Gridlock

© 2007, Andi Marquette

[the following story contains adult language and adult situations]

“Christ almighty, what is the fucking issue up there?” Sam drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and shifted her car into park. “Fuck,” she muttered, glancing again at the dashboard clock. She grabbed her phone off the passenger seat and speed-dialed a number. Trish answered on the third ring.

“Yo, girl. What’s the word?”

“I am going to be fucking late.” Sam enunciated each word with her irritation.

“Damn. You on the big I or what?”

“Where the hell else would I be? Why do I do this to myself?”

Trish laughed. “Stop n’ go?”

“Stop. Period.” Sam glared out the window at the car in front of her. The driver got out and lit a cigarette.

“Let me find out what’s up. I’ll holla back.”

“All right. Bye.” Sam closed her phone and glanced in her sideview mirror. Everybody and their mother was getting out of their cars. She rolled her window down and shut her engine off, listening to the whoosh of vehicles that were moving just fine, thank you very much, on the northbound side. Without her air conditioning on, the heat radiating off the asphalt splashed into her car, coaxed an initial sheen of sweat from her pores. At least she’d thought to pick up a Diet Coke. She unscrewed the cap and took a swig, waiting for Trish to call her back. On cue, her phone rang.

“What’s the deal?” Sam answered.

“Girl, it’s a clusterfuck,” Trish said, sighing. “Jack-knifed tractor trailer. They’re clearing it, but traffic central says it’ll be another half-hour to forty-five minutes.”

Sam groaned. “Fucking hell. Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Sorry. Nothing we can do. I’ll let ’em all know. They’re from here. They know how this shit works.”

“Thanks,” Sam relented. “I’ll call you once we’re moving again.”

“Cool. Bye.”

Sam signed off and leaned back, resigned to her fate though she wasn’t entirely happy about it. Her shirt clung to her breasts and back in the heat and a trickle of sweat rolled down her neck. At least she’d worn a light-colored blouse. She sat staring in the sideview mirror, watching people standing around on the interstate—on the interstate, for chrissakes—smoking, talking, laughing. Sharing a gripe. Some sat on the hoods of their cars. A few sat on the concrete divider that overlooked the train tracks below. Sam closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on the sweat that rolled down her back. I’ll look so fucking sexy with these giant sweat stains all over my shirt. But she didn’t want to risk running her car with the air conditioning on while just sitting.

She took another swallow of Diet Coke and watched her sideview mirror again. A highway patrol motorcycle approached, slowly threading its way between the northbound-southbound lanes divider and the row of cars closest to it. Sam idly watched the bike, wishing she was on it. At least she’s have a damn breeze. The rider slowed and maneuvered into the center of the freeway, coming up on Sam’s left. By the way the rider looked, Sam guessed this cop was female. Well, at least she’d get a cheap thrill watching her for a little bit. Motorcycle cop uniforms were kind of hot.

Sure enough, the bike slowly passed Sam’s car but the rider stopped one car up. She turned the bike off and dismounted, kicking its stand down in a habitual motion that indicated lots of practice. Sam watched as the cop stood surveying the traffic. Another highway patrol bike joined her, this one from up ahead. That cop parked as well and got off his bike and he and the female cop started chatting, he gesturing toward what Sam figured was the location of the jack-knifed semi.

The female cop took her helmet off and Sam adjusted her position to better see her. She could hear her voice, a pleasant alto.

“Nice,” Sam said to herself, watching the cop run a gloved hand through her tousled dark hair. Cute butchy thing, aren’t you? Sam pretended casual indifference, glad she was wearing her dark-lensed sunglasses.

The cop laughed at something her colleague said and took a couple of steps, offering Sam a full view of her backside.

Oh, yeah. Sam let her gaze work its way from the cop’s shoulders to her ass then down to the cop’s boots. She drummed her fingers on her thigh, enjoying the initial stages of her arousal. The cop set her helmet on her bike’s seat and crossed her arms over her chest. She was saying something to the other cop, who was leaning on his bike, butt on the seat, legs stretched out to the side. Sam shifted her attention right back to the female cop. Yeah, I’d like a piece of you…Sam let her fingers track along the fabric of her slacks, drop between her legs. She glanced in her rearview mirror, checking for voyeurs then shifted her gaze back to the cop, who was busy opening one of her saddle compartments. She took out a bottle of water. Barely fifteen feet away. Sam opened her car door and exited her vehicle.

“Excuse me…officer?” She strolled toward the two cops.

“Yes?” The female cop turned at her voice and stood waiting, stance casual but wary.

“Could you tell me what happened up there and about how long we’ve got?” Sam flashed a smile—the one Trish said could melt ice—and brushed a strand of her hair out of her face. The cop smiled back. The name tag on her left pectoral said “Ruiz.” Sam bet Ruiz had bedroom eyes behind the smoky gray lenses of those sleek Ray-Bans. The kind of eyes that could fuck you with a look and make you come with a wink.

“Jack-knifed truck carrying a load of lettuce,” Ruiz said. “Maybe if we’re lucky, one’ll come along with some salad dressing.” Her tone carried a teasing warmth. A breeze ruffled her hair.

The male cop snickered.

Sam shrugged. “Not much of a meal. I’m more a pasta and steak kinda girl.”

Ruiz smiled again. “Damn. You missed it. Last week it was a pepperoni truck on one-ten.”

“Maybe next time it’ll be tomatoes and we can make a pizza.” Sam put a little inflection on the “we.”

Ruiz laughed and so did the male cop.

Sam watched Ruiz’s face, knew that Ruiz was checking her out without appearing to do so. It made her wet.

“About twenty minutes,” Ruiz said. “Sorry about the wait.”

“No problem. Thanks.” Sam returned to her car, knowing Ruiz’s gaze was on her. She opened her car door and got in, closing it as a couple of older white guys approached the cops. Sam watched them for a moment. They wanted to ogle the bikes. Ruiz had her back to Sam but she cast a glance over her shoulder and flashed Sam a grin.

Bingo. Sam smiled back and Ruiz turned her attention to the newcomers, doing the polite public service thing. The moisture between Sam’s thighs wasn’t just sweat. She checked her rearview and sideview mirrors and with her right hand she unfastened her slacks and pulled the zipper down. God, Ruiz was built. She’d love to take the cop for a ride. In more ways than one. Sam leaned back in her seat, left elbow propped casually on the driver’s side door. She tilted her head back in such a way that to an observer, she looked like she was sleeping or relaxing, patiently waiting for the traffic to move again, hoping to catch a breeze through her open window. But she still had a view of Ruiz.

Sam slid the fingers of her right hand into her pants, stroking herself through her underwear. Oh, yeah, that felt good. Her breath hitched in her throat and she studied Ruiz’s back. She could hear Ruiz talking about her bike and equipment. I’ll show you equipment. Sam worked two fingers past the seam of her panties. God, I’m wet. Fuck. She adjusted her position slightly, looking for all the world like she was simply dozing a bit in the late afternoon heat. She spread her legs a little wider and checked her mirrors again. She slid her fingers through her moisture, surreptitiously watching Ruiz, admiring the way she looked in her uniform. She gently teased her clit until the throbbing between her legs was like a drumbeat.

Ruiz said something and the small group of people who had wandered over to her and the other cop laughed. She turned, offering a profile view to Sam, and then she looked right at her, shades betraying nothing. Keep watching. Sam bit her lip as she slipped a finger inside herself. Oh, Jesus that’s good. Ruiz turned away again to address a small boy. Sam added a second finger, fighting the urge to arch her back and thrust. Too obvious. She checked her mirrors again then shifted slightly, relieving pressure on her wrist though she kept moving her fingers in and out…in and out…mmmm…sweat pooled in the small of Sam’s back and she clenched her jaw, forcing herself to move only her hand, thumb grazing her clit. She was close. Very close. She stared hard at Ruiz’s back and just as Sam hit her peak, Ruiz turned again to look at her.

“This one’s for you,” Sam said under her breath, watching the shades and the sexy little curve of Ruiz’s upper lip. One more thrust…oh, yeahhhhhhh…she released. With the exception of a slight shift in her shoulders, Sam’s position in the car hadn’t changed. She relaxed, all too aware now of the sweat collecting on the backs of her thighs. She pretended to stretch and act as if she was brushing something off her thighs so she could zip her slacks up. She looked out her window again.

Ruiz was talking to the other cop. He got on his bike and Ruiz turned to the closest knot of people, chatting nearby. She spoke, this time in a voice loud enough for Sam to hear.

“Folks, looks like the road’s been cleared. Please return to your vehicles and we’ll get you out of here.” Ruiz walked nonchalantly past Sam, flicking a smile at her as she amiably gestured for people to get back in their cars. Sam heard engines starting and doors slamming as people prepared to continue on their interrupted journeys. She buckled her seatbelt just as Ruiz stopped at her car and leaned down. Sam waited, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously. Ruiz held a business card up with her right hand and with her left she lowered her shades just enough so Sam could see her eyes. Yep, bedroom. And living room and dining room and stairs and…holy Christ, this woman could make a broom closet sexy.

“Sorry again about the wait,” Ruiz said as Sam took the card.

“I’m not.”

Ruiz smiled and pushed her sunglasses back into their proper position.

“Thanks.” Sam gave Ruiz another smile.

“My pleasure,” Ruiz said as she stepped back from Sam’s car.

And mine. Sam regarded Ruiz’s sunglasses for a few more seconds then focused on the car in front of her. The line of traffic started to move and the vehicle in front jerked into motion, beginning a slow crawl. She watched Ruiz in her sideview mirror, watched as Ruiz seemed to study her car, and then she crested a rise in the road and lost sight of her. Sam’s phone rang. She picked it up and checked the ID.

“Hey, Trish. We’re on the move again.”

“Girl, you will not believe this. They’re late, too. Probably about two miles behind you.”

“Are you serious?”

“They just called. Please tell me you brought all your portfolios.”

“Sure did. I’ll see you in a few.”

“Cool. Bye.”

“Bye.” Sam hung up, grinning. Traffic started to break free and she accelerated, opting to leave her windows down. She glanced in her rearview mirror, not surprised to see Ruiz tailing her on her motorcycle. Ruiz passed her, touching her fingers to her helmet in a teasing little salute. She grinned at Sam then sped up until she was a few car lengths ahead. Sam watched her until she couldn’t see her any longer. She picked up Ruiz’s business card and slid it into the document holder she kept on her sun visor. Yep. Motorcycle cops are hot.

done

One thought on “Gridlock

  1. Pingback: Respect the Sex! On erotica and writing « Women and Words

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