The Rideshare | NEON LIT

She's already in the passenger seat when I pull up.

The app said "Maya, 1 passenger, going to Ashland," and I figured she'd be another silent traveler—headphones in, window out, six hours of nothing. But Maya isn't nothing. Maya is something.

She's wedged into my Honda's passenger seat like she was poured there. Thick thighs pressing against the door on one side and the center console on the other. A soft belly rounding beneath her oversized sweater. Breasts that the seatbelt bisects, creating two distinct mountains of flesh. When she shifts to get comfortable, everything moves. Ripples. Settles.

She catches me looking.

"I know, I know." She waves a hand, face already flushing. "I should've booked the backseat. More room. But I get carsick if I'm not up front, and I swear I won't be annoying, I'll be totally quiet, you won't even know I'm—"

"It's fine."

"—here, and I brought snacks but I won't crinkle the bags or anything, I'll just—wait, what?"

"It's fine." I put the car in drive. "Six hours is a long time to be quiet."

She blinks at me. Brown eyes. Round face. Hair pulled back in a messy bun that's already falling apart.

"Oh." She settles back, and her thigh presses harder against the console. "Okay. Cool. I'm Maya, by the way. The app probably told you that. I'm bad at introductions. I'm bad at a lot of things, honestly, which is kind of why I'm in this car, but that's—that's a whole thing."

"I'm Daniel."

"Daniel." She says it like she's tasting it. "That's a good name. Solid. Biblical. Were your parents religious?"

"My grandmother was."

"Mine too! She used to make me pray before every meal, even snacks, even like... a single grape. 'Thank the Lord for this grape, Maya.' And I'd be like, Grandma, I'm five, I don't even like grapes."

I laugh before I can stop myself.

Maya grins. It transforms her face—makes her look younger, brighter, like someone who hasn't learned to dim herself yet.

"See? I told you I'd be annoying."

"You're not annoying."

"Give it an hour."

Hour One

She talks.

Not constantly—she's aware enough to pause, to ask questions, to let silences breathe. But she fills the car with herself. Stories about her job (barista, hates it), her apartment (tiny, loves it), her cat (obese, named Chairman Meow).

"He's twenty-three pounds," she says, showing me a photo at a red light. "The vet says he's 'morbidly obese' and I'm like, sir, that's rude, he's voluptuous."

"Like owner, like cat?"

The words are out before I think. I freeze. That was—that could be taken wrong—

But Maya laughs. Full-bodied, head thrown back, her breasts shaking with it.

"Oh my God, exactly. We're both built for comfort, not speed." She settles back, still grinning. "I like you, Daniel. Most people get all weird when I make fat jokes about myself. Like they're scared to acknowledge it."

"Acknowledge what?"

"That I'm fat." She gestures at herself. "Obviously. Two hundred and forty pounds of pure chaos. But people act like if they don't mention it, I won't notice. Like I don't feel my thighs touching when I walk. Like I don't see myself in mirrors."

"You seem pretty comfortable with it."

"Took me a while." Her voice softens. "But yeah. This is just... me. All of me. Literally."

She shifts again, and her thigh brushes mine.

Neither of us mentions it.

Hour Two

The highway stretches empty.

We've left the city behind—nothing but fields and sky and the occasional truck stop. Maya's kicked off her shoes, curled her legs up as much as she can in the cramped space. Her sweater's ridden up, showing a sliver of soft belly.

"Can I ask you something personal?" she says.

"Depends on how personal."

"Why rideshare driving? You don't seem like... like this is your thing."

I consider lying. Keep it light. But something about her—the way she's been peeling herself open for two hours—makes me want to match it.

"I'm running away from something," I say. "Driving helps me think."

"What are you running from?"

"What are you running from?"

She goes quiet. First time since she got in the car.

"Okay," she says finally. "Fair. But you first."

"I asked second."

"I asked first."

I glance at her. She's watching me with those brown eyes, and there's something underneath the playfulness. Something raw.

"My ex," I say. "She wanted me to be someone I'm not. Smaller. Quieter. Less... present."

"Sounds like my ex. Except he wanted me to be literally smaller." She laughs, but it's bitter. "Kept leaving diet pills on my pillow. Buying me clothes two sizes too small as 'motivation.' Telling me I'd be so pretty if I just—"

She stops.

"If you just what?"

"If I just took up less space." Her voice cracks. "That's what he said. The last thing he said, actually. 'Maya, I love you, but you take up too much space.' And I thought... I thought that was the problem. That I was too much. Too big. Too loud. Too everything."

"That's not a problem. That's who you are."

"I know that now." She wipes her eyes quickly. "That's why I'm in this car. I'm going to my sister's place. Starting over. Leaving everything behind—the job, the apartment, even Chairman Meow. He's with my mom now. I cried for three hours."

"Over the cat?"

"Don't judge me, Daniel, he's a very important cat."

I laugh. She laughs. And somewhere in the laughing, her hand lands on my arm.

She doesn't move it.

Hour Three

"Can I tell you something weird?"

"Weirder than the grape prayers?"

"Much weirder." She's been quiet for a few minutes, staring out the window. "I feel like I know you. Like we've done this before. Not rideshare, but... this. Talking. Existing in the same space."

"You believe in past lives?"

"I believe in chemistry." She turns to look at me. "And I think we have it. Don't you?"

The car suddenly feels very small.

"Maya—"

"I know. I'm a passenger. You're the driver. This is weird. But I've spent twenty-seven years being what other people wanted, and I'm done." She sits up straighter. "So I'm going to say something, and you can pretend I didn't, and we'll never see each other again after Ashland. But I need to say it."

"Okay."

"I want you to pull over at the next rest stop." Her voice is steady. "And I want you to kiss me. And if that goes well, I want you to take me to the back seat and do whatever you want with me. All of me. Every inch. Because I've never felt this comfortable with anyone this fast, and I'm terrified, and when I'm terrified I either run away or run toward, and I'm so fucking tired of running away."

The highway hums beneath us.

My heart pounds in my throat.

"There's a rest stop in three miles," I say.

Maya exhales.

"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."

The rest stop is empty.

Two in the afternoon on a Wednesday—just us and a shuttered snack stand and a field of nothing stretching to the horizon. I pull into the farthest parking spot, kill the engine.

The silence is enormous.

"Daniel—"

I kiss her.

She tastes like the coffee she's been drinking all morning, like the mints she popped an hour ago, like something underneath that's just her. Her lips are soft. Full. She gasps against my mouth, and I swallow the sound.

"Backseat," she breathes. "Now. Please."

We climb over the center console like teenagers—graceless, laughing, knocking elbows and knees. She ends up sprawled across the back seat, that oversized sweater riding up to her ribs, and I'm between her thighs before I can think.

"Let me see you."

She hesitates. First time since she got in the car that she's hesitated about anything.

"All of me?"

"All of you."

She pulls the sweater off.

She's not wearing a bra.

Her breasts are massive—spilling to the sides without support, soft and heavy and tipped with dark nipples already hardening in the cool air. Her belly rolls beneath them, soft folds of flesh that shake when she breathes. Stretch marks like lightning across her hips. A body that's been lived in. Loved wrong. Ready to be loved right.

"Fuck," I whisper.

"Bad fuck or good fuck?"

"Come here."

I pull her up, and she straddles my lap. All two hundred and forty pounds of her settling onto my thighs, her belly pressing against my stomach, her breasts crushing against my chest. She's so warm. So heavy. So fucking real.

"You feel that?" She rolls her hips, and I feel her heat through my jeans. "I've been wet since hour two. Just sitting there, squirming, trying not to—"

I grab her hips. Pull her harder against me. She moans.

"Don't hold back," I say. "Whatever you need. Take it."

"I need you."

She kisses me again—deeper this time, messier. Her hands pull at my shirt. I help her, yanking it over my head, and then her breasts are against my bare chest and I could die here.

"Jeans," she pants. "Off. Now."

We fumble together—her lifting up, me shoving denim down, the car rocking with our movements. When I'm free, she wraps her hand around my cock and squeezes.

"Oh my God." She strokes me, slow, watching her own hand move. "You're perfect. You're fucking perfect."

"Says the goddess on my lap."

She laughs—that full-bodied sound—and then she's reaching down, pulling her leggings aside, and positioning me at her entrance.

"Wait—"

"I'm on the pill. I'm clean. I don't want anything between us." She meets my eyes. "I want to feel you. Really feel you. Is that okay?"

I answer by pulling her down.

She takes me in one long slide.

Wet. Tight. Burning. Her cunt grips me like it was made for me, and she throws her head back, crying out, her whole body shaking with it. I can feel her everywhere—her thighs clamping my hips, her belly pressed to mine, her breasts bouncing as she starts to move.

"Fuck—fuck—Daniel—"

"That's it. Take what you need."

She rides me like she's exorcising demons. Hard. Fast. Relentless. Her hands grip the back of the seat as she bounces, using gravity, using every pound of her weight to drive herself down on me. The car rocks with us. The windows fog.

"You feel so good inside me—" She's babbling, nonsense and sex and need. "—so full—wanted this since I saw you—wanted to feel you in me—"

I grab her ass. Pull her harder. She screams.

"Yes—yes—right there—don't stop—"

I don't stop.

I fuck up into her while she rides down, meeting her rhythm, feeling her cunt clench around me. Her breasts are in my face and I take one in my mouth—suck her nipple, bite it, feel her shake apart.

"Coming—" she gasps. "—Daniel, I'm coming—"

She clenches so hard I see white. Her whole body goes rigid—then shakes, convulses, her pussy milking me in waves. I feel her cum drip down my cock, feel her fall against me, feel her lips find my ear.

"Inside me," she whispers. "Fill me up. I want to feel it."

I flip her.

Press her into the backseat, her legs over my shoulders, her belly folding soft and warm beneath me. This angle is deeper—I feel myself bottom out inside her, feel her gasp, feel her hands claw at my back.

"More," she begs. "Harder."

I give her everything.

Deep strokes that make the car shake. Her breasts bouncing with each thrust. Her mouth open, sounds escaping that aren't quite words. She's so wet I can hear it—the slick sounds of our bodies meeting, obscene and perfect.

"You're so fucking beautiful," I tell her. "Every inch. Every pound. You're—"

"Don't stop—don't you fucking stop—"

I feel her building again. Feel her tighten around me. I reach between us, find her clit, rub circles while I fuck her.

She breaks.

Screaming. Sobbing. Her nails drawing blood on my shoulders. And I break with her—burying myself to the hilt, pumping into her, feeling my cum fill her in hot pulses.

We collapse.

Tangled. Sweating. Her thighs still shaking around me.

"Oh my God," she breathes. "Oh my God."

I can't speak. I just hold her.

Hour Four

We're back on the road.

Maya's in the passenger seat again, but something's different. Lighter. She keeps reaching over to touch my arm, my thigh, my hand on the gearshift. Like she needs to make sure I'm real.

"So," she says. "That happened."

"That happened."

"No regrets?"

I glance at her. She's glowing—flushed and messy and more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen.

"No regrets."

She smiles. That transforming smile.

"Good. Because I'm going to need a ride from Ashland at some point. Back to reality. And I'm thinking... maybe you could be the one to give it to me?"

"That sounds like a long drive."

"I'll make it worth your while." She leans over, kisses my cheek. "I've been told I'm good company."

I laugh. She laughs. And somewhere on the empty highway between nowhere and Ashland, I realize I'm not running anymore.

Neither is she.

Hour Five

She falls asleep.

Head against the window, sweater pulled down over the marks I left on her collarbone, one hand still resting on my thigh. I watch her breathe—the rise and fall of those massive breasts, the soft flutter of her lips.

Six hours is a long time, she said.

I hope it's not long enough.

Hour Six — Ashland

I pull up outside her sister's apartment.

Maya stirs. Stretches. Realizes where we are, and something crosses her face—not disappointment, exactly. More like... reluctance.

"I guess this is it."

"I guess so."

She unbuckles. Reaches for the door. Stops.

"Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Give me your phone."

I hand it over. She types something, hands it back.

"That's my number. And my sister's address. And a note that says—" She blushes. "—well, you'll see."

I look at the screen.

Don't make me wait too long. I already miss taking up your space.

When I look up, she's watching me. Nervous now. Vulnerable in a way she hasn't been since the rest stop.

"You don't have to—"

"Next weekend," I say. "I'll pick you up. We'll drive somewhere. Anywhere."

"That's a lot of driving."

"I told you." I lean over, kiss her—soft, slow, a promise. "Driving helps me think."

She's smiling when she pulls away. That full, bright, transforming smile.

"Next weekend," she repeats.

"Next weekend."

She gets out. Grabs her bag. Walks toward the building.

At the door, she turns back. Waves.

I wave back.

And then I'm alone in the car, with the smell of her still on my skin and the taste of her still on my lips and the feeling of her—all of her, every inch, every pound—still pressed into my memory like a fingerprint.

I put the car in drive.

For the first time in months, I'm not running away from something.

I'm driving toward it.

Six days later, I'm back in Ashland.

She's waiting on the curb, grinning, wearing the same sweater she wore the first time.

"You came," she says, sliding into the passenger seat.

"Of course I came."

"Where are we going?"

I look at her. At her thick thighs pressed against the seat. At her curves that shift when she adjusts position. At the woman who took up all the space in my car and made me realize I had room for her.

"Anywhere you want."

She leans over. Kisses me.

"Then drive."

I do.