Manchester Taxi Company
"She owns the biggest Somali taxi company in Manchester—a thick ebony widow with a fleet of twenty cars. When he starts driving for her, she keeps him on the best fares. Some rides end at her house."
Star Cabs runs Manchester's night.
Twenty cars, all Somali drivers, all dispatched by Safiya. She built the company from one car and a dream.
I need work.
"Can you drive?" She looks me over skeptically. Fifty-two years old. Two hundred and forty-five pounds of business authority. Ebony skin, practical dress, the eyes of someone who's survived everything.
"I can drive anything."
"Big talk." She hands me keys. "Prove it."
I prove it.
Long hours, good fares, reliable service. Within a month, I'm her top driver.
"You're good," she admits.
"I have good dispatch."
"Waas." But she gives me the best runs—airport pickups, corporate accounts, the high-value fares.
"My husband started this company."
We're in her office at 3 AM. The radio crackles with driver check-ins.
"2005. One car. He drove while I dispatched from our flat." She stares at the monitor. "Heart attack behind the wheel in 2014. The car crashed. He was already dead."
"Inna lillahi..."
"I could have sold. Many said I should." She looks at me. "But this was his dream. And now it's mine."
"You work harder than any of us," I tell her one night.
"Someone has to."
"But when do you rest? When do you live?"
"Rest is for people who don't have twenty drivers depending on them." She rubs her eyes. "Life is for people who aren't widows at forty-two."
"You're not a widow. You're a woman running an empire."
She freezes.
"No one has called it an empire before."
"Because they can't see what I see."
"Come to my house."
The dispatch radio is quiet. The night shift is covered.
"I want to show you something."
Her house is comfortable.
The home of a woman who's been building instead of living.
"Ten years," she says. "Ten years of this house being a place to sleep between shifts."
"What do you want it to be?"
"Alive." She turns to me. "I want it to feel alive again."
I worship the taxi queen.
In her house that's been a hotel. Her body is the fleet—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.
"Ten years—" She gasps as I undress her. "Driving everyone—"
"Tonight I drive you."
I lay her on her neglected bed.
Where she crashes between shifts. Her body deserves a destination.
I spread her thick thighs.
Navigate to her pleasure.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—ten years of driving others finally being driven. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"
I take her to three destinations.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—complete the ride—"
I strip. She watches with those dispatch eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Premium service."
I push inside the taxi owner.
She screams.
"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I drive her all night.
Her massive body shakes. She comes twice more.
"Fill me—" She's begging. "End the ride inside me—"
I release inside her.
We lie in her bed.
"The night shift starts in four hours," she murmurs.
"I'll be there."
"And after?"
"Here. Always here."
One Year Later
Star Cabs is the biggest taxi company in Manchester.
And I'm more than a driver.
"Macaan," she moans. "My best employee."
The taxi queen who built an empire.
The woman I drive home to.
Five-star service.