There is something about the sexual possibilities of taxi drivers that really appeals to me. First, the randomness of it: you never know when you’ll get a hot one. 

Then the constraints of the situation, strapped in to diagonal positions—front and back, left and right—the fleeting opportunities for eye contact, the is-he-isn’t-he-interested ambiguity, the sometimes gradual building of sexual tension; and the tempo of it—the choreography of making a move, not too soon (and risk an awkward ride home) but not so late that it comes out of nowhere and misfires.  

I have learned from my mistakes, and pursue them more aggressively now.

My first sexual interaction was when I was 19, living in London, and had been at a gay club in Soho. I flagged down an unlicensed car, and he beckoned for me to ride in the front. He was a tall, well-built black guy, probably late 30s. I am a skinny, white, drunk (that time of night) twink (that time of life).

I have a poor memory of this, but I recall he was the one who engineered the conversation, I was far too naïve and tentative to have hit on him at that age. I recall becoming aware of his huge hard cock in his sweats, and thinking OMG this guy might be into guys. I ended up feeling the outline over the fabric, but that’s as far as it went. What a missed opportunity! Later I realized he must pick up guys in Soho a lot and have easy access to a lot of easy head. 

Another time, years later, I had been to a very boozy lunch, and was obviously extremely drunk. I got a traditional London black cab home. Again he made the moves. He wasn’t really my type (older white guy), but he ended up coming into my apartment and I sucked him and he gave me a facial. My friend arrived for a drink just as he was leaving. “Why was the taxi driver inside your house?” he asked suspiciously “He needed the bathroom, and I said he could use mine,” I said with as straight a face as I could manage, probably still smelling of his cum. 

My biggest missed opportunity was a mid-20s middle eastern Uber driver. I was asking about family (a good way into seeing if there could be some play) and he was complaining about his wife, and the callous way she treats him, that she doesn’t look after him, etc. I felt emboldened enough to say “Well she better be good at blow jobs because she seems totally useless at everything else.” 

“No, mate. She’s not putting out.”

It then emerged that they hadn’t had sex in years. That he was extremely horny. 

“Do you jerk off?” 

“No, a man should have self-control.”

“So do you never cum?” I asked incredulously. Turns out he just cums in wet dreams every 4-6 weeks. I found this astonishing! (I cum most days)

“When did you last cum?” By this point the atmosphere in the car was soupy with tension, at least for me. I could hardly believe he was telling me this.

“5 weeks ago.”

“So you’re telling me that you have 5 weeks’ worth of cum in your balls right now?”

“Yes.” He says making eye contact in the mirror. For a guy who loves cum as much as me, this was too much. I am properly leaking away in my pants, my heart beating in my chest, taking shallow breaths.

I can’t think how this came up (maybe I asked!) but I recall him telling me his dick size: “It’s seven,” he said, and again connecting his eyes in the mirror with mine: “it’s thick.” We were taking a curve in the road at this point, approaching my office.

It was nearly getting out time. He stopped. I leant forward, put my hand of his arm and squeezed his biceps (which felt amazing) and said: “Mate, I’m bi,” a lie, I am gay, but it was the preamble I landed on, “and if I was lucky enough to be your wife, I’d suck your dick every night as you got home from work, and be thankful for it.” 

He smiled at me, and with that I got out at my office, hiding my wet spot as best as possible. And I never saw the guy again (except in copious fantasies!)

I have a couple more stories with taxi drivers, one who (trigger warning) assaulted me, which, if this gets any response, maybe I’ll put in part 2 as this is getting pretty long.