Saturday, February 25, 2006

A taxi ride back to work after visiting boyfriend number 3

A couple of weeks ago on the Friday, I take a long lunch break from work to visit boyfriend number 3 at his flat in Greenwich. I hadn't seen him since just before the new year when we had a drink together after work.

It's good to see him again. After the customary activities, we have a long cuddle together which is lovely. I love holding another guy close, especially when we're both naked, both very comfortable with the situation. But eventually it's time to head back to the office so I phone for a black London taxi cab.

My favourite form of transportOn the way back to work in the cab I get talking to the taxi driver. I take a lot of cabs, and it's good to get other perspectives on life, so I usually talk to cab drivers when the opportunity arises.

"I grew up round here", says the cabbie, "but it's wasn't like it is now when I lived here".

"Really", I say, only half paying attention. I've got a meeting to attend back in the office and I'm concerned that I may be late. "How do you mean?"

"Well it's a lot rougher now than it used to be. I'm surprised to be picking up someone like you from an area like this!"

"I was just visiting a friend", I say casually. Probably best not to tell him the whole story, although he looks like the kind of cabbie who'd enjoy hearing about a bit of gay infidelity. "Actually my friend had a spot of ‘bother’ last year when he was mugged near here. Now he can't wait to move out."

"Really?" says the cabbie. "Doesn't surprise me I'm afraid to say."

I tell the cabbie a bit about what happened. After a few minutes he's got a bit more to say on the subject.

"I know a few guys that'd sort out that problem for him, wouldn't cost him that much either."

What's he saying? Is he saying what I think he's saying? Is he saying that he knows people who'd beat up the muggers?

"How do you mean?" I say naïvely.

"Well these guys would probably know who the guys are who mugged your friend. If they don't know them, they're bound to know people who do know them. So you tell them as much as you can, and they do the rest. The guys who mugged your friend would end up sorry that they messed with him, that's for sure."

I'm a bit shocked. I don't usually have conversations about paying to have people beaten up!

"I hate hearing about that", continues the cabbie, "scum taking advantage of honest hard working people like your friend. That's what they are, Scum."

"You're making me scared to visit this area now!" I confess. But it is fascinating to hear what the cabbie has to say.

"Well it's definitely worse than it used to be. Used to cost about £5,000 to get rid of someone, or put them in a bad way, their families too. That's what the Asian guys I know would charge. But these days Nigerians will top someone for only £500!"

Somehow this is all very believable, as well as terrifying. The cabbie looks the part too, London born and bred, and he looks like he knows how to handle himself in a difficult situation.

"I used to come across all sorts of scum when I worked nights. But I don't work nights no more. Not worth it. I've got a wife and kids back home."

"If you worked nights I guess you've had a few difficult situations to handle", I say, egging him on. This is definitely one of the most fascinating conversations I've had in a taxi for years.

"Yeah mate. Actually the worst incident was the one which made me pack it all in, working nights I mean."

"What happened?"

"Well, I was at the top of Wardour Street in Soho, and these girls come over to me. Early twenties I'd say, a bit drunk, been out on the town. ‘How much to Angel end of Liverpool Road?’ they ask. Well it's about a tenner isn't it, twelve pounds tops. ‘That guy over there wants twenty-five quid’, they say, pointing to a mini-cab driver standing by his car. Well, they get in to my cab, but the traffic lights are red, and while I'm waiting the mini-cab driver only comes over. ‘What do you think you're doing’, he says, ‘you're taking food out of my little children's mouths’. My window was down, next thing I know he's put a knife to my throat. ‘No, you're taking money out of these honest hard-working girls pockets!’ I said."

"You said that with a knife at your throat?" I interrupt in disbelief.

"Yeah, well I knew he couldn't really do much through the window like that, not with witnesses in the back and all. Anyway, as soon as the lights change, I say to him ‘you're on camera you know’ because there's police monitoring cameras everywhere these days. He's distracted now, and as he's taking his arm away, I grab it see, and put my foot down on the accelerator. I manage to drag him over the junction into Berner's Street, dropping him on the other side. Then I was hoping the back axle of the cab would run over his leg, but unfortunately he got clear somehow. I decided to stop working nights after that, it's just not worth it!"

I'd been lucky with the traffic, and I manage to get to my meeting on time. But after a conversation like that, I find it difficult to concentrate. Sex, and a few gangster stories thrown in for free. While I'm thinking about how nice it was to cuddle boyfriend number 3, feeling his heart beat under my hand, I can't help wondering how the colleagues in the meeting had spent their lunch breaks.

5 comments:

xmichra said...

holy crap!
I don't know what I would be more affraid of.... the area, or hailing a cab!

Josh Jordan said...

Wow, what a story, whenever I get in a cab, all they seem to wanna talk about is the weather! Your trips are more fun than mine!.

Great blog as always.
Hugs,
Josh.
www.sexandtheseafront.blogspot.com

Will said...

Yes, given what you've been up to, there's no telling what any of the others might have been doing before you all show up for a meeting with every hair combed and not a speck of lint on your suits.

I read an article on S&M once that put an amazing image in my head--there are bound to be a lot of top execs moving suavely through the day with buttplugs strapped into their asses, tit clamps and ball stretchers, all put unremoveably in place by boyfriend/masters who'll be waiting when they get home to make sure they've been good boys and not tried to undo anything. Amazing.

GBD said...

Wow, that sounds scary :-( Getting stressed just reading it!

Reluctant Nomad said...

That's some story! My only encounters with cabbies here in Nottingham has been offers of sex. And, no, I didn't take any of them up on it.

Most were hideous and the one who was really sexy wanted me to be the repostitory for his dick, ie nothing reciprocal and no true body contact as such. You know the sort, if he doesn't kiss or touch another man's cock, he's not gay. I turned him down, of course!