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33 Stops On The A Train (From Brooklyn To The Bronx)

Short erotic prose.

By Humphrey StügartPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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33 Stops

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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