I’ve had a few friends, both men and women, tell me they’ve hooked up with their Uber or Lyft driver in the past, and every time I hear one of these stories, I think to myself, “Bitch, how?”
Did he invite you into the front seat? Did you say, “Whoa, it’s getting hot in here,” and then as you took off your sweatshirt, you “accidentally” took your shirt off with it, revealing that you were not wearing a bra? Since my friends are the worst, they usually reply with something along the lines of, “It just, like happened. You know?”
For the longest time, I did not know! That’s why I was asking! But now, reader, I am pleased to report that I have done it—I successfully hooked up with a Lyft driver—and I’m here to tell you exactly how it happened, so you’ll never have to wonder the way I did.
When I saw that Chris (not his real name) was coming to pick me up from the bar, I showed my friends, saying, “Oh… he’s cute. Maybe gay? I’m going to try to hook up with him.” I’ve never said that before. In fact, I rarely click on the face of the Lyft driver to expand it. I have no idea why I did this time. I think I was just waiting for his arrival longer than I expected and got bored.
My friends all laughed. One friend said, “He’s definitely a top, though.” I looked at the pic again, and was like, “We’ll see…”
When I hopped in the car, I said, “Hi, Chris?”
He said, “Yes.” We locked eyes through the rear view mirror for a much longer time than was appropriate. It was straight-up eye-fuck status.
I broke eye contact and thought to myself, Am I imagining this?
I started asking him how his night was going. He said he’d been driving all day. I said I’d been drinking, and he asked, “But you’re not drunk, right?” He seemed to be exploring whether I could consent. Thankfully, I was not drunk, and I was absolutely into the thought of his lips on mine.
We spoke about how he wants to travel the world. I almost made a mile-high club joke, but thought that may be too aggressive. All the while he was looking in that rear view mirror hard. Our eyes were locked and loaded.
There was a brief lull in the conversation, so I started texting a new friend from drinks. (Note the “Is this Zachary”.)
After putting down my phone, I kept the convo going, again with nothing sexual or flirty. In hindsight, I realize nothing came up about us being queer at all, but our eyes… they said everything.
When we got to my place, I collected my things and said thank you. He said, “Bye, honey.” It was the honey—the delicious nectar from the gods—that confirmed he was into me.
But, like what the fuck do you do now? I lingered leaving the car for what felt like forever, hoping he’d say something—anything—to get me to stay. When he didn’t say anything, I felt I’d blown my shot, so I got out, shut the car door and began walking to my apartment door.
I looked back as I reached my apartment gate, and he was there, smiling at me, while seated in the car. As I searched for my keys at the front door, he was still there, looking at me and smiling. I then took out my keys and looked back a final time. HE WAS STILL THERE WITH A STUPID SMILE ON HIS FACE. So I put my keys back into my pocket, and walked back into the car—the front seat this time. Where did this courage came from and why did it only decide to appear now? I have no clue.
Now, I’m aware that 99.99% of the time, a Lyft driving smiling at you from his car while you enter your apartment is creepy AF. This is even more true for women. The moment he drops you off, your driver should immediately zoom off and promptly forget where you live. In this case, it didn’t feel creepy or dangerous because we’d been flirting for a while, and it was clear we wanted to hook up, but neither of us were exactly sure how. We were both seemingly waiting for the other guy to make the first move.
When I opened the front door, he said, “Hi, honey,” at which point I finally understood what Winnie the Pooh had been craving his whole life. He gave me a big kiss on the lips. We then drove to a quieter street corner. He said, “I never do this,” which I ignored, because it would be like me saying, “I never get drunk and wake up with Doritos crumbs in my chest hair.” Both are obvious lies. (Or maybe he really never had done this? It would explain why he was waiting for me to make the first move.)
We made out for maybe a minute before we both ripped off our pants and threw them down to our ankles along with our underwear. Bare ass on the leather seat, he went down on me, and then I went down on him. After he finished, we zipped up. I didn’t orgasm, but I was very okay with it. I wasn’t sure how long it would take me, and even though we were on a quieter street corner, there were still plenty of cars driving by, and I’m not trying to get arrested. Honestly, that’s why my mom expects of me at this point, but let’s not prove her right.
I then grabbed my stuff from the backseat, and he gave me a big hug and kiss. “That was unexpected,” he said.
One I got inside my apartment I opened the Lyft app. I didn’t leave a tip—he already got more than JTT, if you know what I mean—but I sure as hell gave him five stars.
Zachary Zane is a Brooklyn-based writer, speaker, and activist whose work focuses on lifestyle, sexuality, culture, and entertainment.
Source: Mens Health