tagLoving WivesUber Lucky

Uber Lucky



As implied by the title, part of the storyline involves the ridesharing company, Uber. I have taken artistic license on the way Uber connects riders with drivers.

As per my previous story, I've done my own editing which probably means there's little mistakes I've missed because I'm too familiar with my own words, but I hope the mistakes are not huge enough to distract or detract from the overall story.

Thanks, and happy reading.


JESUS BLOODY CHRIST! How does Lexie sleep through this night after night?

"Yes! Oh God, yes! Fuck me, Randy. Fuck me!"

Of course, he'd have to have a name like Randy.

What would a Saturday night at Lexie's be without listening to her neighbor, Tiffany, squeal her joy at being pounded into the mattress by some jerk named Butch or Hunter or Tanner? Where does she find these guys? Why do none of them ever have normal names like Mike or John or Tom?

As I laid and pondered (like pondering was at all possible with the caterwauling going on next door, but, hey, give me points for trying to keep it PG) what would a Friday night be without it either? Come to think of it, it didn't matter what night of the week I stayed over, she was always howling. God knows her vagina must be made of leather by now with the constant pounding it received.

According to Lexie, Sunday's were the quietist. Like the good Lord, Sundays, it seemed, were Tiffany's day of rest. Even insatiable nymphos needed a day to recharge their batteries and rest their overworked snatches. Just my luck that Sunday was the one night I rarely slept over because I had a class first thing on Monday morning.

I groaned and not in a good way. Tiffany might be a hot looking babe, but even if I wasn't in love with Lexie, I still wouldn't want to bed the nympho. Secretly, my nickname for Tiffany was Squeakie. During sex she made sounds that reminded me of a baby's squeak toy. She'd start out slow and random, but the more aroused she got, the louder and closer together they became. By the end it was one long squeak, with the only thing that varied being the pitch.

Even Crumpet, Lexie's cat, hated Squeakie. She'd meow like crazy every time Tiffany's performance began. I couldn't say I blamed her. Then again, maybe I had it ass about—maybe Crumpet loved Tiffany and thought of her as some long lost relative or something.

Sighing, I rolled onto my back feeling peeved that my cock didn't agree with my irritation. What is it with dicks? Why the fuck do they seem to have a mind of their own? And usually contrary to what the big brain is telling them. I wanted to sleep—I had a full day of driving to look forward to on the morrow—but Tiffany's squeaks, and cries of "Yes! Just there", and "Harder, yes, harder. You're fucking me so good, Randy, baby", had little James saluting... again. Big brain was annoyed but effing little brain could have drilled a hole through concrete.

I turned my head to glance at Lexie. Unbelievable. She was dead to the world. Again, the question skimmed across my mind. How the hell does she sleep through this night after night?

Little head urged me to wake her, but big head knew that would be about as successful as asking a snowflake not to melt in the midday sun. Most of the time Lexie was sweet and funny but not in the mornings, and especially not if woken from deep slumber.

So, no relief likely from the fiancé. What were my other options? Bury face under pillow? Earplugs? Or dare I try and avoid blue balls and spank the monkey? If Lexie could sleep through Tiffany's yodeling and Crumpet's meowing, could she sleep through me engaging in a bit of wrist action?

Tiffany squealing like a stuck pig decided me. Randy was clearly on the homeward stretch. I could hear the slap of skin on skin and decided to slap a bit of skin myself. I grabbed a handful of tissues, proud of myself for thinking ahead, and slipped my hand into my boxers, taking matters in hand. It didn't take me long to get up to speed if you catch my drift. Panting as quietly as I could, I quickened the pace of my five-fingered tango with the aim of timing my climax to theirs.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh Randy, you're gonna make me come!" Tiffany squeaked. Christ, she's noisy. What's the bet she's faking it?

As per usual, her orgasm, real or fake, went on and on, and by the sounds of it, she was taking Randy along for the ride. The guy did a good imitation of someone in their death throes. I smirked. Yep, little death you are such sweet sweet agony.

I wasn't far behind him. After a quick check of Lexie to confirm she was still out for the count, I grabbed the wad of tissues and cleaned off my torso.

Like hitting the snooze button, my post-orgasm lethargy didn't take long to make my eyelids heavy and my limbs loose and relaxed. Sated, I rolled onto my side, spooned my girl and drifted off to sleep.

I SLIPPED OUT OF bed and paused in defiance of my bladder that was telling me it wasn't the size of a small country and needed me to empty it. I ignored it, staring at my sleeping girlfriend.

As per usual, she looked like an innocent angel with her blonde hair a cloud about her head. You'd never guess by looking at her how mischievous and sassy she was. Both qualities which I loved about her, right along with her generosity and sense of humor. It was no wonder she was one of the top sales persons for the menswear chain she worked for. Apart from being pretty with a great figure, she could charm the birds from the trees. That was how we met—I went into her store and she sold me a shirt. She absolutely bowled me over. The next week I was back, and she sold me some trousers. The next, another shirt. And so it went on until I finally plucked up the courage to ask her out. The running joke between us was that she only said yes because she was running out of things to sell me.

She says she loves the way my smile lights up my face, whatever that means.

I genuinely have no idea what she means by that. All I know is I cringe every time she says it because for the rest of the day all I'd hear on a bloody loop in my head is that old toothpaste ad; Show us your smile. White is in style. Are your McLeans showing? It's not a sin. It's how you grin. That's your McLeans showing.

Why couldn't she say she loved my baby blues or messy black hair? Or maybe, my intelligence and personality? Better yet, my six-pack abs or sparkling wit? I mightn't be as sexy as that guy on Game of Thrones that she was so enamored with, but, hey, I wasn't chopped liver either, but, no, it was always the damn smile.

With a final glance at my sweet Lexie, a parody of my infamous smile on my face, I succumbed to the demands of my bladder and headed for the bathroom.

Having shit, showered, and shaved, not to mention, relieved myself, I headed back into the bedroom to find Lexie still fast asleep. I sighed—if I had any sense I'd be jealous of her bed. She sure as hell seemed to have a love affair with it and sleeping.

Her bottom lip looked soft and full from sleep and I wanted to suck it into my mouth and really kiss her, but I pushed my lustful thoughts down and instead stooped and placed a light kiss on her forehead before grabbing my gear, intending to dress in the lounge so as not to wake her.

Once dressed, I checked the fridge and pantry, not surprised to find very little on offer. Keeping house and cooking weren't Lexie's strong points, something my mother regularly pointed out to me. Mum was horrified that I did most of the shopping and cooking when I stayed at Lexie's despite the menswear boutique Lexie worked at being in a shopping center with two supermarkets along with a specialist greengrocer, butcher, and delicatessen. When Mum would start on Lexie's lack of homemaking skills I'd just shrug and either remind her how caring Lexie was of her grandmother or tell her she should thank the gods I'd listened when she attempted to teach me cooking and other life skills.

I made myself some toast and logged into the Uber app on my phone to start my self-designated shift. Before I'd even made it to the front door, my last slice of toast hanging from the corner of my mouth, I had a ride request—airport to a hotel in the CBD. With a quick press of a finger I accepted the job and headed out to my pride and joy; a fully restored 1967 Rolls Royce Silver Cloud III. Really, with her black duco, silver bonnet, plush red leather and wood trim interior, she was too nice a car to be used for ferrying people all over the city, but her uniqueness had certainly earned me many repeat customers who appreciated elegance, fine craftsmanship and mechanics.

The day passed quickly, helped by a lot of fares and little down time. Of course, that meant I hadn't gotten much study done in between fares but I could make that up while Lexie was away for another visit with her sick gran in Melbourne. Besides, as per usual, I needed the money from my part-time Uber driving to pay my half of next semester's course fees.

I pulled into my parent's driveway, tired and hungry after working twelve hours solid. God, I hoped my mother had cooked one of her famous pot roasts. She, unlike Lexie, had excellent homemaker skills.

Luck was on my side; not only was pot roast on the menu but her mouthwatering potato bake, and, if my nose wasn't deceiving me, an apple pie was in the oven. Fan-fucking-tastic. All I had time for was a quick clean up before taking my place at the dinner table.

"How was your day, Jamie?"

"Good, Dad. Lots of rides, and long ones, so good for the dollars and light on the fuel consumption."

My father nodded approvingly; he was a man big on a person paying their own way through life. With my car, as with my uni course fees, he'd said he'd match me dollar for dollar, but he wouldn't just go out and buy me a car as soon as I was old enough to hold a license. He maintained that things that were received too easily weren't appreciated or looked after and that a little blood, sweat, and tears, along with some sacrifice, was the best way to teach a person to appreciate what they had. When I'd saved half the cost of a dilapidated Rolls Royce, Mum had thought I was crazy, but Dad was a man of his word and hadn't baulked at coughing up his half. He'd even spent many a Saturday helping me source parts and restore her to her former glory. Now she was worth almost ten times what we'd spent on her. Lexie teased me, calling my car my mistress but she was pleased she was going to be ferried to the church in such a classy ride.

Dinner conversation went along the usual route and once I was done eating I excused myself to call Lexie. I never liked to let a day go by when I didn't hear her sweet voice.

"Hey, babe. How was your day?"

"Good. Lots of fares. What did you get up to?"

"Not much. Had a nice sleep in, and then pottered around. Watched a movie."

"What was the movie?"

Lexie named some chick-flick and I zoned out as she gushed about how romantic it was.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the airport in the morning? I have enough time before my lecture."

"No, I'll be fine, Jamie. Actually, I'd best stop gabbing and go pack."

I frowned. She'd had all day to pack and she waited until the only time I had free to get around to it? I opened my mouth to comment but closed it again. No point in ending our last conversation, before she left to see her gran, in an argument. We'd had enough of them in recent times as it was.

"Okay, bye, babe. See you at the end of the week. Love you."

I opened my mouth again, this time to tell her I loved her, but before the words could pass my lips she'd hung up. I shrugged, trying to shake off my annoyance, reminding myself she was probably stressed about all the last-minute things she needed to get done before our wedding.

THE SOUND OF an incoming message woke me as the first rays of dawn slipped through the gap in my curtains. I rubbed my eyes and cursed myself for having forgotten to mute the volume on my smart phone before calling it quits the night before.

Thinking it could be Lexie changing her mind about a lift to the airport, I grabbed my phone from the bedside drawers. No missive from Lexie, but rather a generic one from Uber asking for available drivers as they were low on drivers and high on demand.

After a quick glance at the time I replied in the affirmative, saying I was available for approximately three hours. Their reply thanking me came through immediately, coinciding with my phone chiming an incoming message—my first ride being a run from the city center out to the international terminal.

In under ten minutes I managed to take a leak, throw on some clothes, pack my uni bag, brush my teeth, and grab my car keys. I stopped in the kitchen long enough to leave my parents a note, grab a handful of muesli bars, and fill a bottle with water.

As I navigated the almost deserted suburban streets that led to the highway into the city, I mused about my time as an Uber driver. I quite enjoyed it and now knew the city like the back of my hand. On top of that, I'd met a lot of interesting people, some of whom could well prove useful once I'd completed my engineering degree. One guy had even had me drive around the block a few times while he explained a concept to me that ended up helping me get a high distinction pass on my essay for that subject. He wouldn't let me discount the fare and even left me a generous tip along with his business card.

With the streets reasonably quiet due to the early hour I made good time to the hotel. Parking in their pick-up zone, I flicked off a quick text to the client via the Uber link to let him know I was ready and waiting. Ten minutes passed with no sign of my fare but just as I was about to send off a second text a guy who appeared anxious and stressed exited. He looked up and down the pick-up zone, clearly in search of someone or something.

I clambered onto the sidewalk. "Stephen Cummings?"

A relieved smile broke across his face. "That's me. Sorry I've kept you waiting. Check-out took longer than I expected."

"Cool. No worries. Let me give you a hand with that," I said, taking the handle of his roll-on suitcase and heading for the rear of my car.

I didn't like it when people threw their cases on the back seat as their wheels often left scuff marks on the upholstery. The easiest way to avoid the issue was to take their cases from them and place them in the trunk myself.

"Sweet ride, mate. She's a real beauty." Stephen commented, letting himself in the back on the passenger side, immediately reaching for the seatbelt. His sigh was audible, coinciding with the click of his seatbelt. I glanced in the rear vision mirror as I turned the key and the engine purred into life; he had his glasses clasped in one hand and his head resting back, eyes closed.

"Tough day to look forward to?" I asked.

"The worst. We lost a big project we thought we had in the bag to a competitor and now I get to go back and tell that to the board. I'm just hoping they don't shoot the messenger. It doesn't help that it was my design too."

"Well, that sucks."

"Sure does. Probably means I can kiss an end of year bonus goodbye which in turn means no going on the cruise my wife has her heart set on."

"Don't give up yet, man. Miracles do happen."

Even to my own ears the platitude sounded empty and lame.

Stephen fell silent and to all appearances seemed to be dozing. I concentrated on navigating my way through the increasingly busy traffic.

"Stephen, we're just about at the drop-off zone."

At my quietly spoken words, Stephen roused and looked about. "Wow. That was quick."

I pulled in behind a taxi, taking my car out of gear and pulling on the handbrake. I met Stephen at the rear of my car.

"Man, I don't mean to overstep the mark, but I've been thinking about your problem. If it was me, I'd try one last pitch. I'd ring their head honcho and confirm with him, he and his cronies have truly compared what you and the other guy have to offer. Tell him again all the things where you trump your opposition and counter any arguments where they better you. Maybe offer to meet those? Is the design flexible? Maybe change a few things? You already have a 'no' so what have you got to lose by giving it one last shot?"

Stephen looked at me long and hard. "You're not like any taxi driver I've ever come across before."

I grinned. "That's because I'm Uber."

A grin to match my own spread across Stephen's face. "Well, you certainly have given me some uber good advice. Advice I'm going to take."

I nodded, still smiling. "It ain't over till the fat lady sings. Right?"


I watched Stephen walk into the terminal and fancied his step was a little lighter and his shoulders more squared.

I turned my attention to my phone, looking through Uber for my next ride, hoping to find something nearby that would take me back toward downtown or the uni campus. Just as a frown creased my brow a new job slotted into the list. Yes! A fare from the domestic terminal to Randwick. I smiled at that—Randwick was near the University of New South Wales campus. It couldn't be more perfect. As quickly as I could I gave the affirmative for the job.

The drive between terminals was a short one and I was pleased to find a guy waiting at the designated pick-up point.

I wound down my window. "Richard Stroker?"

"The one and only."

Leaving the car idling, I climbed out and, as with my previous client, took his suitcase from him and headed toward the rear of my car.

"Looks like you're planning to stay for a while," I observed, nodding at the size of his luggage as I heaved it into the trunk.

"Yeah. I'm here for a week long fuck-fest with a bird I met and hooked up with about a month ago at a sales convention. I'll probably spend the week naked." He laughed. "So maybe I've overpacked."

I did a double-take at his bluntness.

"Good for you," I replied dryly.

A sidelong glance at his face told me my sarcasm had gone over his head, which was just as well—no need to lose a good fare just because I thought the guy was a jerk. Who was I to judge, anyway? Perhaps the woman in question was no more looking for commitment than he was.

"Mind if I join you in the front? I hate sitting in the back."

"Suit yourself." My voice was neutral but inwardly I groaned. Hopefully, the guy wasn't a chatterbox.

No such luck.

"This is a cool car, dude. Can't believe I'm riding to a hook-up in a Rolls."

"Thanks," was all I could think of to reply.

"So, yeah, I met this chick..."

"Sorry to interrupt, Richard—"

"Call me Rich."

"Ah, okay. Rich, what street in Randwick?"

"Um, let me check." I waited while he pulled his phone from his shirt pocket. "Carrington Road."

I hesitated for a moment. "Great. Know it well."

"So, yeah, as I was saying. I met this chick last month at a sales seminar the company we both work for held in Melbourne. Being new to the company it was my first seminar, but she's worked for them for a few years and has been to several. The guy I replaced introduced me to her. Said he'd had a good time with her at the last one."

I had intended to tune him out and only give noncommittal noises to his ramblings, but his words jolted me. Last month Lexie had attended a convention held by the retail chain she worked for. That too had been in Melbourne... surely a coincidence. Yes, it must be a coincidence. Melbourne probably hosted a hundred or more conventions and the like every week.

"She acted all sweet and innocent but sure as hell didn't dress that way. She looked as sexy as hell and once I got her back to my room, man, was she hot to trot."

Part of me wanted to go with my original plan of tuning him out, but something, something small but compelling, kept me listening.

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