C Hunt - Cockblock

I kept my focus on the traffic and caught a glance of the infamous flashing red and blue lights of a police car ahead. The police vehicle was parked on the grassy median dividing the six lanes of the highway. Most of the brake lights of the cars in front of me in the northbound lane illuminated. I sighed heavily and pushed my brake, knowing there was an accident. Six oclock on a Friday evening was always a crapshoot and a challenge for the drivers who lived in the city. An accident bottlenecking the traffic into the downtown area was almost a given. I wouldve been more surprised if Id actually been able to make it home in the normal twenty minutes it usually took any other day of the week.

Everyone was always in a hurry, picking up their kids or grabbing their dinner before heading home or rushing off to rendezvous with friends or a lover. But it generally wasnt the rushing around to start the weekend that caused the inevitable accident on Friday evening. It was everyones inattentiveness to their surroundings because they were too worried about answering their phone or returning a text or fiddling with their radios.

I once spotted a teenage girl scrolling through her social networking feed as she sat at a stoplight. I assumed she would set her phone down and pay attention to the traffic when the light changed. Instead she glanced up briefly before returning her attention to her phone and driving off. People were too concerned with what was happening on their phone to pay attention to the road anymore. And the brainless addiction to constantly scroll through whatever content the owner chose was the reason I shunned my phone most of the time, especially while driving. My meager administrative assistant job was enough to get by on and I wasnt in any rush to have to fork over what small savings I had for medical bills or a new car payment. Every time I took my vehicle in for an oil change I sat in the waiting room of the shop with my fingers crossed, hoping they didnt find something detrimentally wrong with my car. If I could get a couple more years out of my clunker Id be happy.

I pressed the brake to put room between my vehicle and the van in front of me as the driver intermittently tapped their brake and rode the white line separating the van from the enormous semi-truck beside it. The soft glow of cartoon characters danced across the drop down screen within the vans interior and I could faintly make out the shadow of the drivers cell phone holding hand as they tried to do something on their phone while driving. They were probably either texting someone they were going to be late or trying to take video or a photo of the accident.

My phone vibrated silently in my back pocket to signal an incoming text. I muttered a curse under my breath as the driver in front of me came close to sideswiping the semi-truck before jerking the van back into their own lane. My phone vibrated again.

Jeez, Callie, I muttered. Hold your horses.

Callie and my brother were the only two people who texted me. My brother would check in with me at least once a month, usually when he was bored on the weekend. The text was more likely from Callie. Even after living together for over two years she still sent me daily flirty or dirty texts while on her breaks at work.

The van I was following suddenly braked hard. I hit my brakes and joined the crawl of traffic as we neared the flashing lights.

My radio was tuned to a talk station and I realized the guest was arguing with the host about the President and something hed allegedly done or said to a woman. I wondered how recent the traffic accident happened, since there was no mention of it in the traffic report that ran a few minutes before I entered the highway. Every day I left work at the same time and by the time I reached the stop sign at the end of my second turn the radio host would rattle off any major construction or accidents in or around the city. There hadnt been any mention of slow traffic on the northbound highway. If theyd reported an accident I wouldve taken the route through the city to avoid being stuck on the highway for an hour.

As I closed in on the scene I noticed there wasnt one but three police vehicles and a road crew truck parked in a haphazard square in the median. Four police officers were huddled near one of the cruisers and a man wearing a high-visibility vest appeared to be searching the grass for something as he approached his truck. There were no smashed vehicles or tow truck. There was not broken glass or shattered fiberglass littering the road. If there had been an accident all the evidence had been cleared away.

The whole week, on my way to and from work, the road crew personnel had been hitting this stretch of highway hard, mowing and collecting litter. The section of median the police cars were parked on was shorn and free of trash except one black trash bag situated near the cluster of uniformed men, which appeared to contain something solid. The wind pulled at the plastic of the bag and one of the police officers looked nervously at the traffic while the others focused their attention on the bag.

Once I was past the scene the traffic began to pick up speed. My phone vibrated and I looked at the clock on the dash. Callie mustve been taking her 6:30 break a few minutes early. My phone vibrated again. The rapid fire of her text messages made me think there might be an emergency and I pulled the phone from my pocket while keeping my eyes on the road. I thumbed the button at the bottom of my phones screen and held the device at the top of my steering wheel to read the first part of her first message: Getting off early

I tossed the phone in the console. Date night would start early. Either the salon was slow today or one of Callies appointments canceled. Either way, shed want to shower to get rid of the bits of itchy hair before we went out. I looked forward to being with my girl and grew a tad wet thinking about her naked body in the shower. I started to recall a time when wed shower together and the act of cleaning ourselves would turn into sex and the next thing wed know the water would be cold and neither one of us was remotely clean. An ache to be with Callie engorged my clit and I could feel the heaviness of horniness filling my cunt. I realized my mind was wandering worse than the idiots who couldnt put down their phones for five minutes and drive.

I tried to think of anything but Callies soft skin and lips and my fantasy was immediately replaced with a vision of the black trash bag alongside the road. What was in the bag? What could the road crews have found that would require the police? And why so many police? Some dark place in my mind kept warping what Id seen and somehow the plastic pulling tight against the thick and solid object in the bag was distorted into the shape of a torso.

I shook my head and chastised my horrific imagination. It was more likely a huge block of drugs. The highway was a notorious route for running drugs from Florida to Chicago. Some druggie probably got spooked and dumped their loot out the car window. A junky mightve tossed all his used heroin needles to avoid a paraphernalia charge. Id have to check the news once I was home. Surely whatever coaxed so much attention would be on the news.

The man being interviewed on the radio shouted, A man has needs!

The interviewer replied calmly, But it doesnt give him the right to sexual assault

What does a woman expect when she goes back to a wealthy mans house after a date?!

I growled in disgust and hit the power button for the stereo. Through clenched teeth I grumbled, Fucking men, as I hit the turn signal and took the exit for home.