DRIVING MISS TRANNY!

Dollar Bill jumps in his time machine and harkens back to those carefree days of yore when he chauffeured trannies all over town in his yellow cab! Usually the mysoginist idiot supreme, Squacky waxes surprisingly sensitive in this rare and thoughtful passage.

The other day as I gazed out my apartment window before setting off to do “my rounds,” I decided that the torrents of rain falling from the sky were just too much for me to negotiate on my bicycle. I’d been soaked one too many times on the job and this was the day I would forgo the bike in favor of buses, subways and oh my God...cabs. And so I packed my traveling office (pens, receipts, pepper spray, digital camera, copies of Screw, Escort, She Male, The Voice, and The Press, photos from the previous week whose owners wanted them returned, and finally, my notebook to jot down orders), grabbed an umbrella, and hit the streets.

And it wasn’t long before the buses were too slow and crowded and the subways too far a walk, before I hailed the dreaded yellow beast. As I climbed into the back seat, I was not only transported to my next stop - but also to my past - as I settled into a little space where I once spent virtually half my life! And then I thought “I’ve never written about my tranny experiences driving a yellow cab” (at least for She Male), “and that might be a good subject for my next feature.”

Driving a taxi 20 years ago was seriously dangerous business. Cabbies were by rule not allowed to lock their doors or refuse anybody who wasn’t under the influence. And many of us drove with no partition, which meant we were pretty much sitting ducks for any criminal in need of a few bucks. Given this harsh reality, we discriminated not against race as much as what we perceived as danger. A black guy in a suit was fine. Two drunken, tattooed crackers wielding a 40 of Bud weren’t. And a tranny? No problem - even when we recognized them as such. As a result, I did pick up virtually every tranny who waved, a series of occurrences over time which introduced me to the she male community and in some measure, trained me for the job I have today.

What I knew about transsexuals 25 years ago could have filled a thimble - maybe! I’d seen a loop on 42nd Street featuring a big, handsome, gay cracker dropping to his knees to suck a big, nasty, black dick which happened to be on a chick! I actually thought it was some kind of trick photography! I didn’t even realize that she males existed! And when I was on a musical road gig in Richmond, Virginia, I saw one in the lobby of The Capitol Hotel, the flea bag we stayed in for the week. And that was about it - until I got a hack license.

My virginal tranny voyage came late one night right after I dropped three Irish lads who’d come from watching their country compete in The World Cup. Moments after taking off, I spied four gorgeous, scantily clad babes in my rear view mirror hailing for my services. So I jammed on the brakes and backed up for mo’ money. And I mean these bitches looked great! They were a veritable tidal wave of big tits, long legs, and phat asses. I’d have fucked any one of them. There wasn’t a dog in the bunch. The black girls’ heavy juggs bouncing as she climbed into the front seat further made my mind swim with libidinal longings. One of the girls in the back seat had the most deliciously long legs I’d seen since I was knee high to John Holmes’ boner!

I continued viewing the world through rose-colored glasses until the girl next to me gave up the group’s destination. Her sonorous baritone ran the red warning flag straight up the pole. My baseball bat became a toothpick in a second. As their ride was a rather long one, I had the opportunity to listen to their banter - subject matter with which I am all too familiar at this point - for ten or fifteen minutes before arriving at their destination.

And as you guessed it, nothing about the state of US foreign affairs...nothing about the new show at The Met...and nothing about place settings at Bloomie’s entered into their discussion. Nope! Just a lot of dish about which girl was doing what with whom and where - and who was packing and who was lacking. It was a surreal trip which I found disturbing not because of the conversation - but because of how incredibly sexy these bitches were. Exactly how was a horny dude to reject the advances of something so red hot - even if she did have a dick between her legs? In truth, there were more than a few occasions when I pulled up on super fine ladies and began salivating only to once again be met with the deep basso profundo which gave away the amazingly sensual being’s darkest secret.

But not every transsexual who waved at me went unspooked by my not-so-discerning novice eye. Once I can remember being sexually harassed by an obvious beast who was deposited in my cab by what I made as a total poindexter trick. And she got to it in a hurry!

“I’m going to Edelweiss. Do you know where that is?” she baited me.

“Yes I do,” I answered dutifully.

“And do you know what goes on inside there?” she continued.

“Indeed I do,” was my response. “Freaks drop to their knees to blow freaks like you!”

Unabashed, she continued. “You know that guy just gave me $500 for an hour of my time because I have a big 8 inch cock which he loves to suck. What do you think of that?” she proclaimed triumphantly.

“Really,” I fired back. “I have an 8 FOOT cock which I could swing into the back seat if you’d like to wrap your little pussy mouth around a real man while I drive you to your destination.”

“You fucking taxi assholes have a wise crack for everything, don’t you,” she sputtered trying to keep up. With that Jungle Jane quieted down until we got to Edelweiss whereupon she paused after paying to say “Are you coming?” Gotta give a girl credit where credit was due. Just like a horny guy...she didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

Similarly, there were many she males who embarked to say things like “I bet the taxi driver has a big cock. Maybe he wants it sucked.” I never succumbed to any overtures like that but there was one instance during which I almost got myself into a sticky situation. I had just picked up a fare from The Pyramid, a pit of a club at A and 5th which boasted all kinds of metrosexual types as their clientele. For some reason, I presumed that the girl in the backseat was actually a girl and began flirting with “her.” The crossdresser I was approaching picked up on my vibe quickly. “How would you like to fuck this?” he asked brazenly. I took my eyes off the road just for a second and turned around to see a guys’ gnarly butt staring me in the face. Whoops! Not exactly what I was looking for.

Now you know nobody would believe any of this bull shit unless I admitted that at least once, I got duped and let a tranny blow me. And that fateful moment came at 6 AM one Sunday morning while I was rolling a joint on 26th Street between 9th and 10th Avenues. I’d worked 60 hours that Halloween week some 15 or 20 years ago and was feeling very relaxed and content in the knowledge that every bill was paid and all that the next day would bring was beer, Chinese food and a lot of football on the television.

My sublime yoga-like state of mind was interrupted by a friendly though mangy-looking black hooker coming to the window to ask if I wanted a blow job for ten dollars. In my entire career as a cabby, I bought sex in the street a grand total of 3 times. And this was the third. The fire sale was just too attractive. Ten bucks for a blow job? I couldn’t resist. And so she climbed in the front seat next to me and started playing with my governor which responded immediately to her touch (I was younger then.) Gazing upon my naked manhood, she drew some hot, purple lipstick from her bag, quickly applied it to what looked like the hungriest and horniest mouth on the planet, and dove. My heart pounded. The visual of this man-eating whore dressing her insatiable mouth for my invasion - not to mention the amazingly soft and sensuous sucking action that followed - was the sexual experience of the century - that is - until she tried to reach under my booty and finger my asshole while she blew me. Well, in my world, assholes are exits not entrances - and when I grabbed her forearm to indicate that I clearly did NOT want my asshole ravaged was when I suddenly realized I was getting blown by a tranny.

Just for a second, I went into a numbing brainlock. What to do? The next suck stroke answered my question. The softness of her swirly mouth and the undeniable acumen with which this person was blowing me trumped the moment. I’d had a great week...I was feeling good...I had a day off the next day...and I was getting what was close to the best blow job I’d ever had in my life. The fact that a tranny was administering all this pleasure just seemed irrelevant. So I blew a major load down her throat, zipped up, thanked her for the incredible service and sent her on her way. No big deal...just another story in the naked city.

And finally, I wouldn’t feel fulfilled if I didn’t relate one last story before signing off. This one had to do with crime and revenge - and a tranny was the perpetrator.

Egregious capitalist that I surely am, I always drove “gay day” or what the subculture calls “Gay Pride Week.” The Sunday of the parade is one of the busiest days of the year and unless you’re a diehard homophobe, any taxi driver who wants to pay the bills is out there working on that day. Six AM right at the end of my shift, a tranny flagged me at 38th and 9th requesting to go to 16th and 9th, just two blocks from my garage. Perfect! My last four bucks for the shift. But when we arrived, the bitch ran like a rabbit without paying. By the time I turned off the car and stuck the key in my pocket, the whore had enough of a head start to disappear into the projects.

So I walked back to the cab none too happy (cabbies hate fare beaters with a passion), climbed back in and turned right on 15th Street to return the cab to the garage. By the time I got to 15th and 10th there’s the fucking whore selling ass on the corner. So I got out of the cab again to a) see her running toward a trick’s car in fear and b) see several other trannies on the block checking out the situation.

Now I have a friend (who several months before had painted Star Taxi’s window at 14th and 9th) who described an incident he witnessed in the middle of the night which involved several trannies kicking the shit out of a trick right on the corner. And I had visions of this happening to me if I weren’t careful. Regardless, even though it was just four bucks, I would not be denied. So I returned the cab to the garage (just a short block and a half away), dropped my money belt with the dispatcher for safe keeping, and returned on foot to where I’d last seen my fare beater. Sure enough as I turned the corner, there she was! I demanded payment in a reasonably threatening tone apparently to no avail. In that pregnant moment, she decided I was all bark and no bite and actually snapped her fingers and sashayed away as if to say “And what are you gonna do about it, hot shot?”

So I punched her square in the fucking jaw, whereupon she dropped like a sack of potatoes and about three or four trannies took off after me. I tore my ass out of there as I had no desire to punch out all the trannies - just the one who beat me on the fare. And it was a good thing I did because as I sprinted back to the safety of the garage, several bottles exploded around me, obviously hurled my way by a group of she males who were prepared to defend their sister’s honor. It was a proud moment during which I took the law into my own hands, taking the four bucks out on the bitch’s face! Considering that the ”girl” was born a guy - and the fact that she’d stolen from me, I felt only pride - and not guilt - about socking her in the mouth. The only downside? I injured my forearm clocking the thief. But it was all better in a day.

And so ends my recollections of “Driving Miss Tranny.” Busting a hack in New York City is an amazing training ground for almost every occupation anybody unfortunate enough to get stuck in the front seat of a yellow cab can think of. And I was no exception. Those experiences picking up she male fares really did build a firm foundation for what I do for a living today.