Twilight Taxi Ride

I stepped into the Twilight Zone that is chemical attraction, in a taxicab no less. I awoke a few mornings ago. It was more like stumbling out of bed, cursing the crap weather and stepping into a tepid shower to get myself going. I had an appointment, and realized that the bus wasn't to arrive until half nine. I stood on the street, weighing my options. If I took a train, I'd add another hour to my journey and miss my appointment. A taxi it was. Lucky for me I live on a main street. The continual strain of exhaust pipes and tyres is my daily regimen; I sleep to the sound of cars (occasionally large trucks), and awaken to the same sound, and it's probably added a few stress points but that's neither here or there, because what grabbed me was the heady aroma of phermones in the taxicab.

Phermones are odorless but that doesn't mean they're inert. I couldn't find any other reason for my va-va-voom reaction. My eye fell on the driver's quadriceps. It was as though he was squashed in his seat, which meant that he was over six foot – a giant, with nicely shaped thighs. I scanned him. His hands, fingers, the way he gripped the steering wheel and that wasn't enough for me; I viewed his rear-view mirror. Dark eyebrows, deep brown eyes, lush eyelashes and a swarthy complexion; it was a neck-to-neck draw. Lust versus the 'chemical reaction' of the Fall,' or what is perceived as 'falling (in love, lust, etc?).' I was taken hostage by my hormones.

He didn't say anything: didn't engage me in any way. There was no reference to the weather, or request to direct him via the nearest route, and I sat there completely tongue-tied, at the mercy of the phantasmagorical, heady sensation that is the physical-sexual response.

I arrived, paid my fare, and tore him out of my mind. I had to fill out form upon form, entered a consultation, and recounted the same old, same old, work related issues that I've related. On my return home, as I settled on the sofa with a coffee, my mind returned to the driver, and I experienced the familiar swell within my solar plexus. It radiated outward, and managed to entice my pelvic region; I imagined him in a variety of positions, both naked and clothed, and spent two days dealing with this renewed sensation. It's crazy, I thought. Then I thought of it being a vivid example of primitive attraction; it certainly wasn't based on a meeting of minds, and then I wondered if it reflected the reproductive urge – I noted that I was halfway through my menstrual cycle. There was nothing wholesome about my reaction.

It revolved around sex, sex and more sex. One mere thought created a sexual chain reaction. It was pleasurable for the time it lasted (all the fantasy scenarios and Kama Sutra permutations), but I had an adverse reaction. I thought, 'geez! Is this what happens?' By that, I mean, do people become paralyzed by attraction to the extent that it overtakes all logic, or to the level where people project what they believe is love, only to find themselves in a lifelong commitment? Either way, if it were a different scenario – not a taxi ride – I would have torn his clothes off. Such was the urge, and it's not a frequent urge. It's not as though I view every male in the street in the same way. I'd work in the Sydney CBD, day in and out, and never experience anything remotely similar. The idea of being at the mercy of hormones is freaky – to me.

Comments

[Bobby Revell]

You know, if I just meet a woman and don't have time to think...the conversation just happens. I wish it was like that every time (ok, maybe not EVERY time). If I start thinking or fantasizing beforehand - especially with like a 5 minute gap - I'm ruined.

[Rambeau]

I have experienced that paralysis. It took me years to separate feelings of sex from those of what I thought were love, but perhaps only infatuation. I've only had sex with one woman without letting myself fall in love.