Date: Sat, 12 Mar 2022 12:53:26 -0500
From: Gabriel Ben Carling <ryegnawsirus@gmail.com>
Subject: The Uber Pickup-ToP

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story below.

Tales of Portland

The Uber Pickup

I had been waiting outside this house for several minutes, waiting to pick
up my rider.  After two minutes, it starts charging the rider, but it's not
very much.  Lost time is lost money, but if I wait it out, I'll get more.
It sucks having to wait for someone is what I'm getting at.  It was a
normal looking house on a normal looking street.  There's a little suburb
development across the main road from the shopping center.  It's a
convenient place for a pickup, but I hadn't been in this neighborhood
before.

	More waiting.  I started looking through my phone, and then looking
at the house to see if I could detect any movement.  I must have checked I
was at the right address ten times by now.  I messaged him that I was
outside with a description of my car.  He replied he'd be just another
minute. This was getting annoying.

	I've been doing Uber driving on the side for a few months now.  I'm
still pretty new to it, but I really enjoy it.  The conversations, getting
to know my city better, and hey--I just enjoy driving for the hell of it.
I drive a new, smaller SUV.  I keep it clean and smelling nice.  So far, I
haven't had to clean up any bodily fluids, so I call that a win,
considering how many drunk people I've had in the car.

	On this shift, I was wearing a purple polo and my heather gray
joggers.  The polo says I'm professional, and the joggers are just
comfortable.  Sitting in the car all day in jeans or khakis always crushes
my nuts, so sweats or shorts are much preferable.  Here in Portland, most
people dress very casually, so I'm pretty sure my passengers don't care.  I
had all the buttons undone on my polo--I like showing off my chest hair.
I'm a bit chubby, and there's not much I can do about that, so I try to
enhance my appearance in other ways.  I like my chest hair, and I wear a
thin gold chain, so I think it overall classes up my look.  I have a close
shaved head, and a tight, curly beard I try to keep under control.  I have
an attractive, blemish-free face with deep-set green eyes.  As long as I'm
smelling nice, which I usually am, the overall effect is "nice guy who
deserves a tip."

	I took this delay as an opportunity to brush my beard into
submission and check that the back seat didn't have any crumbs or sand or
anything on it.  You know I'm bored when I start cleaning.  I keep the
passenger seat all the way forward so I can quickly reach the back seat to
keep everything in order back there between rides.  Riders rarely leave
belongings behind, but you'd be surprised how messy people can be.

	I heard a door close, and looked up to see a man approaching the
car.  Finally!  My annoyance quickly evaporated when I saw my passenger.
He was gorgeous.  I would guess 5'9", with full, smooth, longish black hair
down to the shoulders in the back.  He had sharply defined facial features,
and looked to be latino and/or Native American.  He was very muscular--not
like a body builder, but like a serious athlete.  His broad shoulders
carried meaty arms and tapered down to a slim waist.  It was his legs that
sealed the deal.  He was wearing an athletic T-shirt and soccer shorts,
revealing enormous, well-defined quads.  His knees were ripped, if that
makes any sense, and his calves popped out, all the muscles stretching his
skin tight and firm.  I took this all in in a moment, allowed myself a
second to appreciate his physique and attractive face, then I put on my
customer service persona before he opened the door.

	"Scott?"  I confirmed by stating his name.  He nodded and stepped
inside, taking a seat in the back.  As soon as he sat down, the hem of his
shorts sprang way up almost to the crotch level revealing hairy muscular
thighs.  "Going to down by the mall?" I confirmed his destination.  He
assented, but was struggling with his seat belt.  I turned to the back and
leaned towards him as I pointed out the right way to do the seatbelt.  I do
this at least ten times a day, I can't figure out why so many people
struggle with the seatbelt back there.  Usually I'm a little annoyed by it,
but in this instance, it was the perfect excuse to check out his body, take
in his smell, even his breath, and surreptitiously check out his bulge, his
shorts much tighter now that he sat down.  It was his enormous thighs,
tightening the thin fabric over his form.  His breath was sweet and sour,
warm and wet.  I smelled chapstick.  The rest of him smelled like clean
clothes, but also a kind of salty, nutty, skin smell--like he'd been
sweating but not to the point of body odor.  His bulge revealed both
flaccid shaft, cut, and low hanging balls.  I couldn't really figure a size
or length, but it wasn't small and I only took a brief glimpse.  As he
figured out his seatbelt and it clicked, his face rose, meeting my eyes and
gave me a sheepish, embarrassed grin.  One rush of air and I smelled his
hair, from when he brought his head up--another rush when he let out a
little nervous laugh and I got another smell of his breath.  I smiled back,
and returned to my seat, putting the car in Drive.

	So sue me.  I'm a people-watcher.  I'm a people checker-outer.  I
can't help it.  I don't know if everybody does this, but it can't be to
this extent most of the time.  I'm always noticing and paying attention to
attractive people, especially men.  I've always been surrounded by women at
work and at home so I think men provide a little novelty for me.  I try
really hard to make sure I don't make people feel uncomfortable though.  My
gaze doesn't linger, and I never make comments about someone's body unless
I actually know them enough, which isn't many people.  And even then.

	With the car moving, we started chatting.  I asked if he was going
to the gym, and he said he was actually going to work.  He was kitchen
staff at a restaurant, so I assume it must be really hot back there hence
the athletic gear.  Throughout our conversation he seemed a little out of
breath, or full of breath seems like a better phrase.  After a minute or
two of chit chat, the conversation died down.  I stole glimpses in the
mirror of his legs, his hair, whatever happened to be in the mirror.  I was
determined to commit this one to memory.  The drive was about 20 minutes so
we had plenty of time.

	I heard the sound of his hands on fabric.  I looked back and he was
rubbing his legs back and forth and he was breathing loudly, looking out
the window.  At first, I didn't think much of it, but he kept doing it and
looking agitated.  We stopped at a traffic light and I turned back to look
at him.  I asked if everything was okay.  He looked nervously down at his
crotch--naturally I looked down too, and I saw what the problem was.
Unlike before, he had a raging boner now.  It was long, thick, and pointed
off to one side.  He saw that I saw, and he started apologizing left and
right, clearly embarrassed.  I chuckled and tried to put him at ease and
not to worry about it.  He sighed relief that I wasn't being weird about
it, and he told me the situation.  He and his girlfriend had been making
out and things were starting to get hot and heavy.  He had already
scheduled the Uber to take him to work because his car was in the shop.
When he got the message from me that I was waiting, he was just in a towel
from the shower and his girlfriend was feeling him up.  He only had time to
throw his clothes on and run out the door.  I would go so far as to say he
didn't even have time for that, since I was waiting so long, but I'm giving
him the benefit of the doubt.  Long story short, he was still revved up
from his girlfriend's sexy post-shower attention.

	I told him "Look, I totally get it.  Happens to the best of us.  I
don't mind at all, you could rub one out back there for all I care--I've
seen a lot worse back there, believe me!"  Lies, all lies!  Nothing
remotely close to this had ever happened to me.  I hadn't so much as had
people making out back there.  My lie had the desired effect.  The light
turned green and I started moving.  He smirked at me a little.  He paused,
looking around, I assume to gauge how tinted the windows were exactly.
"You sure?"  "Go for it, man, I honestly don't mind."  Don't mind?!  I was
going wild, hoping beyond hope that he was going for the bait.

	I had to focus on driving for a bit, but the next time I glanced
back there, he was rubbing himself over his shorts--his enormous erection
leaving little to the imagination.  I gave him a little thumbs up, and he
laughed a little.  He looked out the window like a 9 year old boy keeping a
lookout for any adults that might catch us.  He pulled his shorts down with
his thumb, allowing his huge cock to bounce out.  A few moments later, the
smell of groin sweat and pre-cum met my nostrils.  I took a deep breath in.
So did he, for different reasons.  He was getting into it.  Taking a
serious bate session.  This wasn't going to be a quick release, he was
stroking purposefully with his rough, muscular hands in steady, commanding
pulses.  He let a sigh out with his mouth closed.  He was clearly feeling
very good.

	I struggled to focus on the road.  I took every chance to look his
way and marvel at this straight stud beating his monster meat...not for me,
but in front of me.  I was taking shallow breaths and trying to act cool.
I encouraged him, "yeah man, go for it!"  The next time I looked back at
him he was looking back at me with a weird look on his face.  He leaned
forward and eyed my lap.  I was busted.  In my joggers, my own erection was
not only clearly visible, also off to one side, but a teeny wet spot
announced my precum.  I hadn't even noticed, I was so focused on him and
acting normal.  Looking down would have definitely given me away.

	"You're totally getting off on this!" he announced.  I blushed, a
bit ashamed.  But then I realized that he hadn't stopped, he kept going.
"You just love seeing this cock, don't you, perv?"  Might as well go for
broke here--I was already caught.  I nodded yes, and he laughed.  He seemed
like a really light-hearted guy.  He probably thought this was funny and
was secure in his sexuality enough that he didn't feel threatened by my
arousal.  "Well I won't stop you either," and gave me a knowing up-nod as
if to say "I showed you mine, now show me yours."

	I had to get out of my head and disrupt the shame spiral ASAP.
This guy, I assume as straight as can be, is essentially inviting me to
jerk off with him.  This was so incredible, it didn't even occur to me to
fantasize about this.  I took a deep breath in, smelled his scent and with
my breath out I released myself from any moral hangups over this.  Let's
have fun.  I gave him a devilish smile and said "Nothing wrong with a
couple guys beating off."  I kept looking back at him, and pulled my
erection out of my pants.

	"Yeah, man, now it's a party," he said with another flashy smile.
I was imagining his big cock stretching out my ass.  I felt a bit weak just
creating a ghost sensation of it in my mind.  He looked so strong and
powerful, he could really fuck me hard.  "Is this what you like?  This big
Mexican cock?"  Okay, he was getting into this too.

	"Fuck yeah," I growled, my smile turning to a pleasure fueled
grimace.  I pulled my phone out, showing him the screen as I pressed the
"End session with this ride" button.  He looked at me, his eyes getting
wide.  Maybe he hadn't counted on this, but I knew where I wanted this to
go.  If he wasn't game, he can just take off when he's done.  "I'm thinking
about that massive piece of man meat in my mouth.  What are you getting off
thinking about?"

	He started panting.  I noticed his rounded pecs as his chest heaved
up and down off the seat, stretching his seatbelt.  He moaned and increased
his pace.  "My girlfriend's hot, wet mouth, she's--"

	"Your girlfriend ain't here, hermano," I cut him off, my voice
barking with authority.  "All you got is me, and my hot, wet mouth.  Now
try again: what are you thinking about?"  I couldn't believe my confidence,
this guy could easily overpower me, but I had surrendered to my lust and
nothing made sense anymore.

	"Fuck," he breathed out, continuing to pump his hard rod.  I gave
my own fuckstick another tug, my eyes fixed on the road I could only feel
the precum leaking onto my fingers.  "Fuck," he said, a bit more urgently,
moaning a little.  "Your beard."  Hell yeah.  "Your beard feels scratchy on
my legs as you deepthroat my cock!"  He seemed surprised at himself, but
turned on nonetheless.

	"Oh yeah man, facefuck me!  Give me your thick load!"  I tried to
sound as straight as possible, adding an edge to my voice I didn't normally
have.  "I can feel your strong hands on the back of my neck as you slam
into my throat."

	He moaned again, rising in pitch.  His face was getting more and
more red.  We were close to his work.  We were still going back and forth
describing our little fantasy while stroking our cocks.  I could barely
breathe, it probably wasn't very safe for me to drive under these
conditions, but what else could I do?  Driving a little fast through the
parking lot, I pulled into an isolated space in the back.

	"This is where you get off," I commanded him, not allowing any
argument in my voice.  I put the car in Park, and immediately adjusted my
seat all the way back so I could turn towards him and finish the job.  I
was about to make sure he was okay with me touching him, but he grabbed my
head with both hands and brought my mouth to his cock, yanking me out of my
seat, my hand stayed glued to my hard rod.  Fuck he was so strong.  He
handled my 250 pounds of hairy dad-bod like I was a ragdoll.  I opened my
mouth wide, no time to worry about teeth, and he rammed his wet, salty cock
to the back of my throat.  I gagged, yelped, and moaned in pleasure all at
once, doing my best to keep my lunch down.  I quickly pulled back off,
grabbing his pole with my left hand to stroke and letting out my ragged
breath, letting cock-drool ooze into my beard as he again two handed my
skull back onto his prodigious manhood.  He filled me up, replacing my open
air passages with his slick cock.  I couldn't breathe, I could barely move.
I squirmed and he pressed me to him harder, pinning my neck on his groin
with his forearm.  Tears ran down my face, my eyes bugged out, as I
struggled to make a sound.  His power was intoxicating, and it was all too
easy to surrender myself to it.  I reached my hand under his knee, pulling
him in to let him know I liked this.  Without pulling out, he started
fucking me, slightly further in, breaking the laws of physics, back out,
pulling my stomach contents out before shoving himself back in, gagging me
again as I swallowed back the bile and let him ravage my throat.

I finally pulled off completely, lightheaded and slobbering everywhere.  My
breath exploded out in an animalistic grunt and I wiped my mouth with my
wrist.  "Fuck," I growled, "Cum in my mouth," I begged.  I brought my head
down, ass in the air, bringing my face down to his groin while he furiously
pounded his hand down on his own cock. He grabbed my chin with his left
hand--his grip was strong and firm without hurting, and he held my mouth
open as we held eye contact, locked to each other's gaze. He was sweating
profusely, a deranged look on his face--he was desperate to come and about
to get what he wanted.  He brought his other hand to the back of my neck
and pulled me back onto his cock, more gently this time.

One, two, three thrusts, and he held me there as he let out a high pitched
moan and squealed like a little bitch "Aie, Scott, I'm cumming! I'm
cumming!" I had a momentary warm internal smile, touched that he remembered
my name and squealed it as he completely lost control.  My lust took back
over as I felt a flood of warm, salty-sour semen hit the back of my throat.
It stung slightly on my sore throat as he coated my insides with it.  I
hummed a moan of appreciation as he screamed and grunted with each spasm.
As he deflated, I sucked on his meat gently to get every drop out.

My back was all twisted from the awkward angle of everything.  As he
released his grip on me, I gravitated back to my seat, but I stopped
myself, turning my hips to face him.  I pulled out my throbbing erection,
positioning my left knee on the center console, my right on the reclined
driver seat and I faced him with my cock.  My back was arched to one side,
and my head was hunched over because of the low ceiling.  "Fuck yeah,
Scott, cum for me, you sick fuck!"  he was commanding me with a low,
intense voice.  I felt the release coming and pushed my hips even further
towards him.  He undid his seatbelt and scooted closer to me.

"Shit, shit, shit!  I'm cumming!" I howled as I fired off rope after rope
with each spasm, spraying him all over with my seed.  I started coughing as
I moaned harder, my throat still feeling pain from the skullfucking.  As my
release faded, I slumped back into the seat, collapsing sideways, more
tears streaming down my face.  My passenger, clothes covered in my semen,
sheathed his hardness back in those red soccer shorts.  "Fuck, sorry about
your clothes--your work--"

He cut me off.  "It's fine, I wear an apron over everything anyway.  Thanks
for the ride, Scott."  I loved the way he said my name.  He opened the
door, grabbed his stuff and walked out.  He turned towards me and waved.  I
could see a glob of my semen flowing down his shirt, dripping off to the
pavement leaving behind a long sticky filament.  His cock was still hard,
poking straight out barely contained by the fabric.  He turned around and
walked just like that all the way into the restaurant.  I watched his
retreat.  He made no attempt to adjust himself, and I watched his round
muscular ass--a new perspective for me--and then he entered the building.
Now who's the sick fuck?

I stayed in the parking lot another ten minutes or so gathering myself and
trying to come back to normal.  I assessed the damage.  Miraculously, I
couldn't find any wet spots or cum stains.  Nevertheless, the unmistakable
smell of man sex lingered.  I blew my nose a few times, and went to the
trunk where I had a sweatshirt.  I swapped my polo for the sweatshirt on my
bare chest and pressed the "Go" button on my Uber app.  I'll just go to my
next ride with the windows down, clear the air a bit.  I got a beep that
told me "Avery G." requested a ride.  I tested my voice--pretty raspy--and
reached around to the pocket behind the driver's seat and grabbed a cough
drop.  Good thing I keep those around.

I breathed out a sigh of relief as the cough drop eased my sore throat.  I
pulled onto the highway following directions for the next ride.  Another
buzz, and I checked my app.  "Jésus tipped you $50."  I smiled wide,
chuckling to myself.  Oh Jésus, it was so much more than just the
tip.

End