The Neon Rocket Act 01

The Neon Rocket – Act One is the first of collection of self-contained stories about a Honolulu cabbie and what happens to him on one slow Saturday night.

It's about eleven at night on a Saturday and I was driving around Chinatown looking for a passenger to take somewhere but there's nobody going nowhere. My last fare was a streetwalker that used my backseat to do a john. That should tell you what kind of Saturday it was. Weekends this slow are bad; no money to be made and it's too easy to get distracted, ending in money spent.

I think about going back to the garage, crash on the old couch the mechanic dragged in from the street, sleep it off, wait for something to happen. I'd go home if I could afford it, but I've been off the road for two days recovering from a hangover and the landlady wants her rent. And even when I'm flush I hate to burn a Saturday. I should vow to get drunk only on Sundays and Mondays.

I came down Mauna Kea a second time with no luck. The cab stand at Hotel Street was full so I kept moving. Don't like to sit in the stand much anyway; you can easily wait an hour for a five-dollar, no-tip fare. I'd rather cruise around looking for someone to flag me, even if the fares are shorter. Get two or three fares an hour, it's decent money for a slow night. But not that night.

At King Street I get stuck behind I guy in a new black Toyota who doesn't know he can turn left on a red. Either that or he's scoping out the two transvestite hookers on the corner. The one working hard on Toyota-boy is a little hippie chick-boy, Filipino maybe, wearing bell-bottoms, with a tube-top wrapped around her C-cup boob job. She's pretty enough, but I know she's no girl. The other one is probably Japanese and could pass for a girl with most guys. On three-inch black heels, she's well over 5-6, with long, slim, white legs, stretching out from under her very short black leather mini-skirt. She's not showing off her tits, so who knows what's under that tight-fitting black top.

Hippie-chick jumped into the Toyota, the light changed, and they took off, so mini-shirt turned her attention to me, flags me down. I know she's not a fare, but what the hell. I pull around the corner and stop, watching her in the side-view mirror. She's swinging her ass like a guy trying to look like a girl, which of course, he is. She can't be more that 18 or 19, but with that much deception going on, who could say. She's not having any trouble with those three-inch heels, so I guess she's been at it awhile. I'm surprised to discover that I can feel my slowly growing cock push against my jeans. Before I can think about what this might mean, she's leaning on my door.

"You wanna date?" she asks in a voice much more feminine than I was expecting.

"No chance," I say. "Besides, I gotta work."

"Work? There's no one not here. C'mon," she says, reaching into the car to place her hand on my swelling crotch, "it'll be fun." She's practically purring.

I remove her hand and put it back on the edge of the window. Frowning, she says, "at least give me a ride."

"Do you have any money?" I ask. She shakes her head. "So, where to then?"

"Waikiki, since you're probably going there anyway." As it happens I am, so I agree.

I tell her to ride in the front. "If I get a fare, I can tell 'em you're my girlfriend." Really, I just want a better look at her. Her face is very feminine, framed in straight black hair, with the smooth features of a girl's face. Her almond eyes peer at from below straight cut bangs, her mouth is small.

"Girlfriend? I like the sound of that."

"Don't get use to it," I say, and head down King Street. She pouts for about five minute before returning her hand to my crotch, where my cock, despite my best efforts to keep it flaccid, was responding enthusiastically. I was freaking out, but my cock loved it. The straightness in me tried to reassert itself.

"Hey, I'm driving here," I say, kind of hoping she'll stop.

"So drive," she says, smiling as she unzips my fly, reaches in and wraps her very soft hand around my now throbbing cock. As she strokes it, it's all I can do to keep my eyes open and on the road. I look over at her and all I can see is a girl, so I don't stop her.

"Mmm, commando," she purrs as she frees my cock from my jeans and maneuvers her head into my lap. "And such a nice fat cock." She starts by licking around the head, then tongues the eye before slowly slipping my shaft into her hot, wet mouth. She works her tongue as she brings her lips back to my cock-head. She's taking her time, moving her mouth up and down my shaft, obviously enjoying it. Though I'm only barely managing to keep the car in my lane, I don't really care. I'm fulfilling my long time fantasy of getting blown while driving, and since it's the best blow job I've ever had, I've stopped thinking about what's under her skirt.

She keeps working on me and I'm close to exploding so I suggest we pull over some place. I don't know what will happen if I come while driving. She lifts her head and sits up, stroking my cock just enough to keep it hard.

"Keep going into Waikiki," she says, "I know a place." We never got there.

I'd just turned onto Kuhio when the radio squawked, calling my number. One of my regular customers, a stripper named Maggie, wanted me to call her. I wish she'd just relax. I'd told her I'd be there by midnight and I still had plenty of time. While I was dealing with dispatch, my new friend lost interest in what she was doing. My cock was now half-limp in my lap.

"You're not going to finish?" I ask.

"Maybe later," she says nonchalantly. "Just pull over here. I can walk."

"Later? What later?" To which she just smiles, so I pullover and she gets out, leaving me with a painfully swollen dick. I could go jerk-off somewhere, to relieve the pressure, but I get a better idea. Maggie interrupted the best imaginable blowjob ever, now she can make it up to me. I turn at the next corner and head for her bar.

To be continued . . . Our cabbie hasn't seen the last of Miss Black Mini-skirt, but first, he has other fish to fry.