Crimson Crossing – Stories in Erotica

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Texts, Taxi Cabs and Fares

An unexpected text causes me to smile. It’s a been a long workday and this slow taxi cab ride from Brixton to Charing Cross is not my preferred method of transportation during a snowstorm. In fact, I hate even the driver who fancies a chat when I intend on being left alone. I attempt the disinterested stare out the rear-passenger’s-side window, yet he finds it an invitation to probe into my personal affairs.

Thank goodness for the text. I couldn’t have entertained neither the thought of watching snow banks pass-by along the side of the roadway, nor the chatter of the driver for the duration of the journey. The text changes everything. I already know that time will feel quicker than it is making the ride much enjoyable.

The text is a continuation to our latest interactions when I left wondering who I was. The instance I read the text, blood rushes to blood vessels on the surface of my face giving me that feeling of emotional embarrassment. Thankfully the dark of the early evening has already set. It will cover my emotional state from the driver, even if slightly. I look around verifying that no one else can see the text. I’m not sure why I looked, there is no one else in the vehicle but me and the driver. It must be a nervous reaction. Sexting

I scoot over to the corner behind the drivers seat, hunch my shoulders, grab the mobile with both my hands and respond, “I’m too shy for such. I will not.”

Minutes later I’ve forgotten my initial response. All I feel is the temperature rising in the taxi cab, and an instantiable desire to obey the commands popping up on the mobile phone. I’ve been persuaded into lust brought about by imagery from messages; faceless messages at that. I’m nothing short of a morning dew announcing the arrival of the heated sun. I try to hide deeper in the corner and away from the driver’s field of vision. There is nothing else I want to do but to oblige… there is not a reason not to follow the texts.

“LOL”, is my response trying to conceal from him that I am following the picturesque texts; laughing out loud I’m not. I am rather filled with vigor. I am captive to it and the means to liberty is to thank the elasticity of leggings. I slide my right hand down where it’s welcomed by a blooming saturation. I know what I like and how to go about achieving it. Another “LOL” to buy me time to the spread my lips apart and rub. SextingBut, the taxi cab loses traction and it goes sideways almost hitting a snow bank. I’m sent across the back seat to the other corner, my hands still down my pants tasting how well the texts have made me feel.

The driver apologizes profusely. I am startled, pull my hand out, look down and feel embarrassed. Though he didn’t seem to notice the whereabouts of my hand, I felt that I had been see in a most intimate moment. I return to my hidden position, but this time I am hiding of embarrassment. As I’m looking down hiding my face from the driver I notice how my reaction to the text is still undeterred. The gray leggings are visibly admirable. I am contoured to them well enough to lure my hand right down and over the leggings to assess the desire.

I’m still warm, and in need of touch. I grab myself as if I were an athlete adjusting his package and feel how plentiful the Good Lord has made me. I’d be quite endowed were I a man. I tug on the leggings pulling them out from the contour they’ve created on me, and again slide my hand down. There are a few messages to my delight. I read them while gently massaging myself, gently inserting my index finger into myself. I place the phone down beside me, pull on the elastic waist of the leggings and try to look at myself. I slap my lips and tell them out loud that Richard should be manhandling them.

The car comes to a stop, the driver looks at me oddly. I turn cold, grab my purse look for cash but there are no small bills. I recklessly push the door open, rush out forgetting payment, have to turn around to throw the money at him and tell him to keep the rest of the fare. He says goodbye to me with a happy tone. I’m sure he was happy… I think he knew of my hands whereabouts saturated with me along with my finger hidden deeper than eyesight allowed.