Perversion Dispatched, Part I

By Diane Roy © 2004

A deep sigh, and Hubert inhaled the panties. They were white cotton (of course), and after much wear and tear the lace-elastic was already beginning to thin. Smelling underwear was like kissing; you had to do it with your eyes closed. It's not really sincere any other way. It had been a long day for Hubert and he was more than ready to call Dispatch and have them put him on the going home list, however he was stuck in the middle of bumper to bumper traffic so it was a moot point. By this time, it was almost a quarter to seven in the evening but the sun still burned the sky as if it were noon. It stood over the highway omniscient, not out of condemnation but more out of laziness; it was too hot to care. The heat outside crept steadily up to 99.3 degrees and thousands of cars were stuck on the Cross-Bronx because of an accident up front. Traffic was usually bad during rush hour but today it was particularly unbearable. The accident up front had intensified the bumper to bumper purgatory that Hubert was stuck in now. At this point, many of the cars had even turned their engines off for fear of overheating in this weather; besides they weren't going anywhere, anyway. The lady on the radio who gave out traffic updates said that there was some "police business" still going on down there but she didn't give any details. Soon her voice faded out into a drone and Hubert closed his eyes again and inhaled all the way back to the brownstone in Park Slope.

It was an OT from Connecticut and Hubert had almost not gotten the call but he had just made it back to the cab in time. This was a sweet ride, complete with extra stops and waiting time; the works. Guys usually just slept all the way home unless they had some young cheap company with them. Normally, though it was the women who made the expensive trips; especially with a company car at their disposal. It was those little things that turned simple trips to JFK into $300 cash pots. Helping her with her bags was a must, it almost always assured a hefty tip, maybe even cash? It was a credit card that time and that was well and good so a humble thank you was in order. After the door closed, Hubert turned around and made his way down the steps of the newly renovated brownstone and back to his Town Car. That's when it started.

Hubert heard this loud rush of screaming girls coming at him and time slowed down as if it were congealed. They started coming, at first just one by one than two of them then three and four. An army of little girls riding by on their scooters! They zoomed past Hubert. When they got to the end of the street, they just stepped down, turned around, pumped, pumped and pushed. Soon they came back, whizzing by Hubert who was still hypnotized on the stairs. There was no amazement alive in Hubert, more curiosity. It was like watching an accident; you just had to look. They continued, just back and forth

back and forth...
back and forth...
back and forth...

Back on the Cross-Bronx, a frustrated Hubert frantically scratched his head and pulled at the sideburns he had to make up for the lack of hair on his head. Hubert kept shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a bug in his scalp and threw the panties down. "Hmmmph!" Frustrated, Hubert honked helplessly. There was no point; an accident a mile and half down had traffic blocked for at least two hours. The traffic was bad as expected but the accident was like the nail in the coffin, making his stay here seem to last forever. Hubert assumed that; it was pretty gruesome, because though they usually clear this stuff quickly, there was still "police business" going on. But "who needs fingerprints in a car accident?" He wondered.

Hubert sighed and wiped his forehead and then leaned back in his chair with his hand on the armrest. What was done was done and Hubert thought that he should just forget everything and just hope that he got out of this without getting caught. Hubert looked up at the dancing hula lady on his dashboard and thought, "Well she did buy me pizza."

Jennica would understand, she was the type who did with just a little thinking and a little compassion. Hubert was amazed at how intently she listened to him describe Prospect Park before gentrification and how she didn't laugh when he told her guiltily that he still had a soft spot for the Muppet Babies. They were a little behind her time but she didn't have trouble adjusting. Hubert was now feeling hopeful and deciding on just trying to put everything behind him but fiddling in the blistering heat, every fidget brought him closer and closer to the panties. They just sat there, exhausted and teasing. Hubert was inhaling again.

The little girls were going by. Flimsy, the scooter was, supporting them; holding their legs together. They would go down that street (which they didn't cross) to one end, step down, turn around, pump pump and push! And off they were! Flying! on these flimsy scooters, holding their legs; together.

back and forth...
back and forth...

They kept going and going, never getting tired of that game. To one end of a street they didn't cross, to just turn around and go to another they don't cross. Back and forth and "They haven't fallen yet" mumbled Hubert in awe. Crack! and next thing you knew one of the girls had fallen, flat on her back. She had gone entirely too fast and her scooter wheel got stuck in one of the pits in the street. Still in shock, she lay there disheveled. Hubert raced over, no one seemed to be around at the moment and noticed her, her shirt crumpled as she turned on her stomach slowly and Hubert noticed "No spikes yet" in her pre-pubescent spine.

"Don't worry honey," he consoled, "You're safe, this time."

"Thank you," she replied and jumped up, and with a quick brush she was off again. "I'm Jennica," she perked and her friends soon gathered around her to see if she was ok. She dusted off the wall she called a chest and with a wink she was off again down the street.

The Connecticut job had lasted all night and Hubert was in no hurry to get back on the list so he patched into the dispatcher and told Paul he was on break. Back in his cab and Hubert kept watching the little girls go by. It was like watching birds. Pecking, playing, flying it wasn't as if they really did anything but go

back and forth...
back and forth...

It was now three hours in the blistering heat and the traffic had still not moved. The panties were now soaked in the sweat coming off of Hubert's forehead amongst other things. The girls had been playing for about twenty minutes and Hubert was napping in his car before he went home when he heard tapping on his car window.

"This your car?" she said. She told him that she wanted pizza. Hubert saw the other girls huddling and giggling with each other a couple doors down.

"Why can't you get it yourself?" Hubert smiled, slightly annoyed.

"Can't cross without a grownup," she returned with a sly grin.

Jennica was 11 going on 12 he found out. She was old for her age though, and despite the Hello Kitty wallet that protected her allowance (she treated when they went for pizza) and the scooter in the backseat of Hubert's cab, she was better conversation then most of the women he saw. Like the waitress from Dunkirk, New York he had taken out a couple weeks ago. He had met her at the diner outside of LaGuardia Airport while waiting for a pick up. She was always generous with the butter that came with free bread and she always, almost always refilled his water without him even asking. That night he took her home, excited at the prospect of something new and unexpected but though she was new, she was tired like everyone else in the business. In the city for only three months and she was already worn with the disaffection that plagued him and anyone who would ever be desperate enough to settle for him.

Jennica was different though, growing up in the city, she'd already been accustomed to the shit. The hustle and bustle didn't grind her like it did everyone else. She was beyond the grime and it didn't affect her or maybe it was just that she hadn't reached the grime- yet. However this was special; she was special and for the first time in weeks, Hubert sat across from someone who smiled. He asked her if she wanted to go to Coney Island. She was hesitant. This was already a big deal, she wasn't even allowed to cross the street by herself. This whole thing had started off as a stupid dare. Unlike her stupid friends, Jennica wanted adventure. She had even kissed a junior high school boy. She wasn't sure if she should stop now. Next thing you knew, ice cream in hand, Hubert was driving away. He couldn't even think or maybe he just didn't think. He looked over and saw that Jennica, seatbelt strapped across nibblets parading as breasts, was nearing real fright. The ice cream that he had bought her didn't seem to be making her feel any better and Hubert clutched the wheel in a cold sweat.

He knew that he was only a few blocks away, and that he could still turn around, drop her off. No one would even know; they'd only been gone half an hour, forty-five minutes at the most, but he couldn't. Hubert tried to turn around but he couldn't. This was the first time in weeks that he had smiled, he assumed, but in reality it had been months. There were, of course, the sarcastic grins when one of the guys at the base cracked a dirty joke or the fake ones he mustered when he wanted tips or sex, but it had been months since he had truly, genuinely smiled. Hubert was absolutely not going to let go of the wheel and his feet pushed down on the gas even harder and next thing you knew, he was over the Manhattan bridge. Jennica was beyond being uncomfortable. She was now terrified.

To be continued...

Diane Roy is a writer from New York City.