Well this is the first non-event-related topic to reach over 100 posts. Once again we have dressy to thank/blame for this brilliantly entertaining topic that seemed to have strucj such a CHORD with so many of you.

The original SWTD will remain archived here for a bit, then will move to Queenmother's Closet.

Okay, the flag is down girls...
Original Post
If you're looking a little girly - when are these horn dogs NOT interested? Clearly, featuring a little kink like makeup is akin to wearing a neon sign that says "fuck me now" or "I want to suck your dick, right now"-- It's worse than jail (or so I've heard)! In Jersey, dont be surprised if they hit on you, smoke, pray and try to pick up other passengers at the same time.
In keeping with Dresscode's theme, Rose came attired in a skintight floor lenght sheath and the sucker was so tight she had to cross her legs to walk so after a night of serving drinks in this getup, we shared a cab.
As is my wont, I waited with the cabdriver until my daughter was in the house. It had to be seen to be believed. First she couldn't get up the first step. Apparently she was OK coming down but going up was a different issue. The handbag was going in one direction, the keys in another and in the meantime Rose is hanging on to the door knob for balance. The cabdriver and I were in stiches. With her free hand Rose was motioning us to go, God forbid it should run up the meter but this was too good to miss and we remained in stiches all the way home.
So on the way home the driver asked, "Who is she?"
"That's my daughter", I said. "Well I don't usually go for that kind but she looked like a lot of fun." He indicated that he might try a special girl now that he was aroused, at which point I tried to crawl through the partition.
i had balwinder singh today!
gorgeous, it was a quickie and i ran him back to my apartment.
he was another married man, very thick with the most beautiful shinny black hair 5'11" and tall too!
i like the drivers during the day shift so much better but they are much harder to work.

and of course i was two and a half hours late for my appointment.

i got it all finished and now i'm relaxed.
time to reflect....
Everyone-Unable to fit my entire body through the partition, I simply crammed my goodyear tire and rubber grade A titties and booty through the chain slot and let the man pleasure himself.

Dresscode -keep up the good work. I cannot tell you how many times various cab drivers have begged to know your whereabouts salivating at the thought of the hottest piece of action on this planet.

Daddy-if you get tired of genetic women would you consider taking up with the oldest transvestite
in the Universe.

Jade- I'm heady for the opportunity to being introduced to you. My daughter said you were very appetizing and it's a delight to hear your posts on the boards.
So last night, I went to have my hair done for Wigstock. It turned out that my friend Creighton who does my hair was having a film documentary done about doing the wigs for this final festival (he also does Bunny's, Linda's, etc). So unlike our ususal hair sessions, this one was fueled by champagne. Somehow my glass kept getting filled, and well, I had had quite a bit while my wig was being fluffed, teased, etc. More to the point, I became lushy loose lips, and dished myself as well as others...I recall I disclosed that Creighton and I just yesterday had a discussion about eating ass (verdict: he doesn't do it, and I live for it being done), along with some other dishy stories I probably wouldn't have ever said on camera and to be honest can't recall at the moment(somehow I think this was a pre-arranged thing- get the queen sloshed and she'll say anything). After my hair was done, filming was over, but drinking was not. So Creighton and I went over to Lips for some tasty frozen cosmos along with some bitchy bingo with Linda Simpson (I never win anyway, Linda always gives me the bum cards)...then on to Henrietta Hudson's, but Girlina was done dj-ing, and on her way out, so we decided this was the last stop, and no more alcohol. So I dropped him at his apartment and I caught a cab on 7th Ave South.

So into the cab I get, and slur out the address, and Mr Cabdriver named Tariq (yes, from Pakistan) starts talking to me- remember I am a boy tonight, a drunken boy- so in the relatively short ride from 7th Ave down to Broadway, he got his point across that he liked "everything"- which I kept asking means what specifically. So of course the next question as we were 2 blocks from my apt- are you hard? He showed me, and it was like a rock, and then I told him to pull over right before my apt on Broadway. He got a little nervous- I was like "honey, nobody is watching nor cares either, and it will only be a minute or two" (it always is). He then pulled onto White St, I get into the front seat, and he is all about the touchy-feely on the ladystick, and then I provided an oral pleasuring to his very clean member (I wouldn't if it wasn't)- good to the last drop- and had him moaning rather audibly. Once he was done, I made him sit until I was finished as well...honey, it has to be about me as well. He obediently did, and then I paid the fare, and gave him a $2 tip (hey I make more money than he does, so payment is only fair)...got out and walked across the street to my apartment. Plenty satisfied.
One of dressy's key "icebreakers" it seems, is asking the driver, "How do you like my boots?" Followed by the shoving of a large queensized high-heeled boot through the little, and hopefully open, window in the partition. And since we had just come from The Filthy Old Cock, the sole must have been pretty! I have seen the boot/shoe technique work to great effect before-- by Joey Arias, no less.
And no, dressy, I didn't get him. A little too wide for me, and as you know I rarely cross the Himalayas!
hattie,
i must say it was an entertaining few minutes.
and queen sized indeed!

and now on to randella singh,
you are so fierce working it as a boy. he sounds hot, i want more detail.

as i was walking back from daddy this afternoon. first street is full of drivers changing shifts. now i couldn't let this opportunity pass me by.
i stopped at a cafe to watch the men tug and pull on their crotches, lovely..
then i started thinking about balwinder, i wish i had given him my number.
but then i would have him calling me at all hours like the others have.
I went to Circus Monday night, got WASTED, spent ALL of money, but needed to take a cab home. "Where would the best place be to meet a cab driver looking for a little nookie at 3am?" I asked my trashed self. LUCKY CHENG'S!!!!! I walked over to LC's and, after flagging down 15 cabs, the 16th cab to stop said that he would take me home for free. We drove west to Central park, he parked, and we went at it in the park at 3am!!!!! I got a free ride home!
I have no memory what-so-ever of getting home from Cheezwhiz last night. I understand Justin Bond put me in a cab and told the driver where I lived. Today I noticed that I spent a total of 2 dollars last night. I remember one dollar went to tip Sweetie, One went to tip Bianca Leigh. (I guess I must have stiffed Rose). So the big question on my mind today is...
How did I pay the cab driver? And why do I smell like samosas? I know I didn't eat at "Rose Of India" last night. We had a delicious dinner at Debbie's. Can anyone fill me in?
without starting a new topic or being accused of racial profiling this will fit in here.
saturday night in south hampton we stopped in at the 7-11. it's lovely really, 8 or 10 indian men rushing around working. i love it so.
when out from the back room comes a tall handsom man. he said hello and asked me if i wanted to go in the back room.
my friend and i thought he was offering me a job. we laughed and went on with our business.
sunday evening gordon stopped back in the 7-11 and he came running out from the back asking where i was and told gordon how much he liked me.
i was on my way back to ny as i had to work at the cock.
next weekend i'll have to stop in to see him.
i can't believe how forward he was, that's usually left in my hands.
Hello Suckwinder,
What a surprise it is to hear form you.
Are you Pushpindra's brother and cousin of Javid?
Did you grow up in Vishakhapatanma with Garbhodaksayi Visnu and Arjuna? If this is truely who you are, then it must be me they are talking about.
The other drivers here in New York tell me they compare notes while they wait for fairs at he airports.
I'm happy they remember for one and repeat their conquests. History should be passed on to the next generation, so you can give out my phone number if they are humpy.
I remember the Bhuni hui chinni ka halava you made for me and how delish it was. Then you poured Ghee all over my naked body in the hot Indian sun. I wish we were there now.
Call me dal.
kisses.
Yes, I am Pushpindra's younger brother. So it IS the famous Michael Ford. In my country you are a legend. Young boys grow up hearing tales of your talents. They cannot wait until the day they come to America and drive you home from a party.
as i stood outside of some east village dump waiting for a man in a smallish (cheep) car to circle, i was offered a ride and took it.
when we turned the corner we almost ran over nancy ilsa.
good to see you girl.
so as i was greeting her the man in said cheep car passed again.
do i go out for a walk?
Has anyone else noticed that you can not get an Islamic Fundamentalist cab driver for love nor money any more! Where did they all go? They can't ALL be detained for questioning! I mean I have had 2 Dominican drivers this week. It's just like the old days. Not a Mohammed or Abdulah in sight.
Or is it just me?
I always wondered what the Islamic cabbies were babbling about non-stop on their cellphones. And now I know. Since 9/11, they've all vanished. They were all terrorists, planning something really big. Like making all the cabs in New York turn on all their off-duty signs at 4 AM. Or making sure not a single one of them of them would have change for a twenty. I just knew it!
hattie i think the car was either red or grey?
ask nancy she saw him too.
eve, i lived on sullivan street between bleeker and west third. i grabbed a few while they were changing their...

daddy you are right, mr. mohammed has gone missing,
perhaps all their cell service has ben cut off.

did i ever mention the eastern indian gentleman telling me they don't cut the skin off the penis for extra sex!
i wish i could find him today.
I remember slurping on backwash
it was after last call
My dress was a couture pattern of stains
from a variety of spilled alcohols..
I clinched me cellphone
but hadn't received a single number to call.

Then I woke up on the sidewalk,
missing one of my brand new 8th street heels
Searched for it in my thriftstore purse
as I stepped in,
what felt like "oatmeal?"
THAT was just the beginning
of the "Kinky Pakistani Cabdriver Ordeal".

The night time city street was swirly
as hundreds of "off-duty" lights trailed by
And although I was hurled over throwing up,
I kept me hand hailed High!

And with vomit on one foot
and God knows what on the other,
I met myself a curry coated lover:

His cab did a U-Turn,
swerved at me through 4 lanes
his light read off-duty
but he said "Nemaste, pretty lady,
I headed your way!"

The front seat was sticky,
smelled like an armpit,
but I sunk into that pleather
and got as comfortable as I could get.

Judge Judy reminded me not to be stupid,
so I did the right thing,
I asked Captain Curry if he had a condom,
"Yes!" he said,
as he showed me his cock ring.

Now I've been with spicy latinos
and Morroccan departees,
never done an Asian,
although I would have done Bruce Lee.
I had sex with a Russian plumber
and even fucked a Hassidic Jew,
I WAS NOT through a hole in a sheet, either,
mind you.
Had an Irish boyfriend,
used to always passout on top a me.
I'd tasted every flavor of man, I thought,
Except for cab driver curry.

I couldn't pronounce his name
so I just called him BaBa
Ganoush
I marvelled how BaBa drove that cab
while yacking on his cellphone
and fingering my tush.

BaBa sad he knew a place;
the McDonald's drive-thru
and I had my first McQuickie there
and a Happy meal for two.

As the fare-meter hit six dollars
BaBa shouted thanks to Mohhamed
Ganesh ans Allah!

Then I pulled my dress back on, backwards
and wiped smashed McNuggets off my back
and as BaBa drove me home,
I found a french fry in my crack.

He dumped me on the corner
and thank God that ride was free,
cause of course I'd lost my wallet
and my apartment keys.

Luckily I'd hid a spare set,
(this scenario had happened before)
but silly me was too darn drunk
to remember where in the world they were.

I must've passed out
real messy-like on my stoop,
cause I was woken up at noon the next day
by my elderly neighbor
as her six poodles took a group poop.

"I should call the police on you!" she shouted
as she stuffed ziplocs full of turds.
After she let me in the building,
I shot that bitch the bird.

With my lucky nailfile,
I picked open my apartment door
and admired myself in the mirror
with red eyes, swollen
dress on, backwards,
lookin like a one-shoed, bearded, street whore.
a TERRIFYING, but very GLAMOUROUS eyesore.

That must be why the call this drag,
cause sometimes you get dragged through it,
but it really is the only way to do drag,
if you're gonna do it.



Kisses ladies,

DerrickinaDress
So, Mike and I took a cab together from the Phoenix last Sunday and I dropped him off on my way home. I didn't think he was too flagrant with the cabbie this time. (Of course I have seen him at his best!) On July 4, I got into a cab at the very same spot, and the cabdriver peeped through the window with a BIG smile and said, "Oh, I take you sunday. your friend have very nice skirt..." I think he is waiting every day at 13th and A.

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