Taxi Cab Confessions

Even after all of my years spent in large and cosmopolitan cities, I still get a faint buzz from standing street side, hailing a taxi with my bare hands, stepping inside, instructing the driver and being whisked away to wherever I wish to go. There's a subtle erotic pleasure in submitting to the confinement, of being escorted and conducted effortlessly through the traffic and always the possibility that this car could be going just about anywhere. There is an aspect of power that appeals as well. Power in being the employer, however temporary it may be. Power in the anonymity. In the upholstered backseat of my car for hire and behind the smoked glass and tinted windows, I can be whomever I wish to be, albeit briefly.

It's addictive, the electricity of being driven, without question or judgment, toward something, someone that only I know. The not so subtle gaze out the window at other drivers, landmarks I've only glanced at in passing before serve only to whet my appetite. Anticipation and excitement bump up against each other, sparking a fire within me as the car approaches its destination.

It isn't just the anticipation or the empowerment, it's the sense of being taken away. Even for just a little while

Distinct Differences

Sex has intent, motion, emotion written all over it. Erotic is an impression, a preference, it just is what it is.