Soft Core Porn or the Real Reason You Can't Get a Cab in San Francisco

Nice looking woman in her middle thirties: thin, short brown hair, dressed in a conservative business blouse and skirt.


We passed a couple of cruising hookers.


"Are those women prostitutes?" She asked as if waking from a dream.


"You don't get out much do you?"


She laughed.


"No, I don't. I'm from Utah. I got married in High School."


"Yes - they're prostitutes."


We pulled up to her stop. Instead of paying she leaned forward from the right rear seat and asked,


"Do you think they enjoy their work?"


"Strange question."


"Well - you must know."


It was my turn to laugh.


"I know a little," I admitted.


"Well," she asked eagerly, "do they?"


"I don't know ... maybe at first ... having pleasure isn't what they're about."


"You don't think they enjoy it?"


"Maybe sometimes ... but they're into making money. They have to do it whether they're attracted or not?


"I know what that's like," she said. "I feel like that every time my husband touches me."


She leaned back in her seat and started crying. I watched her for a minute. Then I put the car in park and reached out to hold her hand. I pulled her gently toward me and she rose up, put her arms around my shoulders and sobbed for a few more minutes. When she stopped, I asked,


"So you want to go somewhere?"


She looked at me, studying my face, then nodded.


"Why don't you get in front?"


She took her purse and sat next to me.


"There's a motel on Lombard."


She nodded an OK. We didn't talk. I didn't want to break the spell. While I drove we caressed each other's knees and thighs.


When we got to the motel, I told her to get a room while I parked the cab on the street.  She was sitting patiently on a bench near the office when I returned. She showed me the key with the room number. I took her by the hand and led her to the room. She stiffened up as we walked.


The room was a dump. She looked around and said,


"I don't know why I'm here."


"Why don't you take  your blouse off," I said, "that would clarify things."


She flushed red, smiled and started to take off her overcoat.


"Do you have a condom?" I asked trying to act as if the decision had already been made.


She shook her head.


"Neither do I - I should have grabbed some at the corner store. Let me see if they have any here."


I went into the bathroom. There was a machine. I paid for two and returned. She'd only removed her coat.


"High class place," I said. "They have condoms but no soap."


"I have soap in my purse," she said seriously.


"I won't ask why," I said laughing.


"I won't tell," she giggled.


"You're still wearing that blouse."


She turned a delicious shade of pink and threw me a coy smile as she slowly undid the buttons. Then she quickly took it off, snapped open her bra and tossed it onto a chair, boldly exposing a lovely pair of breasts.


I walked over to her and slowly sucked her nipples without touching her body with my hands. Then I caressed her, we wrapped each other up and kissed. She thrust her tongue deep down my throat and led me to the bed.


I saw her for a few months after that - usually at my place and always when we were both supposed to be working. I had the day shift. She was in sales and could take extended lunches.


The last time, she walked to the door then turned and said,


"I won't be coming back."


Then she pivoted again and left.


A bit abrupt but that's why they call it cab driving.