Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Cab drivers have seen it all. Witness if you will the extended series on HBO called Taxi Cab Confessions. Lots of weird shit, lots of weird people. I wouldn’t consider myself much of a weird person—more than anything I was in a weird situation. “Let’s go, whip ’em off,” Kate said, referring to my pants as she pulled out a needle and thread. She had a lot of sewing to do by the time we got to the wedding. “They usually don’t start weddings on time, do they?” I asked as I yanked my shoes off. “Never,” she said as my shoes tumbled to the floor. “Good.” “But this is a small wedding … so you never know.” I unzipped my pants, which got the attention of the cab driver. “Hey, hey, whad’s going on back dare? I don’t wan no funny stuff goin’ on in my cab,” he said in that lovable Southside Chicago accent. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, sir. My brother here ripped his pants and I’m just going to sew them up. We’re going to a wedding.” “Here … sis,” I said as I handed her my pants. “I just don wan no funny stuff, or you guys is oudda here.” “Don’t worry, sir. Sis and I haven’t fooled around with each other since she was ten and I was twelve.” “Oh stop, you’re making me blush,” Kate said. With that, he ignored us for the rest of the ride. The cab was pretty warm, so other than draping them over my boxers and thighs, I didn’t use the sweat pants. I guess it was more of a security thing than a warmth thing. I watched Kate sew while I put on the bow tie. She chewed on the side of her mouth, and moved her lips back and forth as she concentrated on the task at hand. Watching her, I got this weird thought and imagined her sewing a kid’s costume for Halloween or something of domestic meaning, and felt a gush of warmth pour through my body. Was it emotion, or was I having hot flashes in the cab? “What are you thinking as you stare at me?” Kate said without looking up. “I wasn’t staring at you. I was just looking out your window. It’s infinitely more interesting than the view out of mine.” “Oh, here. I forgot to give you this.” She pulled a small makeup container that read “Cover Up” out of her pocket. “Shake it a little bit, and dab it slowly on your pimple.” I reluctantly grabbed it. “You don’t think the sunglasses work?” She shook her head no. “Oh, here. This ought to help.” She pulled out a small mirror from her pocket as well. I looked in the mirror, and again, the zit was actually starting to look better, but as I said before, maybe I was just getting use to it. I shook the cover up, popped the top, and with the mirror in my left hand, started to dab with my right index finger. I looked up a moment from the mirror and caught the cabbie staring at me in the rearview mirror. “What, you never seen a man applying makeup before?” With that said, he looked back at the stoplight. I looked at Kate. She gave me a crooked smile. “You’re getting there … are you sure you haven’t done this before?” To my right I noticed a car full of humorless Hispanic males staring at a man holding a small mirror to his face and dabbing makeup between his eyes. I winked, and as the light turned green, they sped off in their Pontiac. Kate was right. This stuff looked like it was working. I might’ve gotten carried away though because I noticed my skin appeared to actually be two colors. Regardless, it looked better than before. I handed the supplies back to Kate. “Let me see—not bad.” She went back to the pants, put her teeth to the butt, and yanked on the thread. “Now I know how rough you are, but this is just a simple fix, so you’re going to have to be gentle with these pants. No deep-knee bends, gymnastics, or break dancing.” I smiled. I loved her sense of humor. She seemed so fucking perfect, it scared me. But then again, what the hell didn’t scare me? I had secured the bow tie around my neck and suddenly noticed the freedom that my penis experienced in my boxers. With the bouncing of the cab, it caused some arousal. I think in the “business,” they call it a “half stiffy.” I’m not really sure what business, but that’s just what it’s called. I prayed that it reversed it’s sudden path of erection, stayed down, and shriveled to the point of nonrecognition, but the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t want to cooperate, which seemed to always be the case. “OK, done.” Kate gently tugged at the seat of the pants. “I think that’ll work. All yours. Put ’em on.” I was so preoccupied with my erector set that I didn’t hear Kate. I was busy concentrating, or trying to perform some sort of mental telepathy, to keep the big monster under control. But it wasn’t working. And by the time I sensed Kate talking, she noticed me having mental battle with my penis. The conveniently placed sweat pants had formed a pup tent for mice. “Do you have an erection?” she whispered. I looked at her with big eyes, like a pathetic dog guilty of peeing on the carpet. “I can’t help it. It just happened. I had nothing to do with it.” “You men never do …” “What does that mean?” “Never mind … Is there anything I can do to help?” she said with a giggle. “Very funny. Just give me the pants.” I could see the eyes of the driver in the rearview mirror. With all the whispering and rustling, he could sense something was going on. “What if I …” She slid her hand under the sweat pants, and gently grabbed The King of Pleasure. “… It’s so … warm.” “All right. I’m not sure that’s the solution. But thanks for your concern.” Although it was nice to have someone else touching me, besides me, I grabbed her hand and put it back on her lap. “How about this: close your eyes and think of old ladies sitting around a card table, playing gin rummy, eating prunes, and talking about whose tits hang the lowest …” “I think that might do it …” “Get your pants on, asshole, we’re two blocks away,” said the cabbie. “Or that might work,” I said to Kate. “Thanks for the status report, sir. I’m putting them on right now.” I shifted around in the seat sliding my pants on. The old lady scenario worked. I was back to seminormal penis size. I put my shoes on, gave the sweats back to Kate, and was ready to go. We arrived at the Four Seasons at 7:05. A bellhop, or whoever the guy is who’s dressed in the long wool jacket and funny cap, opened the door before the cab stopped. Kate threw the cab driver a free pair of sweat pants, and I slipped him a twenty for a six-dollar fare—I didn’t feel like waiting around for change. He nodded in appreciation, and I could see in his eyes he felt compunction for being curt with us earlier in the ride. As I left the cab, I wasn’t sure if he appreciated the tip or the sweat pants. I got out of the cab and extended my hand for Kate. “Happy New Year, and welcome to the Four Seasons,” the greeter said.