The Girl on the Train

The train is always a good place to start. It’s a place where you can interact with strangers in wordless ways.

I arrive at the usual station at 11:40 am, so it's quiet.

I watch the doors beep open. It’s a mostly empty carriage, and I sit in the parallel seats by the door. With a train this empty, you can’t just sit next to someone. It’s weird. You have to wait for them to come to you. And it’s two stops before the doors bleep open, and she gets on.

She’s skinny with Scottish-blue skin garnished with dark freckles. She's in midnight denim and a faded Mudhoney T-shirt. She’s got this crude oil hair and a blonde streak like a negative badger. She's got dark blue lipstick and eye makeup. You might call her a goth, but the kids probably have some other name for it these days. They have to rename everything.

She’s not my type at all, except that she's female. She has about seven earrings on each side, a nose ring, a lip ring and one of those bullrings in her septum that's just begging to be yanked.

She takes a seat right opposite me.

That’s a good sign. Maybe she’s a bit in heat and has noticed the outline of my Finnochiona through my thin grey sweats. She’s wearing a short tartan skirt to match her transparent legs. Her fishnets are torn—probably self-inflicted. I try to get a glance up the skirt, but it’s dark up there like this chick’s soul.

I imagine her body. She's bony in a cigarettes and water for lunch kind of way. I know her type—white asparagus tits that have never seen the sun. I know her body type— cunt shaved bald like Jeff Bezos— skeletor hips and at least an inch of thigh gap—incredibly functional for the standing fuck. And it's an 18-1 shot that she only likes to be fucked in the ass. I’ve known girls like that—like the creator forgot to put all the sensors in the pussy but stuck them all in the ass canal instead.

She glances at the bulge in my sweats, and the thermostat gets turned up in my thighs, like some Boy Scout is rubbing sticks together. I get at least a three-quarter, which rises like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

She smiles, and sparks fly out of my coin slot, setting her tartan skirt on fire. It’s a green light, but saying hello to a woman is risky in these times. Showing her the outline of your deli meat is plain dangerous. Make the wrong judgement at the wrong moment and you'll be talking yourself out of a midnight fuck in the gaff. But that’s the point, I guess.

It’s not easy. She’s smiling and gazing at me now, and I should say something, but I search my database of lines, and there isn’t one that doesn’t sound like Jack the Ripper.

“Do you want me to take care of that for you?” she says without looking up from her phone.

“Sorry?” I say, blinking like Hugh Grant. I don't know what's happening. I'm usually more confident than this.

Get a fucking grip.

“I’m on my way home,” she says. “I live five minutes from the next station. Do you want to come over, and I’ll take care of that for you?”

And just like that, she's done all the work. I nod like a coward and follow her off the train at the next station without saying anything at all. And we walk silently at a swift pace, breathing like emphysemic patients. She puts my hand on her tits as we walk. They’re petite, which is fine by me. I prefer big tits, but you cant have everything. I find the nipple and the cold steel ring through it, and I know we’re in business.

I follow her into her building, up two flights of stairs covered in stained-brown carpet, past sweating, cream walls and mysterious white doors with the smells of old people’s lunches. Finally, she gets her key out, opens number twenty-three, and we fall into her house.

She pulls me into her non-gothic bedroom, which has a grey TV, a couple of band posters, a filthy glass bong, a floor mattress and a massive pile of clothes in one corner. And without warning, she’s on her knees, and she’s yanked down my sweats, and she’s got me in her gothic gob, sucking at industrial level. That’s how I know she knows what she's doing—cos she's acting like she's trying to suck out rattlesnake venom. High pressure is the key—the kind that makes your eye marbles roll back into your head. And it feels unbelievable.

She grabs my nuts, squeezing them in slightly the wrong way, and an electric pain shoots up into my ear, making me squeal like a baby rat.

She smacks her mouth off long enough to say,

“You fucking pussy.”

Then she resumes the pressure.

She pauses again to suck her middle finger, jamming it right into my piehole, and I squeal again.

“Fuck you, you pussy.” she says, this time without emptying her mouth. At least she has short fingernails. You don't need a fingernail slice on the piehole. It turns having a shit into a nightmare.

She stops sucking and stands up. She holds my mouth open with her fingers and spits into my mouth. I swallow it all, grab her by the reverse badger hair, and I beg her for more. So she makes more for me, like some gothic Wendy Wonka, and spits it into my mouth. We kiss hard. I suck on her tongue, taking her spit, mixing it with mine and giving it back to her.

I pick her up by her bony hips and throw her down on the bed like a bag of Scottish malt, and I stand over her watching her strip. First, the Mudhoney t-shirt, black lace bra, tartan skirt. She tears off her fishnets and her glistening black knickers.

She spreads her legs and puts her arms above her head.

Her pits are waxed and white as well. I prefer my girls with hairy pits and a bush, but I knew what I was getting with this chick. Usually, I’d pull her outer lips apart to get a good look and smell of what’s happening on the inside. Then I’d taste her for at least thirteen and a half minutes. I’d suck on her freshwater pearl like a Chupa Chup, slurping hard. Then I’d make a finger boat and sail hard north into the wet sponge ocean, massaging the great waves until she sprayed in my face like a North Pacific Whale.

But her position and attitude are telling me she wants me inside her. So, I kneel, pushing into her aggressively like I'm unblocking a drain. It's tight, and she yelps, so I put my hand over her mouth and tell her that I’m not gonna take any bullshit. She sinks her sharp teeth into my hand, expecting me to pull it away, but I leave it there, breathing through the pain, and blood fills her mouth. Her eyes roll back as I push harder into her. She's a fucking vampire.

She pushes my hand away, and spits blood in my face. I pull out and push back in as deep as I can. I feel her cervix, tight like a rubber band, and she makes a face with her mouth open, but doesn’t produce any sound. She expects me to pull out again, but I don’t. I circle my hips, massaging her inner ring, which starts to pulse—my precious.

She’s a deep orgasmer—barely making a noise, breathing shallowly at the top of her lungs before letting out a basso-profondo groan like a demonic T-Rex and shaking wildly. I pull out so I'm barely touching her inner lips. And I hold it there for a minute, feeling the air against my wet skin and her outer lips trembling. Then I push it right in as hard as I can again. I do it five times—all the way in and out. I look down and there’s blood everywhere. And it's not just the blood from my hand. I'm covered in blood, she's covered in blood. The bed is soaked with blood—and it’s not just a bit. It’s fucking pouring out of her. She’s haemorrhaging. I should take her to the ER.

I put my fingers under the spring instead and collect the salty red hell water. I rinse my mouth with it and swallow. A drop trickles down the side of my mouth like I’m Dracula. I bang her hard, spraying blood everywhere.

Fuck me harder, Dracula, you cunt.

I get another mouthful and kiss her this time, filling her mouth with blood while I bang her hard to the sound of incredible sloshing noises and the overwhelming smell of fermented earth. She mixes the blood with her spit and fills my mouth again. I swallow some and spit the rest into her face.

I flip her over so she’s on all fours and I pull her cheeks apart, licking the blood off her hole again and again like it's a Transylvanian ice pop, and she groans with pleasure. Then I kneel up and slide between her cheeks.

She says she doesn’t want it.

I call her a fucking pussy, and I pin her down and try to push it in there anyway, but she swings an arm around, punching me right in the teeth. So now I’m bleeding from the gums too.

As punishment I spank her with such fucking force that she tells me to stop.

“You deserve it, you fucking cunt.” I say, spitting blood on her back.

And she starts screaming like I’m fucking murdering her, so I spank her as hard as I can, genuinely trying to hurt her. She screams even louder, and for a second, I worry that the neighbours will call the police. But, I quickly drop the thought, and instead, bang her as forcefully as I can with my whole body until blood and hot juice spray from inside her with such power that it nearly sends me backwards off the bed.

It's a fucking apocalypse.

She rolls onto her back.

“You look like a deranged butcher,” she says, laughing and lighting up a cigarette from the bedside table. “What are you gonna do with all that jizz now?”

I take the cigarette from her hand, take a deep toke, then another. Then, I stick the hot end into her thigh. She yelps in pain.

“You fucking cunt.” she says, rubbing the burn.

I shuffle toward her, but she holds her hand up.

“Stay there,” she says. “I want to watch you blow.”

So I grab my bloody shaft and wank over her. She watches closely, sliding two fingers inside herself, her eyes rolling back. She quickly sprays hot pink liquid all over the bed again, and it‘s enough for me. The first two shots fire out at record speed, hitting the Nirvana poster above her head, dripping down the body of Kurt Cobain's Fender Jaguar and soaking Krist Novoselic's trainers. She lets out a breath of shock and looks up. Then she looks back at me with dilated eyes and flushed skin as boiling hot white cream pumps out, load after load all over her tits and stomach.

“Oh my fucking God, there’s so much!” she says.

And she goes quiet at the peak of her breath again. Then she swallows and lets out a deep groan like a primordial OM.

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