I don't know why it always happens to me. Maybe I smile too much? Maybe I am too nice? Maybe I just don't get the protocol right. But what is the protocol? I thought we were all supposed to treat one another with respect. Be kind. Be courteous. Be friendly. Just be human. Is that not the standard protocol?
It seems there is a different one for taxi drivers. No sooner had I fastened the seat belt than he mistook my thigh for the gear shift. I chose to be charitable. Shifted slightly to the right, out of arm's way. No. There the hand went again. This time it was accompanied by a wink and a smile. There was nowhere else to shift to. I can't sit in the back. I don't like looking like some corrupt government official, being driven to yet another shady meeting. Besides, I suffer from car sickness. Sitting in the helps! But the hand keeps following my thigh.
We chatted about the weather. The busy road. Exchanged notes about where we are from. He from Pakistan. He was just there on holiday. He asked me about the situation in my home country. We chatted about politics. About the world. I don't know how we veeered into sex? Somewhere between Heathrow and Walthamstow, he asked me, "So do you like......(moving his pelvis suggestively)?" I looked out into the London horizon. I kept a straight face. Kept my mouth shut. I jammed my MP3 into my ears, and put the volume as high as it could go.
We got to my destination. I thanked him. I grinned. I paid the full fare.
I am just too happy to see my friend, opening her front door.
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