Driver - Jim

The night had unleashed a ferocious storm, the near gale force wind and torrentially sheeting rain driving even the most stout-hearted men and women indoors - and, to judge from the paucity of radio-work that was coming in, keeping them there. In the somewhat forlorn hope that just being physically nearer the despatcher would provide at least the chance of some income most of the cab drivers had gradually drifted back to base - only to find that the only real activity available was to sit around with the others, smoking, drinking stewed coffee and swapping unlikely, and more often than not, sexually explicit tales.

Off in one corner, as silent as ever, was Jim - older than the average, with a life-worn face that was only brightened by the still sharp blueness of his eyes. And, as always, he was slowly sipping from the large mug of strong black tea that he always insisted on making for himself.

As the laughter caused by the last story-teller's experience died away someone across the room caught Jim's eye and, hoping to bring him into their group, said. 'So Jim, how long have you been driving cabs?'

'Me? Well here, three years now. But I was driving for over twenty five in Sydney.'

'Sydney, where's that?' someone else asked.

'Sydney, Australia.' Jim replied.

'Australia! So that's where you get your accent.' the first man exclaimed. 'I've always wanted to go over there, see those kangaroos close up. But what brought you here?'

'My daughter married an American, that was about ten years ago now, then when my wife died there was nothing much to keep me in Sydney, and by then there were grand-kids here, so I came over.'

'So what's it like being a cabbie in Sydney? What goes on there - I mean compared with the stuff you hear us talking about - is it different?'

Jim looked thoughtfully around at the faces watching him - trying to judge whether any of them were actually interested in what he might have to say, or whether the question had been put merely as some sort of unnecessary politeness. But, having seen a range of expressions ranging from either curiosity or eagerness, he began speaking.

'The first thing I have to tell you is just how different cab-driving is in Australia. For starters, they don't have all the driver security that we do here - at least not until recently, and then it's only in some cabs. Over there the cabs are much more like private cars; no screens, no grills. Passengers get in and sit with you, like your friends and family do, they can freely talk to you - and if they ever actually wanted to, touch you.'

Ignoring both the sounds and looks of disbelief his revelation produced, Jim took a drink from his mug, then continued. 'Now that closeness has of course its downside - yes cabbies sometimes get robbed, or simply bashed - but it has its upside too.' he added with a quirky grin. 'If a woman takes a fancy to you, well, you're right there!'

'Yeah, I can see there could be compensation - so, how did you go?'

Jim paused a while before answering, weighing-up just what he was prepared to recount. Most of the guys he knew only by sight, some not even that - he had no way of knowing which one of them might have a loose mouth, and although the city was huge, the famous 'seven degrees of separation' could all too easily turn to just one or two. But Margie was dead, and the bond between him and his daughter was immensely strong, and if the improbable should happen, was undoubtedly secure enough to withstand some seemingly idle tittle-tattle about an episode or two from his now distant days.

'OK, I'll tell you one.' he finally replied. 'Though by comparison with what some of the other drivers got up to I was considered to be far too slow on the uptake. I mean there were guys who'd get themselves at least one blow-job a night, every night. They'd hang around to take the working girls home after their shifts in the brothels or agencies - trade a ride for a suck! I was never into that stuff.'

Jim fished in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, flipped one out, turned it around in his fingers, then took it, lit it. 'Like most men, I like looking at women. But I think I might have liked doing it even more than most - I mean I really liked looking!' he said in a much softer voice. 'Well back then I did.' he added after checking the reactions on the faces of his audience.

'Like much of what you guys have said, the thing that happened to me started quite by chance. It was that dead hour, sometime around nine o'clock in the evening; too late for most home-goers, but still too early for those leaving the movies or theatres. I was just cruising through the CBD on my way to nowhere in particular, and if I hadn't been going so slowly I would have probably missed her. A woman, wearing a black business suit, standing outside one of the big five city law firms - and because she was in such dark clothes at that time of night she virtually blended with the building behind her, so as I said, I very nearly didn't see her.

Anyway I did and unlike most men, who would have got in the front with me, but as most women travelling alone, especially at night, did, she got into the back seat. Got in, said something about me not being able to imagine how glad she was to have finally got a cab, then gave me the address and simply flopped back in the seat. Then, when I checked her through the rear-mirror, I could see she had closed her eyes. So as I figured she must have been working late and just needed to get home, I made no attempt at the usual conversation, just tuned the radio to an easy listening station, and kept it low.

Traffic in the city was pretty light so the ride was nice and smooth, and long before I'd even reached the start of the freeway I felt quite sure she'd fallen sound asleep. The address she'd given me was another good half-hour's drive and as she was dozing peacefully and I knew trade wouldn't pick-up for a while, I was in no rush. But, given my personal fancies and inclinations, coupled with the fact that as she slept I could see she'd slumped lower in the seat, I adjusted the mirror so I could get a better look at her.

And I assure you I was really glad I did!' Jim added with the same quirky grin the others had seen earlier. 'Her business suit had one of those short, tight skirts and as she had slid down in the seat, it had ridden up quite a bit, exposing a long, long length of her legs, Now even from the angle I was seeing her, which certainly wasn't the best, I could see up along almost the full length of her thighs - and what made that even better was the fact that she wasn't wearing pantyhose - she was wearing those shiny black, thigh-high, grip-tops!' he added.

'Now for a guy like me - a guy who could get almost as much pleasure from looking as I very often did from actually doing - a view like that was fantastic! And I don't mind admitting, it gave me an almost instantaneous hard-on.

Of course although the traffic was pretty light, while I was still working my way through the city I could only take the occasional long look back at her, but once I was safely on the freeway, I decided to give myself a treat. And having unzipped and somehow managed to get my already rigidly swollen cock out, while, keeping half an eye on the road and the rest on her legs - then doing it real nice and slow - I started masturbating.

Of course the only problem I had was that with both hands fully occupied, when I finally came, I had no way of catching all the wet stuff, just had to do it in a way that I hoped didn't end up with me splattering too much of it over my pants.' Jim paused, the look on his face making it clear that he was in some way reliving those long-ago moments, then, having taken another deep drink from his mug, he continued.

'By the time I had got to her street, in a well-to-do suburb and lined with good-looking houses, I had done what I could to tidy myself up and fully expected I would have to wake her - but I didn't! Even as I was slowing down to check the street numbers, I heard her moving, heard her gathering her things. If she wasn't asleep then, when had she woken? Had she seen what I'd been doing? For one heart-stopping moment I thought I was in trouble - I mean apart from the cops, just one phone call to the cab company could have been enough to have my licence revoked.

But all she said as she handed her card over to me was - 'Add ten dollars for yourself driver.' - then waited while I processed the docket.

But when she got out, and before shutting the rear door, she opened the front one on the passenger side, and leaned in. Then I thought all my very worst fears were going to actually materialise when she asked if I had a card with my name and cab number on it. She must have seen the look of guilty mortification on my face, because as I fished one out and reluctantly passed it over, she added. 'Don't worry; it's just that I might want to ring for you again, another night. And by the way -' she added with a really wicked grin, ' - I hope the ten dollars covers the dry-cleaning cost for your pants.'

There was a long moment of silence, then a voice from one side of the room asked excitedly. 'And did she - I mean ring again?'

'She sure did!' Jim replied. 'The same night the following week. I picked her up at about the same time, outside the same building and again she slid into the back seat. She asked if I remembered the address and when I said 'Yes' she just said 'Fine', and settled back.

Of course right then I had no idea of what was really going on in her head, so I kept silent, waiting for her to say something, anything that would give me a clue. But it wasn't until we were on the ramp to the freeway that she said anything more, then all she said was. 'Is look, but don't touch, OK with you Jim?'

I glanced back through the rear-view mirror and saw her watching me, her eyes were bright, sort of sparkling, perhaps with excitement. Of course I still wasn't clear as to exactly what she meant, but I said, 'Sure!' - and she just said - 'OK, you can flip your mirror down now.'

I did, and was just in time to see her hiking her skirt up as she pushed herself forward, then spreading her legs, and giving me a repeat - but from an even better angle - of what I'd seen the previous time. And of course, like that time, she was again wearing those ultra-sexy thigh-high stockings. And of course, just as I had that time, I quickly found myself with a strongly throbbing erection.

'Get it out Jim!' she hissed from the back seat - so I did, as I had the last time, keeping at least half of one eye on the road, but mainly staring long and hard at what she showing off for me.

Once I'd got my cock untangled from my pants, she leaned forward, looked down over my shoulder and said - 'Mmm, a nice one. Now stroke it, rub it, but take your time - do it slowly, just like you did last week.' - then sat back again.

Apart from the sound of Jim's voice recounting his story the room had suddenly gone deathly silent; nobody said a word, certainly there was no tinkle of cup or spoon on saucer, no sudden rasp of either match or cigarette lighter, even the adjoining room's phone and radio seemed to be holding their breath.

'But doing what she'd asked me to do, doing it slowly, proved difficult, because apart from giving me a better view than I'd had the previous time, she was that time using her hands on herself. Slowly sliding them up and down the insides of her thighs, much of the time one or other slipping so high my view through the mirror lost sight of it. But of course that didn't mean I couldn't imagine what it was doing, or wondering just what sort of panties she was also keeping just out of my view.

Of course there was no way she could have known exactly how I was feeling, just how close to coming I'd actually got myself - but then, perhaps in some inexplicable way she did. If not it's hard to explain her almost perfect timing. She suddenly slid lower, and at the same time lifted her hips, giving me a view straight up between her thighs, of her pussy - her naked, and totally hairless, pussy! The panties I'd been trying to imagine simply didn't exist!'

Jim paused for a moment, that far away and long ago look returning to his eyes; then he continued. 'She had one of the sweetest pussies I've ever seen.' he said softly. 'Apart from the neatly trimmed little mat of curly, dark brown hair above it, it was as smoothly hairless as any baby's bottom. And the way its poutingly curling pink lips glistened told me just how wet she'd already got from what the pair of us had been doing. Then, as I stared goggle-eyed, and my hand began moving up and down just a little bit faster, she began frigging herself - one hand thrusting three fingers deep inside herself, the other almost frantically rubbing her clitoris.

That was just too much for me, and a minute or two later, I simply exploded!'

'Shiiitt!' someone exclaimed.

'No semen!' Jim quickly answered laughingly. 'And that time it literally went everywhere, over me, and up over the dashboard. Then even as I was pumping out the last couple of loads, I heard her start coming too, really noisily!'

'And?' someone asked.

'You mean, did she call again? Yes she did; once, sometimes twice a week for the next three months or so. There was never any real difference in what we did, and there was never ever any hint that things might go any further. But she always included the extra ten bucks, for the dry-cleaning. And then -' he added regretfully, ' - the phone calls just stopped. I've no idea if she got tired of it, or if she just found a driver with a some way different performance.

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