During this fucking pandemic, I think I forgot how to do it. But I’m not the only one.
In order for me to get off, you need to get on. In 2019, we used to just hint at this brief intercourse by speeding up or slowing down and getting close to the lane line. Then we would slip past each other like Freeway Jesus lubed us up and called out a Do-Si-Do.
But two years of lockdowns, partial lockdowns… empty roads have ruined us for each other. We are a bunch of dry virgins who can’t figure out what goes where.
You dumb motherfuckers just keep matching my speed. I speed up, you speed up. I slow down, you slow down. I’ve even put my blinker on so you fuckers know exactly what I’m trying to do. I just want to merge with you for a second. If we do it right, no one will get hurt and we will both get what we want out of this relationship.
You can go in front, or I can go first. I don’t care. I just want to be in the lane you are in and you want to be in the lane I am in. It doesn’t have to be a Mexican standoff at every exit sign.
I can see you are scared. You keep glancing at the little screen in the middle of your dashboard that shows your rear-view camera. You switch to the mirror to see if it’s throwing up a warning. But it’s obvious you don’t believe either side of that fake news. I don’t blame you. No one can trust what they see on TV screens anymore.
You keep turning your head all the way and looking at me.
I’m waving nicely for you to go first. Fucking go. Of course you can’t see my little wave through my smoked-tinted windows, but I’m waving like a goddamn mascot at a junior high soccer game.
I slow down, you slow down. Don’t slow down — fucking go.
I can feel my face get red and my heart start to pound. Is it hot in here?
I’m nervous if we don’t make this merge work, we are all fucked. You, me and everyone around us. If we screw this up, the only ones who will benefit are the lawyers — and the tow truck drivers.
I’m checking your back seat just to see if there are children involved. Of course there are. Let’s try to get this done without traumatizing the kids.
I’ve stopped waving. Now I’m just yelling and wildly gesturing… God damn it the gore area is coming up. We have to merge before we get to the solid lines of the giant Y.
You don’t want to go first? Afraid I might take you from behind too quickly?
Ok, I’ll go. Just keep your hood ornament at least 3 feet from my ass.
We are out of time and out of room. I’m only a foot in front of you. I swerve into the exit. You brake and take my spot. We are breathing heavy. Frustrated, but sort of finished. Done, but not really satisfied.
Horns are blowing in front of us and behind us. Is that you Gabriel? Did I die on this freeway?
Nope, but now I gotta get two lanes over to the right to make my next turn. I’m gonna need some viagra, a bottle of lotion and two glasses of red wine before I to make this trip again.
When are we going to get over this breakup and learn how to do it again. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Just merge motherfuckers.
Categories: Covid-19, Sex and Gender
Sounds like traffic on your freeway can be a real clusterfuck.
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It’s an orgy of emotion.
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