Red ones

When I entered the car, I noticed that the driver's picture on the app looked very different than him. It's usual in our country that sometimes if a driver is sick, one of their brothers our cousins will take their place, but for my own security I decided to ask their name and confirm they were the same person.

Before I strapped the seatbelt in, I asked "Hey, good evening. Sorry to ask, but you look very different from your picture, are you Felipe?" He removed his glasses and gave me a wide, unnatural smile, nodding his head affirmatively. I looked at my phone, and noticed he was trying to imitate his picture in the app, it was really him. Same smile, same dimples, but now bearded, with glasses. I nodded and said "Yeah, it is you" and he smiled again, this time with pride and confidence. He had much shorter hair, topped by a baseball hat. I buckled up and we left. After a minute of silence, he said "I need to update that picture, huh?". "Not at all", I replied, "The glasses, the hat, the beard and the tattoos" - which I had just noticed on his neck and arms - "threw me off". He smiled proudly again, touching his stomach in circular motion, almost like caressing himself.

I noticed he had some sports magazines on the backseat. Various men in different sizes and shapes were displayed on one of them, in their sport gear. I looked at his again admiring his tattooed arms. He noticed. He clinched his right fist in the air and said "I want to be a model someday". I looked at him, wondering. "Oh, what kind of model?" He gave me a disappointed look. "Like a sports model, swim suit model or something sexy".

I nodded affirmatively, but did not say a thing then. To me, he really did look sexy. I could picture him in a red Speedo. I looked at the magazines dancing around in the back seat with every turn and decided to provoke him. "You don't seem like a sportswear kind of guy, to me". "Yeah, what do you think would work for me?" he asked, while carefully driving around a roundabout. "Hmmm. A speedo, maybe?", I asked, drawing an upside down triangle shape in the air. He looked at me with raised eyebrows and said "Well, that could work, that could work, yeah. You see... I'm a briefs guy". We were entering an empty, long road with low lights. "How did you know?”, he asked. I shrugged, decided to throw myself into that ambush. "Guys with a great body like yours look good in Speedos, briefs..." He listened and kept staring at me for a while, without looking at the road. He touched his beard and nudged his glasses. Then he signed left and started to move the car near the sidewalk. Everything was quiet, the street was empty; you could only see old houses far apart from each other and the bright yellow full moon behind them. I thought to myself "Fuck, why did I have to say that he was hot? He's going to murder me now". The car stopped completely. He turned the light on the roof and pulled the handle on the door on his side, putting one foot out. I removed the seatbelt and tried to open the door, but then his hand grabbed my shoulder. I stopped. He said "Don't worry, I just need to stop to take a leak. Also, I want your opinion on something" Then he pulled his shirt up so I could see his underwear. They were white Calvin Klein's. He snapped the waistband and winked at me.

He got out of the car and faced me from the outside, but all I could see were his stomach, crotch and upper part of his legs. He started to undo the buttons on his jeans, slowly. I was sitting sideways on the front seat but my right hand firmly gripped the door handle. He opened the jeans and revealed the tighty whities. They were clean, brand new, and framed his bulge perfectly. My hands relaxed.

He continued to lower his jeans down to his knees, revealing beautiful thighs. He ran his hands over his bulge and legs. I couldn't see his face, only his bottom half framed by the car's door. Then he turned around, so I was looking at his ass, and lowered the front of his underwear. While I looked at that fine butt I heard the stream of piss hitting the dead grass and the sidewalk outside.

A single lonely red car appeared at the very end of the long road and moved towards us slowly. I could see its headlights on the corner of my eyes, but my attention was on that butt. He pulled his pants up, buttoned them up then got a small bottle of alcohol spray from the door, rubbed his hands together after spraying some alcohol on his hands and got in the car again. He closed the door just as the red car went by us. He held the steering wheel with both hands, arms straight in front of him, looking ahead. He turned to me and said "Think I would do well in a Speedo?". I was beyond horny at that moment, so I yelled "Fuck yeah!"

He laughed, and leaned over my seat, getting his face really close to mine. I expected him to kiss me, but he just moved back into his driving position and accelerated. He did not say anything else. When we got to my place, I thought about inviting him over, but I believed he just wanted to have an exhibitionist rush and nothing else. When I opened the car door he stopped me by grabbing my shoulder again, and handed me a business card and a pen. He said "When I'm a famous model I'll let you know". I wrote my phone and my address on the back of the business card and handed it back to him.

Months went by and I did not receive anything from him, not even a text. But then, one Saturday morning, I got a postcard. It was Mr. Driver, in red Speedos over a fake sunset background in a studio. The back said "Thanks for encouraging me to wear Speedos. They make my nuts itch but they also pay my bills".

-- End

If you like this story, please consider donating at https://www.paypal.com/donate/?hosted_button_id=VXG537VJLFMHS