The holidays came and went. Thoughts of his last encounter with the woman and his manhood flopping about in public seemed like distant memories. The daily commute reverted a mundane slog.
The man was jammed into an uptown 2 on a Tuesday morning in early February. He pulled out his iPhone to send a text when one of his fellow passengers bumped into him. A woman with dark hair. Every nerve in his body fired. He held his breath and looked down at the woman next to him. He got hard, instantly.
Something was off, though. The woman next to him had very pale skin. She wore a dress with a waist-length puffy jacket. Her clothes did not hide her fleshy, hourglass figure. This was not the woman, his woman. She got off at 34th St, but the damage was done. He felt like he woke up out of a long sleep. The man realized he had not forgotten about the woman, he only suppressed his desires. He needed to find her again. He needed her back.
Her shirt and phone number were at home, stashed in his closet under a pile of unused slippers. He left work early and headed straight for his closet. As he picked the shirt up, he smelled a bit of perfume and a musky scent on the fabric. He jammed the shirt into his long woolen coat pocket, grabbed the phone case and sat at his laptop. His first instinct was to have a conversation with the woman. Then he remembered that people, younger people, didn’t call each other. The last time he was in a situation like this was over 25 years ago, before cell phones. Texting was the better choice.
But what was he after? He had questions, like who was she? Did she want to have dinner? The old fantasies flooded back. The man shook his head and laughed at himself. This wasn’t the start of a traditional relationship. This was someone who gave hand jobs on the subway.
After a few drafts, the man sent a message.
*Hey, this is your friend from the subway. I have your shirt from our last, um, get together. Can we meet up?*
He worried about the last part of the message. He didn’t want to seem desperate or pushy. He stared at his phone for the next few minutes but didn’t get a reply.
The next morning, the man headed into work. On his commute he scanned the subway cars and platforms for the black-haired beauty with olive skin. He wondered if she changed her hair again, if she’d look dressed up or super casual.
As the man approached his office, a few blocks from the 50th and Broadway station, his phone vibrated. His heart leapt as he saw a message.
*What took you so long?*
Good question, thought the man. What if she isn’t into this anymore? What if I waited too long? Let’s assume the best and play it cool.
*Sry. Got busy over holidays*
The man stood outside of the entrance to his office building with the smokers and tourists. He watched the faceless masses, bundled up in puffy coats and woolen hats under the grey February sun waddle by. He knew, regardless of how long this exchange went on, he would stand out here and wait for a reply. He embraced his pathetic-ness.
*Haven’t seen you in a while* she texted.
*Still here, still on same schedule*
There was a long delay. The man re-read his message and panicked. Too boring? Rude? Christ, this was hard.
After about 5 minutes, she texted back.
*I’ll see you soon*
Immediately, without thinking, he texted back *Should we set up a time and place? What works for you?*
He wasn’t trying to be funny. He considered what to message next. She replied first.
*That’s not how this works Big Daddy. I’ll find u.*
The man said out loud, “What the hell does that mean?”
*and don’t forget my shirt. ( ˘ ³˘)♥*
The man stood in place, phone in hand and stared blankly out into the street. He couldn't just ride around with her shirt for weeks and wait for her to show up. Then he paused. Yes, he could. And he would. He felt himself getting hard.
Tuesday and Wednesday passed without any sightings. On the way home Thursday, the man again took care to take his usual trains. He stood in the first car on the 2 as it pulled away from 42nd st. He quickly scanned the nearly empty car then made his way forward. He liked to watch the tunnel through the front window behind the conductor booth. As he watched the train pull away from 14th St., someone kicked the back of this foot. Before he turned around, he knew it was her.
The man turned and smiled at the raven haired woman. She was wearing a puffy waist jacket with fur around the collar, a short plaid skirt, and suede knee-high boots. Her hair grew out since their last meeting, shoulder length and wild. Her lashes were impossibly long and lips even fuller than he remembered. She was stunning.
Silently, she walked over to the middle door on the train with her phone in hand. The man’s phone buzzed.
“Yes ma’am,” the man said out loud. The two passengers closest to him, tired looking middle-aged men in cheap, crumpled suits, looked up at him.
“Sorry, just talking to myself,” said the man, cheerfully.
He walked over to the opposite door and waited. As they approached Chambers St, the woman turned and faced the door. The man stared intently at her and tried to remain calm. The man had a weakness for the killer combo of short skirts and fuck-me boots.
The woman stepped out onto the platform and the man followed. After the 2 pulled away it was just the two of them on the south end of the platform.
The man felt awkward. Where they going to talk here? Kiss? Fuck? He stepped closer to the woman.
“Uhh, any chance we could talk?” said the man.
The woman, who had been staring out at the track, frowned up at him.
“I’ll take that as a no,” the man said.
She looked back up at him, less harshly, and put her hand on his cock. The man reciprocated by placing his hand on her firm ass. They stood with their hands on each other until the 1 train pulled in.
The woman stepped into the car and sat on an empty bench. She nodded her head at the bench across from her and pulled her phone out of her jacket. The man sat where instructed and watched the black-haired beauty intently. She typed furiously on her phone. The man checked his phone. There weren’t any messages. The man wondered who she was texting. Then he wondered where they were going. The 1 only had two more stops; it ended at South Ferry. Maybe she knew a place around the station. Dinner, drinks, hotel room?
At the next stop, the woman stomped her heel on the ground. The man had been staring at the ground. He snapped his head up and locked his attention on his subway mistress.
The woman stared back at him. One side of her mouth rose slightly, and she took some deep breaths. The woman spread her legs and hiked up her already short shirt. Rounded, olive thighs led to an uncovered , neatly trimmed muff. The palm of her right hand held the skirt up while her middle finger made quick circles on the top of her slit.
The man’s jaw dropped. He looked around the nearly empty train. All the other passengers hunched over their phones and didn’t notice the show. The train made a loud screech as it ground through a tight turn on the track.
The man watched the woman continue to work on her clit. She gasped and her chest heaved up and down as her finger spun faster. As the train pulled into South Ferry, the woman bit her lower lip, arched her back and rolled her eyes. The man watched and realized his hand was gripping his erection.
The train stopped at South Ferry and the few remaining passengers exited. The woman tugged her skirt back down to mid-thigh and stood. Silently, she stepped off the train and turned left toward the front of the train. He saw the train conductor in the first car; he remembered that the conductor has to check the entire the train at the final stop. After the conductor walked by, the woman grabbed the man by the belt and led him into the first car.
The car was empty and parked at the far end of the platform. The olive-skinned beauty led the man into the middle of the car and positioned him with his back against the center pole. She placed herself in front of him and put her hand on his chest.
“Shirt?” she asked, in her smoky voice.
The man pulled out her folded plaid shirt out of his oversized jacket pocket and handed it to her.
The man reached into the opposite pocket and handed the phone case to her. The woman jammed the shirt into her coat pocket. She looked at the case, pulled out the card with her phone number and tossed the case on the car floor. She looked up at him. The man couldn’t read her expression. She held his gaze for a few moments. The man panicked. What was she going to do? Leave him here again?
She grabbed the back of his head and pulled it toward her. Her lips pressed hard against his, her smallish tongue lashed out. The man had never kissed like that before. Usually his oversized tongue dominated his partner. He tried to get his tongue into her mouth but she was too frenzied. She released his head and looked back up at him, smiling.
“You taste good,” she said.
The man smiled back.
“I bet you’ll feel even better, inside me.”
The man groaned. He reached out to put his arm around the woman. She half turned away from him and stepped toward the bench. The woman bent over and rested her hands on the bench and arched her ass up. She looked back at him over her shoulder.
“Fuck me now.”
The man unbuckled his belt and fumbled with the button on his pants. Pants undone, he reached down into his briefs and grabbed his hard cock. Before he pulled himself out, he looked around. There wasn’t anyone on the platform. He could see into the trailing cars; the bobbing head of the conductor looked four or five cars away.
He pulled himself out. His cock felt like it weighed twenty pounds. He shuffled into position behind the woman, pants around his ankles. She was still looking at him over her shoulder, rocking back and forth. He grabbed her skirt and pushed it up toward her waist.
The man took his three middle fingers and rubbed the outside of her pussy. It was wet, sopping wet. His fingers slid easily inside her. He pumped his fingers in up to his knuckles. The woman arched her back more and pressed her ass against the man. The man remembered their first encounter.
The woman looked back at him and said in a low, guttural voice, “I said fuck me now.”
The man pulled his fingers out of her and positioned the tip of his cock against her slit. He grabbed the base of his cock with his left hand and grabbed her hip with his other, and thrust inside her.
She felt hot, burning hot. On his first thrust he was fully inside her. She groaned and lowered her head. The man pumped slowly, trying to stay in control. His balls were burning.
The woman rocked with the man. She lifted her left hand and reached back to grab his hip, making the thrusts harder. The man tried to resist as he already felt like he was on the verge of cumming.
She looked back at him and said, “More.”
The man couldn't go any harder. If he did, he’d finish. He reached up and grabbed the back of her long black hair and pulled sharply. The woman’s hand dropped from his hip and slammed back onto the bench. Her head snapped back, and she rocked forward on her toes, raising her hips. “Fuck yes, yes,” she shouted.
The man pulled hard on the end of her hair, loosened his grip momentarily, then grabbed her hair against her scalp. The woman groaned and moved her hips against the man, so that his cock was almost fully out of her in between thrusts.
The man squeezed her hair one more time, then let go, putting both hands back on their hips. The woman dropped her heels back and lowered her head. The man slowed his pace. He had entered that nice phase where the burn abated slightly and he knew he had a few more minutes.
A movement made him raise his head. A middle-aged woman in a rumpled pantsuit and high heels clomped across the platform. She gazed at her phone and didn’t look into the subway car. She came to a stop a few feet from the door typed on her phone.
The raven haired woman raised her head and looked out the window of the train. She said, in a lower voice, “More.”
The man thrusted harder, grabbing her hip bone tightly. The sound of wet flesh slapping filled the car. He glanced again at the woman at the platform, then resolved not to worry about her. It was too late to care.
He was still in a good place, in control and not on the edge. The man took his left hand and gently slapped the woman’s ass. She grunted. He slapped again, this time harder and with a loud whacking noise. She didn’t respond at all.
“Humph,” the man said out loud, surprised that she didn’t seem into some mild slapping, especially after the hair pulling. He tried one other thing.
The man took his right thumb and placed it over her ass. He swirled his thumb over the rim.
The woman tensed, then let out what sounded like a growl. She looked back over her shoulder and whispered, “Yes, yes, yes!”
With that, the man penetrated the rim slightly and kept circling with his thumb. The woman breathed heavily and quickly, then tensed her legs. She let out a shout and pounded the bench with her left hand.
As the man felt her finish, he jumped from steady state to needing to cum. As the woman’s breathing slowed down, the man said, “I’m close. I’m going to cum.”
“No,” said the woman, and she moved her hips forward and stood, causing the man to flop out. He realized he was closer than he thought and tried not to move.
“I want to taste you,” said the woman. She took her shirt out of her jacket pocket and threw it on the ground in front of the man. She pulled down her skirt and knelt down in front of the man.
The man, now facing the back of the train, saw the conductor heading back toward them, 3 cars away. He then looked sideways and saw the woman in high heels staring at the two of them, face scrunched up in disgust.
The woman grabbed his cock with her two petite hands. She pumped him two times, then put the tip of his cock in her mouth. With one hand she pumped his shaft, the other roughly grabbed his balls. The man said again, “I’m going to cum, right now.”
And he did. The uncontrollable fire in his balls ripped through his cock and exploded into the woman’s mouth. She continued to pump and squeeze his balls as the man groaned loudly. She stopped and dropped his cock after he stopped groaning. The man looked up, and the conductor was in the adjacent car. The conductor locked eyes with the man.
The woman stood up. She grabbed his dripping, still hard cock with her left hand and pulled his head down with her right and raised her head lips-first. The man kissed her still warm lips.
She pulled away and looked at him. “We’re done.”
She stepped past him and onto the platform, glanced at the woman in heels and turned right toward the escalator. The man reached down and pulled his briefs and pants up to his waist and shuffled out of the car, trailing the woman by a few seconds. He could hear the conductor in the car behind him say, “What the fuck is going on here?” He glanced back to see the conductor stopped over the plaid shirt lying in the middle of the car.
The man turned at the base of the stairwell. The woman’s path to the escalator was blocked by two teenage boys. One of them was holding a phone, pointing it at the raven haired woman. He laughed and said, “We got you on video. It was awesome.” The woman lowered her head and pushed through the two teens onto the escalator. The teen turned and held out his phone to film her go up the escalator. The man stepped toward the teen and swatted the outstretched phone. It landed on the opposite track with a large crack. The two teens ran to the track, shouting and pointing, as the the man stepped on the escalator. He tried to button his pants while looking up at the woman. She hurried up the moving stairs. At the top, she looked back down at the man and blew a kiss. And that was the last time he ever saw his olive skinned, raven haired, full-lipped, long lashed subway mistress.