Small pellets of water slam against the van incessantly, running down the windows, illuminated by the headlights of the other waiting cars, the drivers peering uselessly past the windshield wipers, rubbing off condensation, cursing at the sudden change in the weather, checking their watches, wondering how soon the train will come, how soon they will see their loved ones.

I wonder too, but as much as I miss my family, and as much as I had been enjoying a bright sunny day, I am neither anxious nor cursing. My wife's best friend, a hyperactive woman, her college roommate, her maid of honor who, claiming to be bored, has come along with me to pick them up, is both cursing and bouncing up and down, her head almost banging against the rain-drummed roof, muttering "fuck, fuck fuck" very rhythmically as she bounces.

She is a gorgeous woman, a head turner, the stuff of fantasy, a lean mean predator, a tan panther with a handsome face, a tight ass, long dark hair and long hard nipples, inspiring sexual excitement and even fear in all who see her. I am content just to watch her bounce, to listen to her muttering "fuck." For that alone I would let the train take a few more minutes. Rarely do I get the opportunity to spend time alone with her, and this day, especially the time in the van, has been one long tease, driving me to a level of sustained excitement I would not have thought humanly possible.

Before the rain arrived, outracing the train, she sat opposite me, puffing a cigarette, talking candidly about her sex life, turning her long neck with sudden forceful movements to blow smoke out the open window of the van. I sat, smiling and quiet and hard, watching, listening, imagining. Imagining myself as her former boyfriends, as her husband, as her lovers. Lost in her world I barely understood what was happening when she got out of the van to stretch, standing on tiptoe, head back, arms reaching for the darkening sky, her short cardigan riding up, exposing her sides and her back and her flat stomach, when she reentered the van through the sliding door, sitting behind me, smiling at me in the rearview mirror, patting the seat next to her, when I clambered between the front seats to join her.

I would will the train to wait for the watching and the listening alone. But it is coming, I can hear the whistle. She has heard it too, and she bounces faster, her breasts aching inches from my mouth, my hands on her hips urging her on, pounding down into me and rising up off me, as I have never been ridden before, her face in a crimson grimace of rising pleasure bordering on pain. We are both cursing now, the "fuck fuck fuck" of two voices mirroring the "fuck fuck fuck" of two bodies, two minds, and two souls. The van is rocking. The rain is pounding. The screech of metal wheels braking on wet metal tracks is deafening, and as the first passengers step down on to the platform, looking around, trying to identify which waiting vehicles are there to carry them home, we come, screaming each other's names with fifteen years of pent up rage and passion.