I like imagining this guy at work, the boss of my boss. It would be a real coup if I could score with him." Why, do you plan on screwing your way to a promotion? I wanted to say that but I didn't.

"It's not happening yet, however. He likes these little blonde twats; he can't appreciate a voluptuous brunette like me. Give me some time, though, I'll bag him."

I had to know, "Are you thinking of him now?"

"Oh yes, very much so."

I noted that I wasn't the object of her present fantasy. But then, in this scenario, I had been facing forward the whole time so she couldn't have a strong impression of my appearance.

I had seen Donna do this as herself and it had always been entertaining. Of course it was usually followed by a vigorous screwing which, for me, made for a great second act. I was already guessing that this Minerva might not offer more on this particular evening. When we were passing Yankee Stadium I was feeling more detached from whatever she was doing back there.

My mind wandered and I thought of Joan Didion's Maria Wyeth driving aimlessly around Los Angeles's freeway system. It seemed one could do that on New York's expressways too but a nighttime excursion offered the best opportunity.

I thought of going east on the Cross-Bronx Expressway which would take us in a big circle back to our starting point. But I disliked that road; it was one of the most treacherous highways in the country. I stayed the course and continued north. I thought of the straight shot up to Montreal 370 miles away.

Minerva's legs were apart and her feet were up on the seat cushion. She didn't have anything to say to me but she was moaning about somebody named Don. I assumed this was the studly managerial guy she wanted to bang for office success.

It didn't take her long to climax. I knew Donna could do it fairly quickly when in the right mood and as Minerva she seemed motivated now. Just before she came she cried out, I think, "Oh Don, you have a huge penis, my cunt is open for you. . ." which was followed by something unintelligible. Then she collapsed back into her seat and relaxed.

I hadn't been driving particularly fast but we were nearly at Van Cortlandt Avenue at this point. She said, "So I bet you're turned on. I assume you have an erection now?"

Despite my pose of indifference I had gotten aroused anyway. I decided to tell the truth and be as casual as possible about it, "Yeah, Minerva, I definitely have one now."

She giggled and said, "How about you take it out and show it to me? Just exit the road somewhere."

I tried to gauge how my character would react. I figured this driver with my first name overlapped my real self but he was also different -- blunter for one thing. "If you're so eager to see my dick, how about we park and I go back there with you? You won't be disappointed."

"Oh no, you're staying up there. I can look over the seat back."

I was keeping track of how far north we were traveling. In a few minutes we'd cross the city line into Westchester County; I had to turn back soon if I didn't want to go too far afield.

Minerva had more plans. "If we do park, you can jerk-off for me. I want to see how far you can shoot it. Maybe get it onto the speedometer." Yeah, and who gets to clean that off? I will.

I persisted, "As I said, I'll come back there for that. You can give me a hand, so to speak." I tried to sweeten the deal, "I'll rub your cunt and clit at the same time if you like. I'll even go down on you after I'm done with myself."

"You will not!" I thought I had offered some pretty good terms there. "As for yourself you've already got two hands. You don't need mine so stay in the front." I already knew that in chick-speak "you've got two hands" meant, quite literally, "go fuck yourself." Her voice softened, "I do have some hand lotion if that would help.

I gave myself a couple of moments to consider her offer, "No, I think I'm going to take a pass on that."

"Why, you watched me? That was like a free peep show for you. They pay to see that downtown." That was amazingly similar to some dialogue Charlotte had used in one of her games. Somehow the gender dynamics of "watching" were different when the roles were reversed.

I tried to explain that to her, "For a guy to do that, in front of a woman -- unless he has something going with her -- then it's kind of humiliating. And you and I definitely don't have anything going."

"Really? You've go some nerve, you're an arrogant little creep, you know that?"

First I had to decide on a turn-around location. There was an interchange at McLean Avenue that would work fine for that. Then I had to think of a comeback to her statement. My usual tactic in real life was to placate people, but in my role here I decided to get dramatic.

"Actually, Minerva, you are a cock-teasing little bitch, that's what I think."

"I beg your pardon?" I knew it was not a good sign when a woman said that.

"You heard me." I went for more nastiness, "Also, you seem to be a whore at work, screwing the managers to get promotions you probably don't deserve."

She handled that with more restraint than I had expected. She was fuming but fairly quiet about it, "I don't have to take this shit. Take me back, drop me at that diner at 231st and Broadway."

I had just exited to turn around and head back south. "All right, 231st it is." For the first time that evening I drove with some hustle. Minerva sat silently, arms folded, staring out the window.

At 231st I pulled up across the street from the diner. "What's the fucking fare?" Donna was usually patient and polite; thus I was impressed with the venom from her character. I had to guess what the meter would say.

"Twenty-three forty-five, Miss."

She pulled some bills out of the wallet in her purse, "Here, take your damn money, asshole." She hurled her roll into the front seat and bills fluttered onto the cushion. I looked into her face and I hoped the anger I saw there was indeed acting. Then she pushed out into the street and slammed the door. I was in the middle of saying, "Hey honey, I hope you get that promotion."

I remembered conversations I had about method acting with other role-playing women, Michelle Hanley in particular. How much of the emotional content of these games were real feelings hidden during everyday life? Marlon Brando had said he was not like Stanley Kowalski but perhaps he was fooling himself or just lying about it.

I collected my fare: five singles. I figured I would pick her up on this block in about ten minutes and the game would then be over.

When I arrived back there she immediately came over and opened the front passenger door. "Oh Paul, what happened, what was that all about?" Before I could respond she put her arms around me and kissed me.

I said, "Hey, close the door." I could see that she was jangled, even more than I was. Then as we started driving I tried to explain my view of it.

"I told you what could happen right? How unpredictable these things can get?"

She replied, "I know, but I was just such a bitch, where did that come from?"