Image courtesy of LGBTQ+ Prism Stories
It wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a simple ride. Just a late drive home after a night out in Beverly Hills, a quick jaunt from the hotel to my front door. But the universe had other ideas. Our careful planning means nothing to fate.
The moment I climbed into that cab, it felt like déjà vu—the same driver I’d had twice before, his slender figure perched over the wheel with his eyes trained ahead, seeming to see more in the road than the headlights revealed. Jimmy Anderson. I hadn’t noticed much before about him, but tonight something about his expression held me. He looked startled, a bit wide-eyed when he saw me, like he hadn’t expected to see me either.
Long night? he asked with a soft British lilt that struck somewhere deep. It was crisp and warm, like whiskey with honey on a winter night.
Yeah, I muttered, settling into the seat.
Visited an old friend. He leaves tomorrow, so we had a drink.
Jimmy glanced at me through the mirror, his gaze lingering before he looked back at the road, maybe a little longer than necessary. That’s nice… Jimmy commented.
Must mean a lot, if you’re out so late to say goodbye.
As we neared the Sunset Strip, I noticed he made an unexpected left turn, and the cab rolled to a stop. Confused, I leaned forward. Everything okay?
Jimmy cut the engine, turned in his seat, and looked at me, his expression half a smirk, half… something I couldn’t quite read. looked at me with a smirk that held something unreadable beneath it
Giving you a free ride tonight. Why don’t you just go with it ?
He stepped out, circled around, and before I knew it, he was at my door, opening it. There was a quiet urgency in the way he moved, like he’d made up his mind about something and wanted to see it through before he had a chance to rethink. My heart skipped a beat when he leaned in close, the scent of faint cologne mixing with the cool California night air. I barely registered his hands moving to lower his pants before he grabbed my collar, pulling me toward him, his voice low and unsteady.
Been waiting for you all night. Got a hard-on the moment you climbed in, he murmured, brushing his lips against my ear. The words hung there, tempting, unfiltered, and my mind went blank for a second as I pulled back, then felt something inside me tilt, something I’d been holding back suddenly aching to come closer.
He looked at me, an open invitation in his gaze, and before I knew it, we were drawn together in that charged space, lips finally meeting, every bit of restraint gone. There was a magnetism between us, raw and pulsing like an unspoken understanding. In that moment, I forgot every boundary I’d set for myself, lost in the feel of him—his hands, his lips, the warmth of his body in the night air.
I responded to his touch with a fervor that surprised us both. Our bodies moved in tandem, every stroke a testament to our passion.
The night air was charged with tension, the air filled with the promise of something more. I could feel the intensity of our desire, the heat of our bodies radiating outward in a pulsing rhythm. It was as if we were on the edge of something immense, something that would consume us both and leave us forever changed
In that moment, I forgot every reservation, every fear of the unknown. I was lost in the swirl of our Sensuality, my thoughts consumed by the raw power of our desire. As we reached the peak of our Sensation, I felt myself teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Jimmy’s voice was a low growl in my ear, his words a whispered promise of ecstasy and release. I arched my back, my body trembling as the Eruption tore through me like a wildfire, leaving me breathless and spent
And in that moment, I knew that nothing would ever be the same between us. We had crossed some unseen line, stepping into a territory that was both forbidden and alluring. And I couldn’t help but feel that we were on the brink of something truly extraordinary.
When we finally caught our breath, he gave me a shy, almost uncertain smile. Think you should know, he said softly, this is different for me. I don’t usually do things like this.
I don’t either. The words tumbled out, unfiltered. There was something about him that felt so achingly real, as if he were pulling away a part of himself just for me to see.
I don’t either, I blurted out before I could stop myself. There was something raw and honest about him, as if he’d lowered his guard just for me.
He shook his head, and I caught a faint tremble in his hands as he closed the door and returned to his seat. For a long moment, he sat quietly, his shoulders tense. You might think I’m strange, working only nights. It’s the only time I can drive—soon, I won’t be able to.
The truth is I can only handle driving in darkness. Soon, I won’t be able to drive at all.
What do you mean? The shift in his voice, a fragile note beneath the calm, hit me hard.
Losing my sight, he said softly, as if it were something he’d already accepted, though I could see the sadness in his eyes, even from where I sat. “Genetic condition, something my doctor calls ‘retinitis pigmentosa.’ Got it from my dad, or his dad… doesn’t matter I guess. Just that tonight’s one of my last shifts before…
I’m losing my sight, he said softly. Despite his calm voice, I could see the sadness in his eyes from where I sat. Retinitis pigmentosa is what they call it
inherited from my father’s side. Tonight is one of my last shifts. Soon I won’t be able to drive at all.
He trailed off, his gaze drifting out the window as if he were savoring every last thing he could see.
We sat there in silence, the enormity of his confession weighing between us and in that quiet, I felt something shift within me. I didn’t just want him; I wanted to know him.
We sat together in silence, his confession hanging heavily between us. In that stillness, something shifted inside me
I realized I didn’t just want him, I wanted to understand him completely
After a few heartbeats, he looked over at me, his smile tinged with something softer, something vulnerable, and for the first time, I noticed the faint tremor in his hands. He was holding onto a memory, a story—one that went back to his husband Chris, whom he lost years ago but who still lingered here in the cab, as if he could feel the memory breathing in every mile Jimmy drove
It wasn’t long before he started talking, his voice a barely-there whisper. This cab used to be Chris’s. He kept it spotless, never a dent or scratch. Loved driving, he did. I’m just keeping it going. Don’t think I’ve even changed the smell of the air freshener he used.
It didn’t take long before he started talking, his voice barely a whisper. This cab used to be Chris’s, he said. He kept it spotless—never a dent or a scratch. He loved driving. I’m just keeping it going.
I don’t think I’ve even changed the scent of the air freshener he used.
I felt a chill pass through me, knowing I was now a part of this story. As he shared pieces of his past, a strange sensation settled over me. I’d dreamt of Chris’s face before, seen him in a hazy corner of my mind, always with Jimmy there too, as if I’d been a silent witness all along. And just as Jimmy’s voice faltered, I realized he’d been seeing me in his dreams too, the same dreams, the same moments. It was a bond that both terrified and drew us closer.
Jimmy leaned over, touching my arm as if searching for something—some reassurance or recognition. And I knew, with a sense of finality, that tonight wasn’t just another drive. It was the start of something I couldn’t explain but couldn’t ignore either.
The following week passed in a blur. I kept looking for Jimmy, wondering if I’d find him waiting outside my building, but the cab never appeared. I was left with nothing but the quiet ache of that night and his half-smile lingering in my mind.
Then, out of nowhere, he called. Cameron you busy?
His voice held the same lilt, only softer, more fragile. I couldn’t say no. Within an hour, I found myself on the other side of town, at a modest house tucked between old elms and cracked pavement. He opened the door, his gaze warm but uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure I’d come.
I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me again, he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. You’re different from anyone I’ve met in a long time.
Let’s just say I’ve missed you more than I expected, I replied, stepping inside.
His house felt like stepping into a memory—photos on the walls, his husband Chris’s face smiling back at me in a dozen frames, his old leather jacket still hanging by the door.
Jimmy saw me noticing and gave a faint smile. Can’t seem to let go, even if he’s been gone for five years. Chris… well, he kept me anchored. Even now, sometimes, I still feel him.
Jimmy noticed me looking and gave a faint smile. I just can’t seem to let go, even though he’s been gone for five years. Chris kept me grounded. Even now, sometimes I can still feel his presence.
We sat in his living room, and Jimmy talked more openly than I’d ever heard him. He spoke of how Chris had passed after a sudden illness, leaving him with the cab and their dreams that had been cut short. He told me about his worsening eyesight, the quiet dread that each day, each mile, was bringing him closer to an ending.
Sometimes I don’t know what’s harder, he said, eyes locked on mine, losing my sight or knowing I’ll never see him again.
My hand found his, and the silence held an answer neither of us spoke out loud. Before I could think twice, I leaned forward and kissed him, and just like that, the floodgates opened. Every fear, every regret, every hope we’d kept hidden finally found the space to breathe.
Stay the night, he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. And I did. We fell asleep entwined, two people bracing against the darkness in each other’s arms.
A few months later, Jimmy’s eyesight deteriorated rapidly. The last time I rode in the cab with him, he kept one hand on mine while the other gripped the wheel, as if trying to memorize every detail, every curve of the road. And as the days passed, I became his eyes, guiding him through familiar streets, recounting the details he was starting to lose—right down to the way the sunlight hit the dashboard.
Our nights were spent in soft conversation and shared silence, me reading to him as he listened. In those quiet hours, I learned to love him without needing anything back. Jimmy, in his own way, loved me fiercely, even as he slowly came to terms with the fact that Chris would always be there, between us, a quiet shadow neither of us could change.
One morning, as dawn broke, Jimmy finally looked at me, his eyes unfocused but his voice clear. Thank you Cameron. I’d lost more than my sight when Chris passed. I’d lost hope and you gave that back to me.
And with that, we made peace with the inevitability of what was coming. The weeks turned to months, and though his world faded to darkness, our nights stayed lit by our own brand of closeness.
One evening, just as spring returned, Jimmy gently took my hand, whispering, Don’t mourn me too long. Just remember…
And then, just like Chris, he was gone, leaving me with nothing but the steady hum of the city outside, the faded smell of his cologne, and the cab he’d left behind for me to carry his memory onward.
I drove that cab for a while, even though I didn’t need to, not really. Each night, as I watched the city roll past, I could feel Jimmy’s laughter in the backseat, his spirit lingering in the quiet moments. He was gone, but he hadn’t left. And, in a way, that was enough.
The love we had may have lasted only a moment, but it was a lifetime in the making. And as I rolled the windows down, breathing in the cool night air, I could swear I heard him say, Just drive.
And so, I did….
Our love may have lasted only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime in the making. As I rolled down the windows and breathed in the cool night air, I could almost hear his voice urging me,
Just keep driving
And with that, I pressed forward into the night.
