Flash Fiction Erotica
"On the Train" a sex story by Geneva Rose
It’s a weekday. It’s Wednesday. It’s early morning again. And the train station, this routine place, feels heavy-headed and tired. The midsummer air is thick with heat and the boredom of the everyday commuters. And as usual, I am like every other family man--running late. The domestic tempest of another morning is still ringing in my ears. The daily struggle for space, bathroom time, kitchen time, overlaid with the screams and whines of teenagers’ demands is all still banging around in my head. “See you,” she, my wife, half-heartedly said. No mention of my name. It’s no longer important I guess. Just a goodbye as she takes her time. She drives. She has an economy sized, green air-conditioned, environmentally friendly, runabout thing that will take her to her job somewhere not far away. Nonetheless. Her couldn’t care less goodbye attempt is perhaps better than forgetfulness. I wonder…
We, the people, amass on platform six. It’s only eight o’clock but it’s already hot and I’m already a stinking, sticky mess. My trousers and shirt, standard mid-management issue cling to me like melting toffee. My eyes set upon a gang of teenage boys all full of summer-holiday hysteria as they laugh and joke and admire their sparkling new Christmas gift surfboards. They don’t feel the heat and they’ll spend all day at the beach. Such is life. Good luck to them. Hang on to it for as long as you can I think.
The platform groans under the sun’s vicious heat and the train trip ahead is an intolerable dread that is rising up in my pounding head. I scream silently. And then I see her. Every morning she catches my eye and throws me a brief smile, one corner of her mouth lifting, seductively. Her eyes are wide and glinting, feeling me, glad to see me. She turns back to studying the tracks and I study her. Her clothes grip a little too tight and her heels sit a little too high. In the moment I dwell on that word fuckable and the heat changes from suffocating to delicious. I think how much I’d like to go for it. How much I’d like to rumble tumble it with her. Wait. What?! What am I thinking?! God this heat! I look away back to the boys joking and guffawing. And I sneak a peek back at her. She is exactly what I like. She’s got big tits, a big backside, firm and bare legs. Score there. Summer does have its advantages. I think about what’s at the other end of those legs. I like her shoulder-length brown bobbed hair. It’s very ready-to-go. Sporty, athletic, flexible, acrobatic.
Platform announcement shouts!
Train approaching!”
Mind the gap!”
The train carriage is full but hey, lucky me, I get a seat and we’re all on our way to another day, carrying a load of familiar faces passing through familiar places. It’s the same everyday. Comforting, in a way.
We’re all dressed for summer and our clothes are a mix of cheap chain-store fashion; heat-exhausted and threadbare. Tight linen skirts and micro-dresses which show off female curves; and when the women reach up to hang on to the strap, those hem lines creep up to the bottom line. Their low cut bust lines inch down, and we’re all getting a good view from ever which way. Thirsty, sweaty men pretend not to look at the prim and primed office women. Blonde hair, brown, black, dyed and beyond. Blue-eyed, hazel, green and crazy. The usual.
The train is clanging, banging and ricocheting, carriages rubbing and colliding, driving us on. I close my eyes and behind them I watch my personal celluloid dreams on my private silver screen.
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There she is! Again! Not more than a foot away! I sweep my heavy hot eyes over her clean white skin. She hangs there, well-manicured hands cling to the hand strap. The gaze of the male passengers highlights her pole position. Tight-suited she is. And expensive looking she is. Bejewelled and coiffured she is. And hot it is. She’s well-heeled, perspiring, breathing, and panting. She looks down on me, eyeing me. I feel my tongue half-masting. My eyes drop down from hers and hold still upon her enormous tits and follow her curves which are made clear in her too tight suit. I inhale her sweat, her heat, her scent. My eyes bulge and I move closer, on my knees, begging her.
My tongue licks salaciously in-between her toes. I look up and onwards I go curving around her calf like a snake. I tighten my grip and ascend up between two soft-skinned, white as pearl thighs that unmistakably quiver and shift apart. My hands feel up and tickle her panties and shift the lace aside exposing her buttercup world. Her curtains part and her scent invites me in and I make my way up and snuggle in. I smother in, licking and sucking, my tongue darting, slurping thirstily. My mouth sips, slips, and slides around. My hands grip her buttocks and I knead and pummel them. I think, I want to tongue flick her and I go in like I am a wild-child helicopter bringing her to her knees now before me. Her eyes smolder over me, her panting explores me. Her hands unzip, and her mouth grips me. Her tongue rolls over, all over, suck, roll, suck suck suck roll….Bursting I collapse back onto the seat. Lasciviously she mounts me. I am eye to eye with her breasts moving about behind her neat, white business shirt. “Take that off!” my voice struggling under the strain. She does what I say; tearing at the buttons and flinging off the shirt, arching her back as she unclips her bra and sheds it to the floor. Others are gasping, looking, eyeing off, getting it on, getting it off. I slide up her and nibble on voluminous mountains of big, primed boob flesh then throw her over onto her back and mount her screaming body and plunge in with my full weight and a groan comes and hard and hard and harder I go! Wham, wham, bang! Bang! BANG! The carriages clang and scrape. The train howls through the tunnels of the subway screaming, echoing with high-pitched keening. Banging! Huffing, puffing, drowning, lugging, sagging, exhausting, sliding.
Stop!
“All change!”
“This train terminates here!”
I zip up as she straightens her skirt, pats at her head, buttons up her shirt and gives me a flick of her hair; a glimpse from her deep dark hazel eyes, and her smile tossed back at me says “goodbye” and she alights with the rest of the dailies.
My eyes scan the empty carriage and I feel smug that for me at least, the trip was enlightening.
Today as always we commuters go our separate ways, but today with a glint and a smile and a quickened step, I have already imagined the day away. I’ll return home tonight to a wife forgotten in the scheme of the morning commuting sexual dreaming. The home return has now taken on a grand new meaning. I am itching. And tonight there will be ways of scratching.
Wednesday. Hump day. God love it day.
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Copyright November 2011, Geneva Rose.
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.