Paying the Fare

Karen tells her story

I never expected that I could spend so much on food and booze on one night out, cleaned out almost all of the cash I was carrying in my purse ... so many years since I had a night out on the town. A bunch of my best female friends – Jennifer, Michelle, Lisa, Amy, Angela, Melissa and Tracy – we all met as parents of kids when I enrolled my first born at school. They are mostly married women - and me, newly single and not by choice – all of us close to fifty. Who would have thought my life would come to this? Until several months ago, I never expected I'd be in this position.

My dear long-time spouse, Brian, the love-of-my-life – husband of 22 years – dumped me for a newer model, a blonde bimbo more than twenty years younger than me ... and him. How does he expect to keep up with a presumably hot Millennial? I've been through all the soul-searching these past few months. Was I no longer good in bed? Did I not pamper him or give him treats, keep our marriage varied and exciting?

I really did think I still ticked all of the boxes. Admittedly, around 12 months ago I became menopausal and that does do weird things to a woman's body and mind but I had made him aware of that so he could make allowances for me.

As for the pampering and treats, perhaps the ways my body was changing so pissed me off that I neglected to shower him with as much regular affection of late, but frankly, he'd become a bit of a bore in bed so I guess I hadn't tried as much either. Only after Brian dropped his bombshell did I realise that he'd been neglecting my needs for months. He was getting his sexual fill from her at least three times a week.

It wasn't just the end of my periods – there's a godsend – but I had these hot flushes, and my sleep patterns had changed ... I would lay awake in bed most nights. I could even see in myself that I became irritable and the smallest things set me off. I wasn't immediately conscious of the mood swings but the kids spent a bit of time with me in the initial few weeks after Brian walked out and they pointed out my moodiness. If I was moody, I thought it was from his leaving me ... maybe it was like the chicken and the egg – which came first?

Where did he find this blonde chick? Well, we both met her at a neighbourhood party about two years ago. Unbeknown to me, they began a clandestine relationship behind my back. Apparently, his initial intention was to have her as his fun diversion on the side, getting a frantic sexual workout (his words when he confessed all to me) for a couple of hours about three times every week. No wonder I hadn't seen all that much of his cock recently.

But, he explained to me, Ms. Bimbo wasn't content with being a married man's mistress at 29, so 6 months ago, she began turning the screws, exerting massive pressure on him to leave me to partner with her on a permanent basis. Methinks she might have withheld sexual favours until he got to see things her way.

So, four months ago, on a casual rainy Sunday afternoon at home (the unexpected occasion is vividly imprinted in my brain now), he broke the news to me that our marriage was over and that he would be moving out of our family home before the end of the month.

My tears flowed for days on end, I was shattered, never saw it coming, Suddenly my world – menopausal and all – came crashing down. Both of our kids had only chosen to move out in the months before Brian checked out. Abruptly, I found myself living alone in a big four-bedroom house in the burbs, self-analysing how I might have contributed to the end of my marriage.

Fortunately, I had this network of women friends and they rallied around me, taking turns to keep me occupied, inviting me for lunches and movies. But most are still married themselves so a lot of my outings with them were daytime and it's the night-time when I am most lonely, when I could do with some company. Some did still invite me to their dinner parties, that Brian and I had previously enjoyed over the years, but now coming single, I felt like the odd one out.

A few weeks ago, a bunch of my good friends suggested this night out with them all – well, about seven actually - as a group outing, all these married women and I out on the town. If they had told me upfront where we were going, I might have said no from the start. We all met at the organiser, Lisa's house, got a little boozed to start. They had insisted that I should leave the safety of my home – at night, would you believe – and go see a live show.

I had not been near a nightclub since the kids were very young and I still had my parents around to babysit for Brian and I. So, what does that make it? Oh, I'm guessing about seventeen years.

Has the culture changed, have the younger generation created new rules of decency? These women who dragged me out of the comfort of my now quite lonely home are still married, they left husbands at home for the night. I watched their behaviour, how some of them flirted with a bunch of guys at adjoining tables in the late-night club. I began to wonder whether this was really all about me ... or them, using me as an excuse for them to get a leave pass from the confines of wedded bliss for one night.

But hold on, I am getting ahead of myself in beginning to talk about the club that we all gravitated to after the live show. You see, I wasn't told that the live show was a male strip show for a screaming all-women audience. But not a professional group show like the Chippendales or Thunder from Down Under that you'd see in Las Vegas.

This show was in a private room in a function centre. It soon became obvious that we were about to be exposed to more than obvious bulges of masculinity concealed within tiny jocks. The first young guy did his initial act, completing it by leaving us all to imagine what his cock and balls might look like.

But the second guy – a tall well-muscled black man – quickly had his become erect and it strained the elastic of his tiny g-string to near breaking point. He epitomised the stereotype of the BBC and with his forays to the front of the stage, it was probably inevitable that a woman would reach up, grasp the tiny jock and yank it down to expose this monstrous black shaft that, now freed, stretched a long way out in front of him.

I was stunned. I mean, I've been around. I may have been married to Brian for 22 monogamous years, but before we met, I dated and was sexually active with about five or six guys (not all at the same time) from toward the end of high school until I met Brian at the age of 25. Their cocks came in a variety of shapes and sizes but none were of such unique proportions as this one that bounced around as close as three feet in front of me ... almost at touching distance.

You see, Lisa had proudly and confidently steered us to a table right in front of the stage. I began to worry whether this show could get out of hand since it appeared to be a special function and not a regular nightly or weekly performance. Would one of the guys drag a timid unsuspecting woman from the audience and subject her to an embarrassing five minutes in front of everyone? Well, almost!

While the loud music played - naturally Joe Cocker's 'Leave Your Hat On' – this black guy invited an eager white woman up on stage. She looked to be in her forties. He grabbed a chair from the back of the stage, sat in it himself, his long wide black appendage glistening under the stage lights and he had her back up, her legs wide, straddling him as he sat, and he lowered her so that her crotch sat on his rock-hard erection. Only a pair of flimsy pink panties appeared to separate her spread pussy from contact with the skin of his shaft ... she would be feeling his heat.

Each state obviously has variations in laws of exposure but we were now witnessing what was almost a sexual act. His hands around her teasing and toying with removing her panties. The song ending saved the woman from that humiliation, or maybe she didn't want to be saved ... she looked to enjoy the moment more than I would have, in my current state of mind.

The exotic male dancer moved her away from him, escorting her back to the front of the stage from where she returned to her seat. Meanwhile, most of the women were on their feet, screaming and shouting, and throwing banknotes at the man's feet. He paused long enough to scoop up the money, giving his rapt audience extra time to ogle and admire his super-sized prize possession.

The compere came out and took a moment to make an announcement that state laws prohibited any audience member from touching any of the guy's cocks. I wondered if the black guy had exceeded what they were permitted to do. Next up was a white dude and he too packed a delicious large bundle within his jock, but like the first guy, he never totally revealed it. Well, not for more than several split-second peeps ... he would move close to the audience and grasp the material and pull it down and up in a controlled flash. That's why it was once called striptease.

The fourth guy ended his act by also exposing himself completely, dropping his g-string to around his ankles and then shedding it with a dramatic high kick to stand there totally naked for the excited all-female audience to hunger over. Nowhere near the cock proportions of the earlier black guy, but quite an impressive length and girth that would have exceeded that of my ex ... the only one I could compare it with in recent times. Frankly, I hadn't seen all that much of Brian's in the past twelve months as our sexual forays happened less and less.

The four guys came back to do a big finale together and didn't disappoint the fans by all exposing their equipment for the women to compare. I wondered if this was an appropriate entertainment for my friends to bring me to because it made me see just how much I am missing. I haven't had any sex for months ... Brian hadn't attempted any in the last weeks before he took off, possibly already aware that he intended to leave.

So, in spite of me not having the same sex drive I had when I was younger, and not menopausal, I still found myself admiring the hard cocks on blatant display and, I admit, even fantasising about how they might feel, just as probably every other woman there. When the show ended and the house lights came up, my friends all began eagerly talking of comparisons with their husbands. Two even expressed a wish that they were game to take on a guy as proportioned as these were, just so they could say they tried it. They even turned to me, telling me how lucky I was that I was now totally free to pursue any guy I wanted. Funny, but I hadn't seen my current circumstance as lucky.

The show was over by 9.30. Already, we had all consumed a lot of booze, most of us mixing vodka and wine. When the girls told me that we were about to head off to a nightclub, I decided that I needed a toilet stop before moving on. As I perched to pee, I innocently touched my pussy lips, surprised to find I was already quite wet. The show must have turned me on more than I thought.

One of my menopausal symptoms has been vaginal dryness. On a rare occasion recently when I had felt the need to try using a vibrator to appease my sexual craving, I had been forced to lube up to achieve a completion due to the dryness. But, here in the toilet cubicle of the function centre, I was running wet naturally.

So, off we went, eight women out on a hen's night. At the nightclub, we were back in a mixed environment ... men and women of all ages and types. Some of my friends, confidence boosted by the booze, began chatting with guys at adjoining tables. Lisa and Angela even suggested they would find me a guy to go home with tonight. I did have a dance with one quite good-looking guy who looked close to my age, maybe five years younger. After dancing, we attempted to have a conversation but the loud pounding music made that impossible so I eventually brushed him off. Or was it that he gave up? Not good for my confidence.

About midnight, I decided I'd had enough for this experiment to re-join the living and told my friends I was leaving. None of them looked anywhere near ready to go home as yet, all obviously enjoying the freedom of the leave passes their husbands had given them. I was worried about Lisa who was sitting on a guy's lap at an adjoining table, she looked more than smitten with the man whose hands appeared to be all over my bestie. I as worried about leaving her but she's a big girl who can look after herself.

I bid goodnight to all and walked out into the cool night air, my head momentarily spinning as alcohol met fresh air. There was a line of cabs nearby, drivers eagerly hoping for a long fare into the suburbs and not some yuppies headed for a near-city apartment not five minutes away.

I slipped onto the back seat of the cab and gave him my address. I do live way out in the burbs, at least twenty-five miles so it was going to be a fare nearing a hundred bucks. I was feeling tired after so much food, drink and entertainment and thought I might sleep, considering I could pass the time of the long journey by dreaming of those horny guys we had watched gyrating earlier in the night. But the driver seemed to have other ideas. He must have had a boring night so far and decided I looked like the type that might enjoy a chat while he drove.

I must say that he varied the topics, he seemed quite knowledgeable and intelligent as we touched on politics and general world events. I began to wonder his age and wished that I had taken more notice when he turned to face me as I stepped into his cab. Now, I could only see a reflection of part of his face in his rear-view mirror, and only when oncoming headlights would briefly light him up. I was guessing perhaps early thirties, certainly younger than me by quite a few years.

If he was curious, he never asked why a mature age woman like me was frequenting a nightclub until we were only only ten minutes from my home. In a weak moment, I blurted out the whole story ... how my friends had taken me on a boozy night out because I am very recently separated from my husband. Was it the "Really?" uttered by him with an inflection that caused me to regret having revealed my whole story in one quick burst? Why would I be so stupid to tell a cab driver that I was going to my home where I lived alone?

At 12.40am, the cab pulled up across my driveway and the driver switched off the meter, turning to tell me the fare was $88.30. I pulled my purse from my handbag and began rummaging for some cash. Ten dollars and a few coins was all I could find. I had left home six hours ago with $150 in cash. The food and drink across the two venues had certainly been expensive.

"Damn! I'll have to use a card, do you accept Visa?"

"Yes, sure," he affirmed with a warm smile. With the interior light on in the cab, I could now see his youthful appearance, making him more likely in his late twenties.

I pulled out my credit card and handed it over. He tapped the card onto his machine and waited. There was a sound, he seemed to know what that meant but he stared at the screen anyway. "It says declined, sorry about that."

"What, declined? No, it couldn't be, I haven't had any problems before. Try it again please."

"Okay!" He did and we both waited and that electronic warning beep again. "Sorry lady, but it definitely won't accept your card."

"Shit!" I muttered, my alcohol addled brain trying to figure out how I was going to pay the driver $88.30. "I wonder if this is the doing of my fuckwit ex? Err ... sorry about the language but even though he's gone, we still use the one joint account until we make some new arrangements. Wait a moment, I'll call him."

I rummaged in my handbag for my phone and hit speed-dial to call Brian. It rang for quite a while before he answered, his voice bleary from sleep, I guess, "Fuck Karen, what are you calling at this time for?"

"Have you closed our joint account Brian?" I screamed at him. I must have been loud because I noticed the driver look around to see if my neighbours could hear my outburst from inside the cab, but with the door already open.

"Yeah, I did, I was at the bank yesterday and I asked them to split the accounts, the bank is sending you your new card."

"Well, thanks for telling me Brian. You've dropped me in the shit tonight. I'm trying to pay an $88 cab fare, I'm out of cash and now my card won't work."

"I did try to call you to tell you yesterday but you never called back."

"Shit, I did hear a message from you, I was going to call tomorrow. Oh, I suppose that's today now."

In the background, I could hear his new woman's voice, "Fuck Brian, fuck her, tell her to call in daytime, just hang up on the bitch."

My ex did as he was told, the bastard cut me off without so much as a goodbye. I was furious and tears formed. I felt desperate. After a pleasant evening with a bunch of my best friends, here I was all alone, sitting in the back seat of a cab, the driver half turned around from the front seat, looking expectantly for his fare to be paid.

I couldn't hold back, I burst into tears. Between sobs, I explained, "I'm sorry, it seems that I can't pay you. My shit of an ex decided ... to split our bank accounts without telling me ... that's why that card is being rejected. The best I can do ... is give you an IOU ... can you tell me where I can forward the money to you tomorrow when I get this all sorted out."

"Sorry lady, no IOU's, I don't know for sure that you live here, and besides, if you don't send me the money tomorrow, I'm not about to waste half a day, driving all the way back out here to collect."

"I'm sorry, but that's the best I can do. I've told you I only have ten dollars in cash and I can't use my card."

"I guess you could cut it out."

"Cut it out, what's that mean?"

"It simply means you can pay the fare in another way."

"And that would be?" I think I could sense where he was heading, but I wanted him to enunciate what he would expect to cover an $88 fare.

"Do I need to draw you a picture? Look, you're a pretty lady, what do you think about a good fuck to settle the debt?"

"You have to be joking, that would be like prostituting myself."

"I'm not suggesting that you are, or could be, but you have a problem. You can't pay the fare ... I'm simply giving you an option to help you clear it up immediately – nice and clean - so you won't have a debt hanging over your head. Simple as that, you and I get it off and the $88 fare is covered and gone."

"Just drive me to a police station and they can sort out our problem for us."

"Look, no need for that. You look tired, I have no idea where the local police station is, and if we find it, it could be a couple more hours while they investigate who's right and who's wrong. Your word against mine. I'll deny outright that I suggested anything you might say I did and you'll be the one who tried to shaft me for the fare. You don't want a criminal record against your name."

I sat there confused, looking at the young man, hearing his reasoning. My brain severely affected by the booze, trying to make sense of all this. I stared at him some more, he looked like a clean guy, and handsome in a rugged way. I surprised myself with the words that came out, "Do you have any condoms?"

His face brightened, a smile appearing, "Sure!"

I paused, still unsure of myself. Why would I even consider having sex with this young man to pay for my cab fare? Did it have anything to do with me still buzzing sexually from the show I had witnessed, seeing those 4 hard erections swinging and bouncing around? Even the handsome man, who danced and chatted with me at the nightclub, I could feel him erect when we danced close. Had all of that coloured my reasoning on what is right and wrong? Would I not even be considering his proposal if I was sober and coming home from a movie?