“Hi.” A familiar velvety voice catapulted me out of my thoughts, and a waft of warm breath blew across the nape of my neck. I spun around.
My mysterious stranger. His crisp blue eyes burned into mine, making my temperature soar, and my legs turn to jelly. What was he doing here? I suppose he had to go. I couldn’t stop that.
I turned my head away and stared squarely at the bathroom door, praying silently that whoever was in there would hurry up. He blew hot air on my neck again and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me tight against his rock-hard body. A bulge pressed against my buttocks. I was getting sick to my stomach and might need the bathroom more than I originally thought.
Finally, the door burst open in my face; a sour-faced, overweight matron barged out. Calling on every muscle in my body, I broke free of Trainman’s grip and hastily dashed into the stall and the stench she left behind. My hands shaky, I fumbled to slide the latch, but before I could get it through the lock, the door forcefully swung open.
“I couldn’t wait,” Trainman growled, pushing me against the cold metal sink basin. He thrust his hips tight against mine. I was trapped.
He leaned in close to me. A mix of his warm minty breath and expensive cologne rushed into my nostrils, eradicating all traces of the fetid odor. His eyes narrowed, turning into collectible slivers of blue sand glass. His mouth descended onto the right side of my neck then slowly trailed upward to my earlobe. He clamped his warm, moist lips on the cartilage, alternating between nipping and sucking it. Oh my God! I didn’t know my earlobes could feel so much. The last time they felt anything was when I got them pierced in eighth grade. And that was pain. Pure pain. Now what I was feeling was joy. Pure tingly joy…and the sensation was coursing through my entire body.
Still pressing me hard against the sink with his hipbones, he pinched my dime-size nipples between his thumb and index fingers and then began massaging them in small counter clockwise circles, each rotation harder than the one before. Magically, the buds elongated and hardened beneath my navy cotton t-shirt. A new I-want-to-burst-out of my skin sensation gathered in the triangle between my legs. I moaned softly.
“You don’t wear a bra,” he murmured in my ear.
I rarely wore a bra because I really didn’t need one. My boobs never got past a small A-cup, the size of old-fashioned champagne saucers. Before I could say a word, that is if I could utter a word, he whispered, “Sexy.”
Moi, Sarah plain and tall, sexy? And this coming from this gorgeous beast? Pinch me. I must be dreaming this entire fantasy. As if on cue, he pinched one of my nipples again. My crotch roared silently in delight. No, this was real okay. And it was happening to me. Sarah Greene. Art school graduate. Aspiring toy designer. Twenty-five-year-old virgin.
I stared at his beautiful face. His eyes were tilted downward. A sly smile tipped to the left made me nervous. In a good way.
While one hand continued to twirl a nipple, the other slid down my torso past by tight, twisted abdomen and under the waistbands of both my skirt and pantyhose. His hands felt like hot velvet as they explored my inner thighs.
“Hmm,” he moaned. “No panties?”
I never wore panties with pantyhose. Why bother? They were called pantyhose for a reason. And I confess, not buying expensive panties—and bras—saved me a lot of money—money I needed desperately to visit my sick mother.
“Very sexy,” he said, enunciating each syllable, as his fingertips made their way to the triangle between my legs. They stopped to caress my patch of hair, stroking it as if were a beloved pussy…cat.
“So soft and silky,” Trainman pronounced as if I were auditioning for one of those look-at-my-gorgeous-hair product commercials.
After a tug of a curled clump, his fingers plunged lower to the smooth folds between my legs. They explored this new territory eagerly like someone who was searching for gold. And then he discovered it. The nugget. Greedily, he rubbed the pad of this thumb around his discovery with intense little circles that were driving me insane. A loud moan escaped my lips.
“You’re so wet,” he crooned.
That was an understatement. I was swimming in my own juices. My eyes caught a glimpse of him. A wicked smile crossed his face, and his blue eyes glistened.
He squeezed the folds of my labial lips together and then used his fingers to spread them apart.
“I want you,” he moaned, his voice all hot and breathy.
And despite myself, I wanted him. More than anyone or anything. Well, except for my mother getting well again.
Still massaging my nub with his thumb, he plunged his long middle finger into the cavity between the folds. I gasped, not prepared for the shock of penetration. Shockwaves spread through out my body as his finger glided up and down the soaked, spongy walls, in and out, each thrust deeper than the one before.
“Baby,” he moaned. “You’re so hot.”
I gasped again, still not sure this was really happening. My core was aching for more. Desperate for it. Why wasn’t I resisting?
“I’m going to take you now,” he growled.
Take me where? I didn’t want to be anywhere, any place but here in this cramped bathroom with this mysterious sorcerer who was doing his magic on me.
Using his free hand, he yanked down both my skirt and hose. He must have popped the side button to my skirt because there’s no way it would have slid down my hips, no matter how boyishly narrow they were. My eyes glanced down at my skirt puddled on the floor and my pantyhose scrunched up above my combat boots. As they made their way back upward, I heard him unzip his fly. My gaze stopped short at a massive hunk of pink, veined flesh that was aimed at my crotch. I was ready to surrender. Yes, take me now.
“Sit on the sink,” he ordered.
I was in no condition to argue. I plunked my buttocks down on the edge of the steely basin. The cold metal gave me goose bumps all over. He pulled off my boots and the hose.
“Now, spread your legs.”
Yes, sir.
An intensity washed over his face. Like an artist who was contemplating painting his masterpiece. He placed both hands on my hips to anchor me.
“Now, take me and insert me where you want me.”
Holy shit! He wanted me to touch that monstrosity? Cradle it in my hands? Our eyes met, mine wide-eyed with fear and excitement, his hooded with determination and desire.
Hesitantly, I wrapped my slender fingers around the pillar of flesh, surprised that they could circle around it despite its diameter. I’d never felt a man’s penis before. The touch beneath my fingers was hot, velvety, and pulsating. I knew exactly where I wanted it. The hollowness inside me was crying out for it. I need to be sated by him. Totally consumed.
Gently, I angled it upward toward the opening between my legs. I slid the tip inside. He gave it a sharp thrust, jettisoning his member deep inside me. The initial pain and shock of the hard fullness was enough to make me almost fall off the sink or into it, but as my muscles relaxed, it felt good. Like it belonged and had found its home sweet home.
“Oh baby, you’re so tight.” Rolling his tongue over his lips, he gripped my hips and lifted me off the sink basin so that we were almost face to face. My feet dangled like a rag doll’s, not touching the floor below.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he ordered, pressing his hard body close to mine.
In no condition to argue, I did what he said, wrapping my long legs around his lean, torso like a pretzel, causing the crotch of my hose to split apart. He gripped my thighs. My arms swung around his neck, and I squeezed him tightly, clasping the rich fabric of his suit jacket between my fingers. This was one ride I did not want to fall off.
Pressing me firmly against the bathroom wall, he thrust his stone-hard member deeper into me, and I gasped with a mixture of shock and ecstasy as the tip rammed against a hypersensitive spot. He groaned. He slid his rod down and then thrust it upward again, this time even harder against the bull’s-eye. I moaned. He groaned louder. He repeated the
pattern, speeding it up with every in and out. How could that giant thing between his legs fit so easily and comfortably inside me? Every thrust elicited a moan from me louder than the one before and a groan from him, deeper than the previous. I moved my arms to his buttocks, folding them firmly around the rock-hard cheeks under his trousers and fell into the rhythm of his in-and-out movements. Our breathing grew ragged.
“Oh baby, what you do to me,” he groaned, his voice an octave deeper and sexier beyond belief.
“Don’t stop,” I pleaded, my voice breathy, my mouth dry.
“Don’t worry.”
He planted his thumb back on my clit and massaged it vigorously as his member glided up and down my flooded tunnel, hitting that mega-spot again and again. My temperature was rising. Sweat was pouring out of every crevice of my body. Squeezing my legs tighter around him, I closed my eyes to savor the unbearable pleasure this gorgeous beast was giving me.
“Are you on birth control?” The words drifted through my head, not expecting them. I managed a throaty “yeah” as he thrust his member once again into my tunnel of joy. I had been on the pill for several years due to my irregular cycle.
“Good, baby,” he murmured in my ear. He yanked back my head by my ponytail and rolled his hot, velvety tongue up my neck. So, this was my reward for the right answer. The sensation drove me crazy. I felt like a puppy being scratched in her favorite spot.
He accelerated his pace, of both the banging and massaging. Whimpering, I didn’t think I could take it any more. My sex throbbed as a wildfire raced through my body, shamelessly kindling every nerve inside me, from my head to my toes. I was about to implode.
Without warning, I felt him exploding. “Oh, Saarah,” he groaned, drawing out my name. I convulsed around him, my own deep explosion sending shockwaves through out me. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I wasn’t sure if I was saying the words aloud or screaming them silently in my head. What was happening to me? I had never had such a mind-blowing experience.
Slowly, he pulled out of me. I was surprised at how big and rigid his now glistening member still was. He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser, cleaned himself up and then adjusted his pants over his thick length. I don’t think he was wearing underwear either.
“Sarah,” he said as he zipped up his fly, “do you still have to pee?”
“Yes,” I stammered, as I pulled up the remains of my pantyhose and slipped on my skirt. I was shaking, dazed and drained from his plundering.
Trainman rolled his eyes and then let me pee in peace. And privacy.
After latching the door, I got back dressed and sat on the toilet longer than I needed to. Tremors tearing through me, I gazed down at the big rip in my pantyhose, in the so-called “reinforced” crotch area. A translucent, creamy substance coated my inner thighs. The events that had just happened reeled around in my head while orgasmic vibrations were still coming at me with recklessness of a rockslide. Why did I let myself do this? Why? Neediness? Insecurity? Maybe a desperate escape from the anguish my dying mother was causing? Or just because this man was the sexiest member of the opposite sex I’d ever laid my eyes on? Finally, I tore off a generous piece of toilet paper and wiped by bottom from front to back just like my mother had taught me. A translucent layer of ruby-veined semen clustered on the soft white paper. I was bleeding. Reality hit me like a brick. I had just lost my virginity to a stranger on a train.
In a state of mild shock, I slowly raised myself from the toilet, pulled up my damp, crotchless hose, and washed my hands in the sink that now held so many memories for me. I splattered a little of the cold water on my face and sipped some from my hands to quench my parched mouth. For the first time, I looked at myself in the mirror. My reflection startled me. My hair was disheveled; my big brown eyes half moons, and my full-lipped mouth locked in a parted pout. I was no longer the girl who only minutes ago had almost been squished by a pair of automatic train doors. I looked like a woman. A woman who had just been fucked. Big time.
Hastily, I fixed my ponytail and threw some more water on my face. I glimpsed myself again in the mirror. Not too much better but, at least, better. Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the door and made my way back to my seat. My body was quivering. Especially the part between my inner thighs.
Trainman smiled when he saw me. I was shocked how put together he looked, his golden hair neatly back in place and his blue eyes twinkling. Maybe he was a pro at having some nice innocent girl as a ride home meal ticket.
This time, in true gentleman fashion, he rose from his seat and let me sidle to mine with a modicum of grace. We were back to sitting side by side.
As the speeding train passed through different neighborhoods, from the poorest to the tawniest, we shared a self-imposed silence. Whatever we were thinking in our heads was enough to keep us entertained. I wondered—who was this man?… what did he do?…why did he choose me? Words stayed trapped in my throat. I swiveled my head sideways and stared at his gorgeous, high-cheekboned profile that showed off his long eyelashes, strong chin, and fine Roman nose. What was he thinking? The impassive look on his face made his thoughts unreadable, and it frustrated me.
The delicious, constant throbbing inside me would not die down, and in fact, intensified with the friction of the zooming train over the tracks. Overwhelmed with a mixture of confusion, bewilderment, awe, and a touch of guilt, my eyelids grew heavy. I set my comfy leather chair into a reclining position while Trainman pulled out his iPhone from his briefcase and caught up on emails. His skilled hands moved quickly on the touch screen keyboard. God, he was good with those fingers! Unable to read what he was writing, I peered out the window and soaked in the scenery. Before long, I could no longer keep my eyes open and drifted off.
“Last stop, New York Penn Station.” The loud announcement woke me with a startle. I blinked open my eyes, to find my head resting on Trainman’s broad shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I said, collecting myself.
“Don’t be.” He gave me a quick dimpled smile that rendered me breathless.
He helped me to my feet. “Ladies, first.”
As I side-stepped past him and made my way to the automatic sliding doors, the sinking feeling that I might never see him again set in.
Penn Station was stinking hot and bustling with commuters and tourists, and it wasn’t even summer yet. It tasted, smelled, and sounded like 30th Street Station’s ugly stepsister. Trainman clasped my hand as we wove our way in and out of the bustling crowd of rush hour commuters and ubiquitous homeless. His hand was warm, the grip demonstrative but not too tight. I quickened my pace to keep up with him, his stride a blend of grace and arrogance. He was clearly an expert on manipulating this oppressive swarm of people. Despite having lived in the City for almost a year and taking my share of subways, I had yet to master the ruthless New Yorkers always in a hurry to get where they were going.
Half way through the station, a sharp tug from behind me followed by a forceful shove sent me crashing to the filthy Penn Station floor. Dazed, I caught my assailant, a skinny Latino youth, running through the crowd with my bag! My life! My cell phone! My wallet! My identity! And the cash I needed to get through the weekend.
“LITTLE FUCKER!” yelled Trainman, taking off in hot pursuit.
Staggering to my feet, my eyes could not believe the speed with which his long legs carried him. It was like watching a scene from Mission Impossible with Tom Cruise or some stunt double running after the bad guy. My assailant glanced back at Trainman, panic washing over his face as he saw my action hero gaining ground. Even as the bad guy picked up speed, the gap narrowed until Trainman pounced him, sending him crashing to the floor. He lay sprawled on the floor, between Trainman’s powerful steepled knees, his face frozen with fear.
I hurried toward them. Gripping the lad by a clump of his greasy ebony hair, Trainman yanked him to his feet. The boy was shaking and near tears, and I was taken by how slight he was compared with my tall, mighty, broad-shouldered hero. T
he boy surrendered my bag and defensively raised both hands, clearly afraid that his captor might strike him. Still clasping his hair, Trainman lifted the youth until his Nikes no longer touched the ground. The boy grimaced in pain. And then Trainman lowered him. I was close enough to hear Trainman growl, “Now, get the fuck out here.” He released the boy, who, wasting no time, sprinted through the crowd without looking back.
Trainman wheeled around, his eyes searching the crowd until they landed on me. I stopped dead in my tracks. I was shaking—unsure if it was from the shock of being violated or the shock that this gorgeous man had risked his life for me—I mean, the kid could have had a knife—was striding my way.
“You okay?” he asked, his blue eyes surveying every inch of my body.
“Yeah,” I managed. Glancing down, I noticed that there were patches of gray dust on my calf-length beige skirt. My right knee hurt from the fall. I lifted up the hem of the skirt to check it out. No blood. Just a large hole in my pantyhose—though it was a mere fraction of the hole between my crotch. Embarrassment crept through me.
Ari handed me my bag, intact and in one piece. “Hold on to this,” he said, his frown curling into a wry, but oh so sexy smile.
I flashed a quick smile back. My gaze met his once again, and I was immediately aware again of the waves of ecstasy crashing again my pelvis. My heart thudded. Thank goodness the hum of the crowded station drowned out the sound.
“I’m having drinks with someone,” he said.
He needed to say no more. He was meeting some gorgeous super-model. The type of woman he belonged with. My heart sunk. It was time for my exit line.
“Um, okay,” I spluttered. “Thanks for everything.” Yes, everything.
Without saying goodbye, I hastily headed toward a sign that said Exit. I walked blindly through the throng of rush-hour commuters and homeless, brushing up against more than I wanted. It was over. My scenes from a movie were over. I didn’t even know a thing about him. His last name. Where he lived. What he did. What did it matter? I’d probably never see him again. It was just a fluke thing that wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I shrugged my shoulders and inwardly sighed. Yet, there was so much of me that kept hoping I would feel his strong hands on my shoulders, stopping me dead in my tracks. Spinning me around. Pulling my head back with a yank of my ponytail. Sinking his lips into mine and then parting them with his tongue, inviting me for a smoochy dance right in the middle of Penn Station. That’s what happened in movies. With wishful thinking, I stole a glance backward. Trainman was hugging a tall, shapely, drop-dead gorgeous redhead in a chic suit. Just his type. I hastily pivoted around and quickened my pace. Why was I fooling myself? My West Side Story was a dream. My life was a reality show. A really lame reality show.
Undying Love Page 18