For three months, I asked nearly every cab driver I rode with if I could suck his cock. I was stoked when one finally said yes. I don’t know what possessed me to start doing it. Maybe it was the fact that I was in a brand-new city, in a brand-new country where I didn’t know a soul. Maybe I was just lonely and horny. That seems most likely. Plus, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I still hadn’t gotten used to the idea of riding in the front seat of cabs. In America, we never did that, unless you were the unlucky one of the group who wouldn’t fit in the back. But, in Australia, it was customary for lone male passengers to ride up front. I could never get a clear answer as to why, but who was I to buck convention?
I guess the first time I asked my driver if I could blow him, alcohol was to blame. I’d spent a night out with some guys from my university class and had no luck finding anyone interesting to take back to my apartment. I mean, "flat." Actually, since I’d arrived, I’d only had two hookups. I thought being American would set me apart, but instead, it usually made me odd man out. I stumbled into the cab that night and when I looked at the driver, I thought he was hot. The Aussie accent always killed me, too. That, combined with his thick forearms, was enough to make the question pop out of my mouth after he pulled up to the curb in front of my building. He merely smiled and said he didn’t swing that way. I walked to my door, dejected, and spent the rest of my waking hours beating off.
Some other cabbies weren’t so kind with their replies. I’d been sworn at a lot and had many rides cut short, but on the bright side, it helped me learn the streets of my neighborhood.
One guy pretended he didn’t speak English so he couldn’t understand my request, but he’d spoken it fine when he picked me up. Luckily for me, no one decided that the only way to respond to my question was with a swift punch to the face, although a few looked as if they wanted to.
When I got into the cab that fateful night, I took one look at the driver and wasn’t even going to ask. His gruff expression and the angry growl in his voice when he asked me where
I was headed made me think twice. My streak looked like it was going to come to an end, obviously not counting the ladies who’d picked me up along the way. But after I told him where I was going, my mind started to change. It had been a long week. Finals at university had kicked my ass and I was keyed up and looking for some release. As the driver twisted and turned through the streets that led me home, I kept looking at him out of the corner of my eye.
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"Something you wanna say, buddy?"
His question surprised me, and at first I only shook my head.
"Because it seems like you got something on your mind."
"Well, you keep looking over here. Gotta problem?"
"No, I don’t. Sorry."
He started laughing and slapped me on the shoulder.
"No worries, mate. I just find it helps weed out the creeps if I ask up front. Usually keeps them quiet the rest of the trip. But, you don’t look like a creep."
"Good to know."
He slammed on his breaks as a car stopped short in front of us, and cursed under his breath.
"Jesus, this has been a shit of a night. Thankfully, you’re my last pickup. I can’t wait to get to the pub."
I opened my mouth to say something, but was cut off by the blare of his car horn, his anger bubbling up again at the cars in front of us.
"Goddamn this city is full of morons."
I cleared my throat and tried to make polite conversation.
"It must suck to be a cab driver."
He chuckled before flipping on his turn signal, which I noticed was on the opposite side of the wheel than I was used to.
"You could say that. But it does have the occasional perk."
He turned to look at me as we drifted to a stop at a red light.
"Yeah? What’s that?" I asked, his eyes still locked on me.
"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."
He smiled and shook his head as we started moving again, his strong hands turning the wheel with ease.
"Let’s just say that every now and then I get a very generous customer."
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