I wasn't sure of what I had taken that night. Actually I knew some of what I had taken that night to be more accurate. I was high — High as a kite they say. I was tipsy as well. The combination of the drugs and alcohol made me unsteady on my feet. I have always had 'balance issues', they were just exasperated by the toxins in my body. I was swaying as I walked down the street with my red and gold high heeled shoes swinging in my left hand. The soles of my feet were black from traipsing around central London. They were cold as well. As was the rest of my body, that's what I get though for wearing a black dress and walking around barefoot in the middle of winter in England.
I decided I needed to find a taxi, not only because it was cold but also because I didn't know where I was. This is how most of my Friday and Saturday nights ended; barefoot on some unknown street in London. Occasionally, I'd find myself in an unknown city, but those times were rare. I began to feel woozy and light headed. I wish I could remember what I had taken. I knew I had smoked a few joints and done a couple lines of coke, but that normally didn't make me feel this bad. I remembered starting off with my friends in a pub off of Tottenham court road. After being kicked out at closing time we had moved on to a club near Piccadilly Circus. That must have gotten boring though, because I remembered being in Leicester Square. I was nowhere familiar, which meant that I had deviated from the west end at some point. I looked at the street signs telling me that I was in the borough of Brent, an unknown area at that time for me.
I needed to focus. Focusing wasn't a strong point of mine, even when sober. I was beginning to come down from my high. I was starting to feel exhausted and needed to get home. My eyes were heavy and things began to blur, but there was no mistaking the orange light of a taxi coming up the street. I held out my hand to flag it down, but it just kept going. Didn't even slow down to acknowledge my presence. This didn't surprise me. Not many taxi drivers wanted to pick up a drunken teenager at that time of night.
I continued to walk down the street searching for another cab. I walked past a group of men who were obviously as wasted as I was. They made some comments about my legs and how nice they were. I just gave them the finger and continued trying to avoid stepping on glass.
Finally I saw another taxi at the end of the street. I decided to run down the street in an attempt to catch it. Just as I got close, it started driving in the opposite direction. I thought it was going to carry on, but the driver must have seen me and he soon stopped again, waiting for me to approach him. I reached the taxi panting, glad to have finally found a way to keep my toes from freezing off. That was probably a bit dramatic, but I was freezing by that point. The taxi driver rolled down his window.
"'Ello love, where're you going?" He gave off a creepy vibe, but I didn't have much of an option, if I wanted to get home.
I gave him my address and climbed into the back. The driver was middle-aged, maybe slightly older. I would have guessed he was approaching his sixties. He was overweight, balding and smelled of stale cigarettes. He tried to make some small chit chat which I didn't want to answer, but at least it would keep me awake.
He started talking about his wife and three children. His youngest had recently gotten three cats which kept him up all night. I stared out the window and tried to drown out his mundane stories with not much luck. I still couldn't tell where we were, but I was sure we were getting somewhat close to my house.
"Where're you from love?" he asked me. "You don't sound like you're from around 'ere."
I hated that question, it was a common one. Not surprising though, I was born in America and even though I had lived in London since I was five, I had never lost my accent. "I am originally from the states, but have lived here a long time." I explained.
"Tell you what, I'll just charge you fifteen. Give you a bit of a discount. You seem like a nice girl."
"Fuck!" His discount caused me to notice that I didn't have my purse or any money with me. I couldn't remember the last time I had it with me. I definitely left my house with it, but hadn't had it when I had left my friends. I had had my shoes in one hand, and nothing in the other. No purse meant no phone.
"That's not the language a lady should be using. I always tell little Sophie that. She's not that young now, but she will always me by little girl."
"I don't have any money with me." He pulled over on the side of the street and I expected him to kick me out of the cab. Instead, he had something else in mind.
"Well we could arrange something else. You see, as much as I love my woman, we aren't so physical anymore."
I knew where he was going with this. I hesitated. He wasn't my ideal partner, but I didn't know what would happen since I couldn't pay my cab fare. I think he took my hesitation as consent. He opened his door and then closed it before climbing into the back of the cab with me.
"I don't know about this..."
"Look love, we can either settle this now or I can take you home and since I know where you'll live then I can come and collect tomorrow, but I will have to charge a little interest, say fifty quid?"
I couldn't afford to pay him tomorrow. It was one fuck, how bad could it be? I allowed him to come towards me. He placed my hands on his crotch. I hesitated before doing anything else. I wasn't actually sure if I wanted to go through with this, but on the other hand I didn't really have an option of being picky. With a drug habit like mine, I was rarely left with excess pocket money, especially since I was sixteen and didn't have a job. I wasn't even sure if I would have been able to pay the cab fare if I had my purse with me.
"I think I will increase the interest another tenner, so what's your choice?"
.... There is more of this story ...