The Afternoon a Taxi Driver Took Me for a Prostitute

My name is Catalina. Most people call me Cata, and ever since I was little I’ve been what my village calls a well-built woman: a short waist, wide hips, a chest that draws looks even when I do nothing to invite them. I’m from Naucalpan, from a strict middle-class family that raised me with the idea that a decent young lady protects her reputation above all else.

I got into the university in the south of the city through a lot of effort. The commute from home was unbearable, almost two hours each way. My classmate Sofía was already renting an apartment ten minutes from campus. My parents took a while to accept that I was moving in with her, but in the end they gave in.

What I’m going to tell happened on a Friday in February, a few months after I moved. Sofía had left early for a party and wouldn’t be back until Saturday. I had just spent the afternoon with Mauricio and Nicolás, two classmates with whom I had had an encounter that still made me tremble when I remembered it. When Nicolás left, I was alone in the apartment.

I went to the laundry room to put in the clothes. Sofía’s pile of dirty laundry was enormous. I moved it to make space and, among her usual things—T-shirts, jeans, socks—I found another kind of clothing. Short lycra dresses, half-cup bras, fine lace thongs. At the bottom there was a set that made me stop: a cherry-colored lace bra and thong, from a brand I didn’t know. The fabric was almost sheer, soft as tissue paper, with little embroidered flowers.

Without thinking too much, I put them in the washer with my clothes.

While I waited, I took a shower. The hot water reminded me of Mauricio’s hands on my back, Nicolás’s fingers on my waist. I touched myself almost without meaning to. I didn’t get anywhere, but I couldn’t keep still either.

When I took the clothes out, Sofía’s set came out perfect: no stains, soft, with that sheen good fabric has. I tried it on just to see it. The thong slid up easily and nestled between my buttocks as if it had been made to measure. The half-cup bra lifted and squeezed my chest in a way I had never felt before; the neckline fell deep, the fabric barely covering my nipples. I looked at myself in the hallway mirror and did not fully recognize the woman staring back.

It was very hot. Sofía had a pale pink lycra dress hanging on the chair. It was tiny, but lycra stretches. I put it on with some effort. The result was that my hips and buttocks filled every centimeter of the fabric, and if I wasn’t careful with my steps, the hem rode up. The tall black suede heels I found beside the chair finished the outfit.

“This is how women dress in this city,” I thought innocently.

I put on makeup: dark eyeshadow, bright pink lipstick, lashes loaded with mascara. I remembered I needed to buy things at the supermarket. The shopping plaza was a five-minute walk away. I decided to go dressed like that, because of the heat.

I left the building and the sound of my heels on the pavement made me feel taller, more visible. Halfway down the passage I ran into Don Roberto, the neighbor from the fourth floor. He’s a little over forty, divorced, always polite.

—Cata, how nice. Going out to party? —he asked.

I told him I was only going to the supermarket. He looked at me a second too long before wishing me a good evening.

At the security booth was Martín, the guard on duty. He whistled softly at me.

—Where are you going dressed like that, Cata? —he said with a smile that was trying to be a joke.

I greeted him with a kiss and a hug as always. I noticed he took a while to let go and that he smelled my perfume as we pulled apart. I kept walking toward the avenue.

The afternoon smelled of hot asphalt and the food from the street stalls on the corner. I walked along the sidewalk with the dress pulling upward with every step. I was thinking about Mauricio and Nicolás, about what we had done that afternoon. I wondered if the next time I saw them everything would go back to normal. I started imagining what my life would be like in ten years: a steady job, a serious partner, maybe a simple wedding.

A car horn pulled me out of my thoughts.

It was an old taxi, with scratches on the body and cumbia music that cut off sharply when it stopped beside me. The driver rolled down the passenger window and shouted at me in a deep voice that didn’t match his scruffy appearance:

—Hey, big-ass! Wait up! I want service!

I pretended not to hear him and quickened my pace. He moved slowly along the curb beside me.

—Don’t play dumb! I’ve got money!

I stopped. I bent down to look him in the face through the open window.

—You’re mistaken, sir. I ask you to leave —I said.

The man was older, about fifty, with dark, weathered skin, graying hair with a big receding hairline, broad hands resting on the steering wheel. He looked me in the eyes and then at my neckline, which I immediately covered with my hand.

—And you look like you want it too —he said, and laughed.

I yelled at him to go away. He kept laughing while I walked faster toward the mall entrance.

***

I wandered through the stores without buying anything, letting the air conditioning calm me down. I bought a vanilla ice cream and walked aimlessly into a men’s clothing store. The clerk told me I could come in with the ice cream. He started watching me. I pretended to look through the shirts while I licked the ice cream slowly, my tongue passing over the cold scoop and leaving a sticky wetness on my lips. We made a game of looks without saying anything.

I saw a navy vest that would have suited Mauricio well. I asked if they had extra-large. The clerk said it might be in the stockroom, in another store in the mall, but he couldn’t leave the shop alone.

I begged him with the sweetest look I could manage. I put my hand on his arm and pressed lightly. In the end he agreed, asked me to watch the store for a moment, and left.

I was left alone among the shirts and ties, imagining Mauricio wearing the vest. The store was silent.

Then I felt a hard slap on my left buttock. The sound filled the shop. The hand stayed there, kneading, squeezing hard. A familiar deep voice spoke in my ear:

—I made you get out of the taxi and look for you, damn it. What a damn detour you made me take.

It was the taxi driver.

—Sir, you’re mistaken —I said without turning around—. I’m a university student. I don’t do what you’re asking me to do.

I tried to remove his hand. He put it back in the same place every time, sinking his fingers into my butt until I was trembling.

—Shut up —he said calmly—. I’m going to take you by the arm to my taxi and you’re going to behave.

When I tried to take a step, he held me firmly. Not roughly, but with a strength that made any attempt to move useless.

—I’m sick of you acting hard to get —he told me—. The more you do it, the worse it’ll be for you.

I turned to look at him. He looked my body up and down, then my neck, then my eyes. He took my jaw in one hand and said:

—With that face and those curves, anyone would ask your price.

I don’t know why those words loosened something inside me.

He kissed me. His lips were wet and his tongue came in without preamble. He smelled of beer and cold tobacco. I pulled my tongue back, then I didn’t anymore. I ended up tasting his mouth, feeling the rough brush of his mustache against my upper lip and the pressure of his hand on the back of my neck, forcing me to stay still. There was something in the mix of humiliation and desire that turned me on without my choosing it.

When we pulled apart, I heard the store clerk’s voice.

—Is everything all right, miss?

He had the blue vest in his hands. I looked at the taxi driver, then at the clerk, and said yes, that the man was with me. The taxi driver gave me a sharp smack on the butt that echoed through the whole store, then turned to the clerk:

—This young lady lied to you. She does the same thing you’re imagining. As compensation for making you waste your time, she offers you a service. You decide the tip depending on how she behaves.

I closed my eyes.

—What day works for you? —the clerk asked, with a voice pretending to be calmer than he really was.

The taxi driver brought his mouth to my ear:

—Apologize to him. Tell him what you do. Promise you’ll come.

I walked over to where the clerk was with my legs a little shaky and my voice shaky too.

—I apologize for lying to you —I said—. It wasn’t my intention to waste your time. I make my living as a prostitute. And I’ll be here on the day you say.

The clerk kissed me on the cheek and said:

—Tuesday at seven. Don’t be late.

***

I left the store with the taxi driver’s hand on my hip. We walked through the mall and I noticed how people looked at us: at me, dressed like that, and at him, in his sweat-soaked work clothes. At the exit he bought two chocolate bars from a candy stand.

In the parking lot he shoved me against his car. He kissed me again, wilder this time, and started lifting my dress with his hands. I pulled it down. He pulled it up. He had more strength than I did.

—Either you take it off yourself or I’ll tear it and you’ll go home in your underwear —he said without raising his voice.

I raised my arms. He yanked the dress off in one pull. I was left in the parking lot, in the full afternoon light, with only Sofía’s thong and bra, the black suede heels, and my makeup already a little smeared.

—What luxury lingerie for a girl from the neighborhood —he said, looking me over—. You look like a five-star hotel escort.

He put me back against his body. I felt his erection through his pants, hard and heavy, pressing against my buttocks. His hands traveled over my stomach, pinching the flesh, exploring every curve without asking permission. He slid one hand down to the thong, slipped two fingers under the edge and stretched it against my mound, making the fabric dig between the lips of my cunt.

—What’s your name? —he asked.

I hesitated for a second.

—Cata.

—Then from now on you’re Cata the lace-titted one. Say it.

I repeated it in a low voice.

—Good. I’m going to take a lap. You wait for me here and offer your services properly.

He got back in the taxi and drove off.

***

I was left alone in the parking lot. I covered myself as best I could with my arms. The sun was still beating down. I watched the taxi turn in the distance and disappear. A mall security guard was looking at me from afar. His eyes weren’t concerned: they were roaming over my thighs, my hips, the lace thong the dress no longer covered.

I thought about asking for help. I took two steps in that direction. The guard kept watching, now with a small smile. I stopped.

If I ask for help, this ends. My parents. The shame. Everything over.

If I stay...

I turned around. I walked slowly toward the spot where the taxi would return, swaying my hips because I knew the guard was watching me. I leaned against the hood of a parked car and waited.

The taxi reappeared. The driver braked, rolled down the window, and looked at me with the expression of a man who has already won.

I leaned over the passenger window. My breasts spilled over the edge of the door.

—Hi —I said.

—Well, you do have the look of someone who wants it —he replied, pretending we had just met.

—My name’s Cata —I said—. I do this for a living. I won’t charge you a fixed rate; just a tip if you think I earned it.

He laughed. I opened the door and got in.

***

As soon as I shut the door he kissed me and put his hand between my legs, over the thong fabric. He started rubbing me slowly, with firm pressure, parting my thighs only slightly with his knee to get better access. I spread my legs as far as the seat allowed and lifted my hips, looking for more friction. His fingers massaged me over the wetness that had already soaked the lace, tracing slow circles over my clit, then moving up and down, making my breathing turn short and clumsy. I noticed I was panting with my mouth open and felt a little ashamed, but I couldn’t stop.

—Look at you —he said, pulling back to watch my face—. So proper, and now with your legs open asking for more.

—I’m a cheap prostitute —I said without him asking, and saying it turned me on even more.

He slid two fingers under the thong, sank them between my lips, and pulled them out shining with wetness. I arched my back against the seat and opened my mouth, swallowing the air I was missing. He rubbed my pussy with the tips of his fingers until I was trembling, then he put one in, then two, pumping slowly, making my pelvis push on its own against his hand. I came soon after. A spasm that started in my groin and ran all the way to my shoulders, a jolt that left my feet tense inside the heels and my thighs closing around his arm. I said something I had no intention of saying. He started the car without answering me. I didn’t ask where we were going.

A few minutes later, a young guy signaled to us from the entrance of an alley. The taxi driver maneuvered toward him. They exchanged a few words in low voices. The boy said the alley was clear, that there was nobody in the workshop today. The taxi went all the way to the back, where a high wall blocked the way. There were trash bins on both sides. I knew perfectly well why we were there.

—Now then —said the taxi driver—. Get on facing me.

I climbed onto him. I felt his erection against my hip as I settled myself. He put the chocolates—completely melted by the heat—on the dashboard and opened the wrappers. With his hands he smeared the chocolate over my breasts, starting with the nipples and covering them slowly, with a concentration that gave me goosebumps. The brown cream spread across the curves of my tits, pooled in the hollow between them and stained the top of the bra. He licked the right nipple first, then the left, sucking hard until the tip became hard and sensitive. I took his head in my hands and pushed it against me, feeling his beard scrape my skin, the hot tongue licking the chocolate and the saliva mixed with sweetness on my breasts.

Then he leaned in and started licking them with even more hunger, nipping now and then at the edge of the bra, tugging the fabric until each nipple was freed and sucked directly. I moved against him without thinking, rubbing my sex on his thigh, searching for relief in every contact. When he finished cleaning me with his mouth, he looked me in the eyes without saying anything.

—Get down for a moment —he said.

I obeyed. He adjusted the passenger seat to an almost horizontal position. He told me to lie on my back. Then he folded my legs against my chest, my knees almost touching my shoulders, and positioned himself over me. He lowered the zipper of his pants, freed his thick brown cock, and held it for a second before bringing it to my entrance. He brushed my slit with the tip, slowly, smearing me with the wetness already coming out of me. He entered slowly.

I let out the air I’d been holding without realizing it. He grabbed my ankles and pushed. The taxi creaked. I clutched the edge of the seat with both hands and did not let go. I felt every inch of his cock opening me, filling me completely, rubbing the inner walls of my cunt with a friction so deep it made me cry from sheer pleasure. He drove into me over and over, without any pretty rhythm, with brutal insistence that shook my whole body. He leaned down, grabbed my breasts, pinched my nipples between his fingers, and kept fucking me with his heavy torso over mine. I moaned, lifted my hips to take him deeper, and he answered with hard thrusts, slamming me against the seat until the leather shrieked beneath my back.

It didn’t last a little while. It wasn’t gentle either. Every time he hit the bottom of me, I felt a shiver rise to the back of my neck and raise goosebumps all over me. The alley air smelled of garbage, hot rubber, and my own sweat. I screamed without caring, my voice broken, feeling the orgasm start to build again in my belly. He kept thrusting, focused, as if I were the only thing that existed in that alley. When I felt the pressure couldn’t hold any longer, I asked him to come inside me.

He did.

I felt him trembling over me, letting the hot load spill into me, filling me with thick spurts that made me squeeze my thighs around his waist. He stayed still for a moment, breathing hard, the weight of his body sinking me into the seat while the semen kept leaking from his cock and overflowing inside me.

***

When it was all over I lay back on the seat, staring at the taxi roof. Outside, the sun was going down. The taxi driver smoked a cigarette leaning against the open door, not looking at me.

I was thinking about my parents, about the university, about the girl who had left the apartment two hours earlier with the grocery list in her head.

I didn’t regret a thing. That was the strangest part of all.