Mass Transit

I cursed mass transit. More than a half million people in this city
and they all insist on driving to work, it seemed. So I, in deference
to my civic duty, took to traveling on the bus and light-rail system.
Not only did I save money, I had more time to read and listen to music
during the trips.

Mass-transit; Tri-Met as known in the Portland area, is very popular.
Too popular, I say. I pay a full fare, and here I stand in the aisle
of the train, while men and fat women take up seats.

Assholes! Haven’t you men ever learned of manners? You sit there
like fat, roasting pigs staring mundanely and absently out the fogged
windows as if I am not standing inches from you! I’d like to say that
out loud, of course.


I have moved my way toward the front of the train, knowing I would
need to be near an exit so that I would de-board the train easily when
we arrived downtown, at my stop. I wrap my hand around a plastic,
yellow pole to steady myself and keep from falling. Tri-met drivers
have an affinity for the brakes– sending wary passengers lurching
into one another.

We came to another station and passengers boarded. I saw more than a
dozen get on before the rest gave up, remaining on the platform in
disgust when they saw that the train was filled to capacity. I felt a
gentleman push against my side and turned toward him, hoping to gain
some more space in the process. It was a futile attempt.

I caught a long look at the man next to me, as people pushed about and
we found ourselves touching. He was not extremely tall, but he stood
above me and had broad shoulders. His eyes were gentle and promised
of hands capable of kindness, too. His skin was light brown. He
seemed of European descent, if I recall. He smelled… He smelled
lightly of after-shave.

He looked down at me and smiled. As I was wearing my ‘gothic chick’
garb, my breasts were pressed into my body in a voluptuous, if not
illusionary grandeur by a revealing black corset. I felt his warm
breath on my cleavage as he looked down. I’m sure he did not know
that I caught him staring. But it pleased me rather than irritated.

The brakes jerked into action again as we allowed for traffic at an
intersection. The lot of us flailed to the front, over one another–
muttering apologies and occasional ‘this driver’s an asshole’s. I
fell forward, luckily, against the beautiful stranger.

My hands caught his hips, but as he reached to help me up, I brushed
my gloved hand against his bulge. He might have noticed. Honestly, I
don’t care if he did. He smiled after I had righted myself and I
returned the expression. We were pushed by the crowd, closer together
and our bodies came touching again. His crotch rubbed against mine.
The train’s rhythmic motions moved us slightly against each other. I
closed my eyes and tried to control my breath. I was starting to feel
wet and quite warm between my thighs. I could smell my sex as his
body excited me.

I feared the other’s might sense that musky smell of willing flesh on
me. The air from his lungs pelted my breasts again and I shivered. I
began to regret not having a man at home anymore. I would have given
my soul to fuck soon.

The train jerked again and I dropped my purse. The gentleman moved to
retrieve if for me. Sweet, really. But I stopped him and moved for
it myself, kneeling to one knee in the process. Before coming back
up, I placed my free hand around his calf and bit gently with my teeth
and lips into his Levi’s. I could smell his cock as it reacted to my
unexpected action. He looked down at me and I smiled. His mouth fell
open. Thankfully for us, everyone else’s eyes were directed either at
papers or outside the windows.

Too soon, I came to my stop. I smiled again at the stranger, happily
noticing that I had left a wet ring from my lips around his zipper. I
squeezed between passengers toward the door. As I slipped out of the
train, I felt him touch me once more, trailing a finger longingly
about the small of my back.

What I would not have given to have a man waiting for me at home. I’d
have called in sick from a payphone and returned to my apartment.

My vibrator sat in the bottom drawer of the desk in my office.

I was in need and aching for release. That plastic soldier was going
to crack a smile on it’s shafted little body if I had to run through
two sets of batteries…