MatureEbonyPru38F

I got ripped off by a licensed cab driver in Cork City today.

I received a request for an escort outcall to the Jury’s Inn Hotel by the Wharf. I am happy to do outcalls when on tour to hotels. I’ve refused all outcall requests for me to visit private homes and can only blame man’s inability to think logically when horny with the fact that he’d ask in the first place.

To get to the Jury’s Inn Hotel in Cork, I needed a cab. There’s a cab rank not too far from the City Centre apartment that I’m staying at in Cork. I walked there, since my attempts to hail cabs driving past my front door were leading me nowhere.

The first cab in the queue had a black driver. Now, without meaning to sound racist, but probably failing miserably, I gave him a miss and went to the cab behind him, which was being driven by a white guy. I have my reasons.

Cork is a relatively white City. There are a good number of faces reflecting ethnic diversity. But at that time of the night, wearing a push up bra, high heels and stockings, I really felt like the proverbial thumb sticking out.

Black men can get overly familiar when they come across a single black woman. It doesn’t matter to him that he’s probably going to get a flat out refusal – he’ll still try and hit on you. This is why I hardly ever have black trade’s men come to my home to carry out any work. A white plumber comes in, assesses the job, gives you a quote, does the job, wishes you a good day and leaves. A black plumber comes in, assesses the job, assesses the woman, assesses the tell tale signs of single-hood and asks one of two questions: “Are the kids at school?” if he’s a smooth operator. “Where is your husband?” if he’s as subtle as an agitated wasp.

Neither question has anything to do with the job that needs done. There are two ways to answer (pretty much the way to answer a punter who gets overly familiar and asks you for your real name; or where you come from. “Streatham,” I always reply with a straight face, knowing full well he wants to know which boat my parents stepped off from.): ask him what that has to do with the job a.ka. tell him to fuck off and mind his own business; or mutter a response, even if it’s only half the truth.

The last time a black trade’s man asked me where “the man of the house was”, I told him I was a lesbian. That shut him up. He also never returned to finish the job.

Anyway, I didn’t fancy being hit on by an immigrant cab driver, of any hue. I didn’t want to be leered at; propositioned; or have to engage in any intrusive small talk. Especially if he took one look at me and guessed that I was a professional escort.

The cab I selected, pulled out and headed out. Now when I’d accepted the escort outcall booking, I’d done so on the proviso that it didn’t look like it was far from where I was staying when I looked on the map. And I remember, just moments before the cab driver pulled over and I found we were there already, that the Fare Display was showing €5.65. I was gathering my bag and hold all with my sex toys and outfits, when I heard him announce, €11.00. How the fuck did that leap from under €6 to €11 occur.

Not wishing to appear uncool, I handed over a €20 note, but I made sure that I didn’t pay him a tip. I was so sure I was being ripped off.

I put all thoughts of this encounter out of my mind. The client gave me a generous tip any way and that more than covered my fare there and back. He hadn’t ejaculated in almost six months and wondered if there was something “wrong” with him. He explained that he’d asked me to bring my strap-on with me because he’d heard that if a man had performance issues, a fuck up the back-side with a strap on would “turn him inside out” and bring back his libido. I think he has very cruel friends with a warped sense of humour. But if they knew how gentle I am with introducing men to the pleasures of strap-on sex, they'd have realised the joke was on them.

I did get him to cum, but the strap on lay redundant on the single bed across from the double we were playing in. I brought him to a climax with a slowly lingering blow-job and my very small sized anal bead sex toy working his arse and prostate gently. It is perfect for anal play virgins. He seemed very relieved that he had managed to ejaculate without having to be turned inside out by my strap-on. Perhaps, as I type, he is deleting a few entries from his phone book.

And on my way back, just over an hour later, in another cab, my suspicions about the original driver were confirmed. Without even knowing about my experience earlier, this present driver began to chirp away about how close the Jury’s Inn hotel was to where I was going, but how some cab drivers would deliberately take a longer route to charge more. And sure enough, I could see shops in the Cork City Centre that I saw on an almost daily basis when I went in to the City. I really was close to home.

I told him my story and asked him how it was possible that my fare had shot up that quickly. The route we took hadn’t been exactly wrong, even allowing for one-way systems. He pointed at some little buttons on the display. One of them seemed to be labelled E.

“He must have pressed the extra’s button”, he explained. He gestured towards it to show how easy it was to do. But even he was shocked and indignant to hear that I’d been charged €11 for such a short trip. I felt I had a new friend to add to my phone book.

As we pulled up outside my apartment block, he announced, with the kind of pride that comes from an honest man, “That will be €5.” He had actually shaved a few cents off the fare to round it down, not up.

And with the kind of pride and joy that comes from a satisfied customer, I handed him a €10 note. “Please, keep the change,”

“Are you sure?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“With my heart felt blessings,” I assured him.

His prayers and good wishes were still ringing in my ears long after he had pulled away from the kerb and I had the key in the lock of the front door.