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From: max_wojtylak@yahoo.com (theGreatxIam)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 2 Apr 2002 01:09:49 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Private Dancer (MF) Subway series #6
Date: Tue,  2 Apr 2002 06:10:02 -0500
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NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of
this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether
existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of
this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is
made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam

Subway series #6:
Private Dancer
By theGreatxIam

I was 25 when I got married. A virgin. For 15 years, I never strayed.
Not once. Why would I? I loved my wife. She wasn't a classic beauty.
We argued sometimes. But she was there for me whenever I needed her.
In good times and in bad, just like the minister said. We survived the
early years together, the sadness when the doctors said we could never
have children. But we shared the joy, too: the vacations out on the
coast, that little cabin on the lake.

I tell you this so maybe you'll understand how heartbroken I was when
the news came: My wife had inoperable cancer. It was a few months that
seemed like seconds and she was gone. "Until death do you part," as
the minister said.

I was without solace. Oh, work filled up my days, but the nights
stretched on forever. Especially on weekends, when sleep wouldn't
come.

I tried reading books or watching TV, but I'd look around the house
and break into tears when I saw something that reminded me of her. I
had to get out, at least for a little while. But where? I'm a shy
person. I wanted someplace where no one would talk to me. I would not
bare my soul to strangers, just as I had never bared my body -- gosh,
even through all the years of my marriage I don't think my wife ever
saw my body completely uncovered; I always put the lights off first.

A movie theater? Much too expensive these days. Walks in the park? Too
dangerous.

I began to ride the subways. One token and you can ride all night, and
in our city, as long as you look awake and healthy you're fairly safe
on the trains; the muggers have plenty of other choices.

So I rode every Friday and Saturday, into the night. In the early
evenings it was its own form of torture, trains filled with people
rushing to or from parties or whatever. The couples were the worst,
smiling and giggling in the corners, reminding me.

I brought books and used them as shields. Mark Twain would keep me
preoccupied until the crowds had gone and it was just me and the night
and the empty tunnels of the subway.

Until that night.

It was a Saturday. I got a seat next to the door and tried to hide
behind my book, but the noise of the crowd sometimes distracted me;
snatches of conversations, laughter. I looked up once and saw a young
couple kissing as they boarded, and I'm afraid I cried a little.

As my eyes slid back to my book, I saw to my embarrassment that
someone had noticed me.

She was about 20, I'd guess. Tall, or at least taller than me. A long
oval face framed by a savage sweep of streaked blonde hair that clung
tightly to the sides of head and then swept away just as it reached
her shoulders. A black leather jacket and tight black leather pants
over a dancer's body; strappy, shiny red high heels.

She was looking right at me as I cried, sky blue eyes piercing me. I
was paralyzed for a second. She smiled, bright white teeth glittering
between glistening red lips. I essayed a thin faltering smile in
return, out of habit more than anything else, and went back to the
safety of my book.

I got a couple of teardrops on page 218 of "Innocents Abroad," one of
my favorites.

I was so shaken by the relatively trivial contact I'd had that I
didn't look up from the pages for some time. I know it sounds silly,
but, as I said, I'm shy. My wife and I met at a church function. It
was actually sort of an arranged thing; the pastor knew her well and
me slightly and put us together. Lord knows it took me long enough to
figure out what was going on and actually ask her out on a date. I did
make the actual proposal of marriage eventually, but she was the
driver. Not in a harsh way, I mean; just that she was the one who got
us out of the house, the one who kept up our friendships. On my own,
I'd have done none of that. As my behavior since her passing showed, I
guess.

I thought about this and other things as we rode; I'd read the book so
many times before that my attention could wander freely and come back
easily to where I'd left off.

When at last I looked up again, I was surprised. The train was emptier
now, new faces. But that woman was still there, still sitting across
from me. Still looking at me.

I may have blushed a little. But that's all I did.

I returned to my book, but every so often I'd keep peeking above it.
Still there. The train ran to the end of the line and back twice. It
was empty now except for her and me. Likely to remain that way, I
knew, as it pulled its way through the wee hours. What was her story?

The only clue I could find in my furtive glances was a small white
circle on the ring finger of her left hand, a circle about the size of
the gold and diamond ring she now wore on her right hand, nervously
twisting it every so often. A broken romance? A loss of her own? I
could only guess; I'd never ask.

Back to my book, but now I heard movement. As I looked up, the woman
was standing in the middle of the train, long legs spread across the
aisle. She stood just behind the metal pole that ran floor to ceiling
to give standees something to cling to.

And then she clung to it. In what looked like a move she'd practiced,
the woman threw her right leg around the pole and launched herself
high with her left as her arms encircled it. She reached almost the
roof of the train as her blonde hair flung out around her. A moment's
hesitation at the top, and then she spiraled down the pole, arms and
legs curled around it.

Her eyes, as they flashed across me, seemed slightly glassy. She
stared off into space and went through what appeared to be a routine.
I was mesmerized.

A long leg would be raised until almost perpendicular with the floor,
then slid back and forth across the pole like a bow on a violin. Then
raised impossibly higher, heel hooked around the pole as she spun
around it.

She leaped like a gazelle and grabbed the pole at the very top. Both
legs pointed straight out, she spun down slowly, bending her knees as
she did and ending in a squat, the pole between her legs.

I experienced feelings I hadn't had since ... since my wife passed.
Feelings I had never expected to know again, had in some sense never
wanted again.

Rising from the floor, she kept the pole tight against her. She caught
my eye and seemed to snap out of her daze.

As her left leg snaked around the pole now, she reached back and
removed her jacket. Leaning far back, she swung around the pole
holding it out behind her so it brushed against my legs.

She let it slide to the floor and unbuttoned her red silk blouse. One
button at a time, slowly, now looking right into my eyes.

Though the blouse was now completely unbuttoned she left it on and it
swirled around her as she twirled around the pole. She stopped with
her back to me. Stepping back toward me, she bent forward. Then she
stepped toward the pole again her leather slacks began to slid down.
Clinging to the pole with both hands, she spun around faster and
faster and the pants fell into a crumpled heap on the floor.

And all this time the train is going on, flashing in and out of
stations where no one waits.

Her blouse thrown away too, this mysterious woman wears only a red
lace bra and red lace panties above her shiny red heels. Her moves
become more suggestive now, sweeping me up in their erotic appeal. I
lick my lips as I watch her.

Thrusting up and down the pole, swinging around with wild abandon, the
woman takes off her bra and tosses it down the aisle. Her breasts are
not large, but I am not picky. They bring to mind, and to body, old
feelings long hidden. I gulp and undo the first button of my shirt.
She looks right at me, smiles and nods.

And now it's a race and I peel off my clothes until I am naked and
unashamed in the light, in the train. The woman lets go of the pole
and pirouettes to me. She stands straight and tall above me. With
fumbling but eager fingers, I peel the panties down her long, smooth
legs. She steps out of them and kicks them away.

I rise and we immediately kiss. Her lips on my are demanding. I
respond. Moans escaping both of us, we hungrily share our mouths and
then our tongues. My hands roam across her silky skin, old memories
guiding my actions but new ones pushing them out before they can hurt.

Next thing I know we are on the bench seat, her beneath me, legs wide
and inviting. I take the invitation, my rigid member piercing her wet
opening easily, driving in, in, deeper in one fast but gentle surge
until I feel her wetness completely surround me and her pussy lips
grasping at the base of my tool.

My face buried in her apricot-scented hair, my hands digging for
purchase on a subway seat quickly becoming slick with our sweat, I
plunge into the primal rhythm.

In and out and over and over we move in synchronized sexual response.
Her hands scratch and claw at my back and loins, pulling me deeper
inside her. At some point I gave way and released my seed, I must have
done, but in the passion of the moment our drive continued and I
realized I was hard again.

Thinking as one we switch positions now, her above me, holding my rod
erect and then sliding down it, one leg tucked underneath her wedged
between me and bench, the other laying straight along the seat, along
my body. She sits up straight, hands rubbing her breasts as she
bounces up and down on me.

Tentatively, then with increasing passion, I move my hands to her
globes, now slick with sweat. I squeeze them in time with our lustful
dance, then slid my hands down to her waist to urge her on, but she
needs no urging.

At last I feel her body respond to the utmost, paroxysms sending
shudders through her as her shouts echo off the metal walls of the
empty train car.

When she is still again, we move to one of the regular seats, her in
my lap, and resume. Her nipples brush against me and I lean forward
and take them in my mouth one by one, gently nipping them with my
teeth, suckling them like a baby, teasing them with my tongue. Once
more I feel the power of an orgasm shake her.

She rises and bends forward now, hands around the metal pole. I enter
her from behind, sliding in easily. Slowly at first and then with
increasing speed I thrust into her, pistoning so fast now that I must
hold onto her waist with both hands faster faster yet in savage lust
driving into her yells shouts screams of sexual joy as she responds to
me skin slapping against skin muscles aching train filling with our
smell harder harder her screams become higher-pitched her body wracked
by passion the "little death" they call it but for us a new entry to
life Yes she shouts Yes Yes Oh God Yes crying shaking as an engine
shakes at the peak of its effort roaring with power Yes.

And her tremors subside. She sinks to her knees on the rubber floor.
But I am still unsated and she turns to me, lips parting into an O.
And I am inside her mouth, her lips holding me in a firm grip sliding
me in and out in and out tension rising her tongue on the tip Oh just
like that she slides me out string of gooey liquid stretching out from
the tip of her tongue and she licked him up and down up and Oh! so far
down and around and into her mouth again just the head tongue swirling
in out and now sliding in more more more All In! plunging up down up
down  now now now ... I groaned and shuddered as I drained into her
mouth, gush after gush. She licked me clean.

I never saw her again. We never even spoke a word, I realized later. I
don't know her story. Don't even know her name.

But I know my story. Something happened to me that night, something
beyond the physical. I go out now. No nights on the subway. Unless
I've got a place to go.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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