33 Stops On The A Train (From Brooklyn To The Bronx)
Short erotic prose.
i.
Drunk and on the run.
The journey begins with
chasing girls uptown.
ii.
A quick pit stop
at home, to refresh my body.
Would normally stall me
but this time
she tells me
take your time,
because the hours in the night
seem to pass so slowly.
iii.
A short blaze through
the outer boroughs
is all it takes me to get there.
Getting water drunk and cleaned,
refueling my Casanova genes.
iv.
Once posture is felt and complete,
I slipped out the door
with as little as possible in my pockets.
Meticulously balanced.
v.
The long walk
to the subway
now becomes my friend,
as I adapt to the newly testing
summer breeze.
Not quite there,
but floating in heat
and honey.
vi.
I buy myself a bottle of water
from the deli
right before the train,
without saying a word
to the cashier.
He continues his conversation
with a drunk
without missing a beat,
while I pull out my bill
and slip it into his sleeve.
I'll save this drink
for later,
when I'm dry.
vii.
Stepping into
the underground
is always
a trepidatious experience.
I hate the MTA,
those robbing thieves.
viii.
I pay most of the time
and most of the time when I do,
I end up swiping
and swiping and swiping
like an idiot at the turnstiles.
Then it says "insufficient fare",
and I say "mother fuck",
and usually I'd jump quick
to the beat of the profanity
over the bar, into the subway
in one quick illegal but sexy
motion.
ix.
This time I decided to test this
MONSTROUS
TRANSPORTATIONS
AUTHORITY.
x.
I turned around
and faced
a bumbling and preoccupied agent,
I gave him my card
and explained my situation
and he said I was wrong,
flat out wrong,
winking both his eyes
in every direction.
I proclaimed I was right
and he said "Alright,
I'll open
the gate on the right."
"Thanks" I responded,
"have a good night."
xii.
Waiting to board a train you think will come
but it never comes;
feeling it
shaking your bones,
knowing you're so far from home.
A long way to go
until you know
that this train will come
and bring you
where you want to go.
xiii.
Getting on,
heaping your body into a chair.
Looking around
and deciding to write about it.
xiv.
Getting caught in the words,
not seeing anything but.
Until a few men get on,
after I've written in a fury,
and they remind me of
lost doormen.
xv.
The words leave me
and I'm left in a daze,
I fall into a train slumber.
It's quiet now
as I close my eyes.
xvi.
Opening eyes to progress
and new people,
loud people.
I've made it
more uptown
and I'm still alive,
tired and late,
but still alive.
I'm writing now,
catching up
with the train
speeding on
like a horny teenager.
xvii.
Here
comes the sleep again,
closing eyes
to the sight of pretty women
and the sound of foreign languages
and drifting away
on the ride of unconsciousness.
xviii.
Phone buzzing
and the train still climbing,
getting higher.
I'm checking my phone
seeing that girls are up,
seeing girls are talking to me.
I contemplate decisions;
Do I get off on 110th Street and meet
this girl who just texted me,
who seems more interested in sex
than the intellectual girl
who ran away from home and invited me
to meet and drink whiskey on 175th Street?
The train is still rolling
while I'm writing,
trying to keep track,
sliding off track,
I'm going too fast.
This is the stop,
gotta think now.
I'm staying on.
xix.
Good thing I did,
she just let me know
her roommate is back
and she’s spending the night in.
No problem for me,
I dealt with it smoothly
and the train started running
express.
I'll be there soon,
the final stretch.
xx.
The last two stops,
look how far I've come.
I feel like I've been here
an eternity
seated, glued
to these places
as people and faces changed.
Who knows that I've travelled
so far
to them?
I am the new one.
xxi.
I've forgotten to mention
the fear.
It's been building in my stomach
since I made the choice
to go on uptown and find this girl.
Now it's a pit in there,
boiling and making me
hot.
A nervous funky heat
that's building,
knowing that I might
be wild and drunk
and not know at all
what the fuck I'm doing.
xxii.
I'm off.
Walking on the platform
as a train passes by me,
going to
where I came.
xxiii.
Walking the far stretch
of two blocks
to finally get a buzzer
to let you in.
xxiv.
Swallowing all your spit
so as to hydrate before
it all.
You climb slowly
in an elevator shaft.
xxv.
Opening door
to unsolicited freedom.
Being unsure,
before you grab a whisky bottle,
a few smokes,
and your hands around
both bottoms
of the girls lounging
on the bed.
Wondering,
I've come so far.
xxvi.
Getting drunk
until the sour tastes
become commonplace,
and one of the girls
is thinking
about leaving.
xxvii.
Getting more comfortable
than I really should,
when off goes the girl
with the summer dress.
So proper and clean
red misty scenes on her,
I'd love to deflower her.
She leaves me with the Soviet slut
who I grab in my arms
and make way for her skin.
Grabbing, scratching, biting, and licking.
I gave her my body
without listening
to her faint reply.
xviii.
She said,
"I'm not going to have sex with you
because it's the first time."
"First what?" I say
"The first time we touched."
xxix.
Before too long
the clothes were gone
the lights were gone
and we were swimming in our own
blood, sweat, and spit.
xxx.
My fingers deep inside
her wet pussy,
pulling,
searching for a sacred spot
to tease her,
to make her bleed,
to make her want to bleed,
bleeding pleasure.
My teeth taunting on her.
Her firm breasts allowing me passage between.
Her nipples, hard, scared.
Her eyes closed,
seeing ecstasy behind them.
I'm getting lower,
feeling the power I've got here.
I'm facing the source.
I start touching her thighs,
she moans.
I'm kissing her lips,
the ones between her hips
and she's foaming
liquid of the gods
and God,
I'm drunk.
xxxi.
Lifting up,
making sure
she feels
what I'm carrying between my legs.
She moans so slightly
and I start to press it to her.
She gasps,
saying something
about a condom.
I knew she'd give in.
xxxii.
We fuck
like dogs
in spring heat.
Ghosts all around us
haunting our craving bodies.
I come,
she yells into the night.
I clean myself
and return
to her crafted silken body,
which I sleep on
and dream of her nakedness.
xxxiii.
Bloodshot eyes.
Waking up to summer heat
and her staring at you
behind a book.
Russian existentialism.
Grab a drink
because that's all you know how
to do.
Grab her
because that's all you know how
to do.
Leave the bottle and girl,
grab the nearest train
because that's all you know how
to do.
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