Date: Tue, 20 Jul 2004 18:25:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: frank11101_2004@yahoo.com
Subject: E-Train to Queens

They entered the subway on 34th Street. Raindrops in
their hair and on their Indian faces, smiling as they
bumped into people trying to get themselves sorted out
in the crowded car. She was lugging a big rolled up
futon mattress, he had to deal with the matching
frame. The IKEA labels clearly visible, they obviously
had taken the  bus from Elizabeth to Penn Station. He
was tall, about 6 feet, dark hair with a few grey
streaks at the front, about 29, maybe a little older.
She had  her dark black hair made up in a ponytail,
showing her goergous face, maybe 24. They didn't look
like any of the conservative Indians one finds in
Queens; they didn't wear wedding bands, let alone
traditional dresses, but they just bought a bed for
themselves. She managed to get a seat, while he was
standing. Sitting down as the subway pulled out of
34th Street, she caught my smile. Rather than looking
away quickly, as most people would do in NYC, she
indulged me in an open friendly smile back, her pure
olive skin as shiny as her black hair, her lips full
and naturally dark around her white teeth.

I was wondering whether she knew what was going
through my mind right then. How I envisioned them
carrying their stuff up to their walkup, a small 1 or
2 bedroom probably, how they would unpack their new
purchase, tired but excited, struggling somewhat with
the IKEA instructions that she would insist on reading
first, while he already started working on putting it
all together. How she'd make fun of him as he started
out on the wrong path. How he'd sheepily ask her to
show him the instructions. This would go on for a good
half hour, but they'd finally be done with it, and
she'd walk to their closet, getting out their best
white linnen, also from IKEA. As I was thinking this,
she glanced at him, then at me again. He looked around
the subway, as if to see whether there were any sleazy
men around that he might have to protect her from, or
maybe to see whether there were any hot women around
that he could look at, only to conclude that the
hottest woman on the planet would be no comparison
whatsoever to the one he had, the one who'd go home
with him to unpack their new bed just a few stops
later.

Maybe she knew that he was thinking this, and it made
her happy, and it made her feel like she could look at
me, maybe thinking something quite similar to what he
was thinking. I am a handsome European guy, about his
age, not quite as tall or muscular, but I have
friendly green eyes and a warm smile. I once met a
woman on the subway who told me that I had the nicest
and most natural smile she'd ever seen on a NYC
subway, otherwise she would have never agreed to go
for a coffee with me, which I asked her to do when she
first asked for directions to BAM, and then mentioned
that she's way to early for a dance performance
there. It was the nicest compliment ever. So maybe
this beautifully natural Indian woman with, I assumed,
conservative parents who'd rather marry her off to
someone else, someone more wealthy maybe or at least
someone with a better degree, maybe this woman in her
simple black tank top, with that futon mattress
between her legs in front of her, maybe she thought
what I wished she'd be thinking right now. That she
was looking forward to when their new bed would be
made, covered in fresh white sheets, and how she would
pour herself and her man a glass of red wine. They'd
laugh happily as they'd test the firmness of the new
futon, careful not to spill any red wine onto the
sheets, and they'd look into each other's dark eyes,
knowing that maybe that wine could wait a little. That
maybe it would be nice to just kiss right there,
licking each other's lips, their warm olive hands
running over each other's chests, his strong and
muscular, with just a little black hair, hers warm and
soft and small, with two gorgeously dark nipples,
getting hard as she starts sucking on his probing
tongue in her mouth.

But I wished she'd be thinking something else as well,
and her frequent glances at me encouraged me to
believe that there was a possibility that she might
indeed be thinking just that. How it would be if, as
we leave the E train at the same stop, they asked me
to help them carry their new futon up those stairs to
their small sparse apartment. An apartment with few
items, mostly from IKEA, but some unusual prints on
the walls. A traditional Indian print here, one that
her grandmother insisted she should have, a photograph
of his extended family there, a family that she knew
she'd soon be part of. I would happily oblige helping
them; although I am not very strong, six hands are
better than four, and they don't live far from the
subway. We'd exchange names and casual niceties, shake
hands and all that, and he reluctantly lets me tell
them how this bed needs to get set up, since a friend
of mine had bought the same one not long ago.
Double-checking the instructions, he makes sure that I
don't screw up, as she laughs and smiles, happy that
her man is man enough to let a stranger into their
home, telling them all about IKEA furniture.

I obviously don't overdo it, letting him know that
he's still in charge here. Men can be weird in
situations like that, but we get along very well, and
there is no awkwardness. The apartment smells
wonderful, he is almost too good looking, but he has
none of the cockiness that plague many American men
who learned sometime between loosing their diapers and
entering kindergarden that life is always competition,
all the time. As the bed is done, she comes out of the
kitchen with three glasses of red wine, but he stops
her, because he has to get the fresh linnen first and
make the bed, before we can drink to our new
friendship. When he comes back from the closet, she
doesn't bother waiting for him to be done making the
bed, she doesn't bother with the rules and ettiquette
of looking deep into my eyes, or into his, while
saying cheers in that Indian British accent of hers,
instead she announces to noone in particular that it's
her 26th birthday today, and that this is one of her
birthday presents.

"Our old bed was way too loud", she says, a remark too
casual for me to notice, so I ask what else did she
get? "Well, so far, only the bed", is all she says.
"Alright, it's all done, look at this!" he announces
from the bedroom, so we go to take a look, she
carrying his glass of wine, me following. "By the way,
my name is Manish, what's your name", he asks. "Frank.
Nice to meet you. Looks pretty good to me." The first
awkward silence in the past twenty minutes. If they'd
thank me now, I'd know it's time to finish the wine
and get out, but they don't. They just smile at each
other, as she puts her arm around him, and he rests
his hand on her back, gently sliding it down to her
ass in her ankle length dark blue skirt. "So, are you
ready for another present", he says to her, very
quietly, as if I was not supposed to hear him. She
looks into his eyes for what seems to be an eternity,
first without any expression, then smiling, then
blushing as they both turn around to look at me. I
feel like a child. My heart is beating fast. I look at
him, at her, at him again. Finally, she simply says,
yes I think so, without taking her eyes off me.

The E train is at 7th Avenue now. She is sitting in
front of me and has opened up her hair, as if my
thoughts had made her warm. I think she is licking her
lips while she glances at him. Then smiling at me
again. Then looking in disgust at the old man next to
me who is eating KFC with his hands out of a plastic
bag, his fingers greasy, little pieces of chicken
scattered around his thin lips. Smiling at me, she is
rolling her eyes. I almost have to laugh. But, as if
waking up from a nice dream that needs to be finished,
I go back into my world, looking at her, at him, at
the IKEA labels and the Made in China print on the
plastic wrapping covering their new purchase. She
leans over to him and opens her lips. Her tongue
slightly licking over his teeth, her hand running up
his chest and into his white shirt. The first button
goes off as he slides his tongue into her mouth. The
second button as she wraps her lips around his tongue
and mouth. The third button as his hands start
wandering over her ass. The fourth button as she puts
down her glass of wine onto their nightstand. The
fifth button as he does the same, now holding her ass
in both hands. The last button as she slowly lets her
hand drop down over his belt to his crotch, spreading
her fingers wide as she slides them underneath his
balls, her palm pressing against his cock.

I am fascinated. I don't move. My cock does though,
but I am too busy watching to notice. She unbuckles
his belt and quickly opens the first buttons to his
jeans. Second, third, fourth, and her hand slides into
his gray boxer briefs. He is looking to the ceiling as
he stretches his arm out into my direction. I am too
far for him to touch me, but he just holds his arm and
hand there, and I make a small step towards them as
she slides her other hand into the back of his jeans,
over his ass. His fingers pull slightly at the arm of
my shirt, I make another small step, his fingers pull
the arm of my shirt up. I am pretty sure he means
"take off your shirt". That's what I want him to mean,
so I do. Slowly, never taking my eyes off her hands in
his jeans, their wet lips kissing each other deeply
now. They don't seem to notice that I let my shirt
fall to the floor. I feel small and shy. I am a good
deal shorter than him, almost as short as she is,
especially now that I am only a foot away from them.
But I don't feel like I am intruding. I feel like we
are dancing.

They pull me in, ever so slightly; first his hand,
strong, but not too strong, then her hand, small and
even softer than his, both running from my lower back
up to my shoulders and neck, touching me. Touching me
more firmly, as she turns away from him to me, so
close that I cannot make out her full face any more,
just her large brown eyes, her nose with a small
diamond stub almost touching my mouth, her mouth,
smiling, a little wet from his tongue. Her lips
touching my mouth, I feel her teeth on my lips, then
her soft warm tongue sliding over my lips, in between
my teeth, playing with my tongue, just a little at
first, then stronger, her hands going down over my
ass, pulling me closer. I follow the pull with a
little step, but they move away from me by the same
distance. Another step and another, and they sit down
on the bed, next to each other, looking up at me. I am
beet red, I feel strong and tall and at the same time
shy and unsure. Four hands running over my stomach, up
to my chest, down to my belt. Unbuckling me. Five
buttons. My jeans to my knees.

I hadn't realized I was this hard, but I was. My cock
clearly visible underneath my white boxer briefs, the
tip almost loking out. Her palm sliding up against the
veins of my cock, her other hand firmly deep inside
his open jeans, motioning him to pull them of. He
does. I do. His hand on her hand on his hard cock. His
other hand running over my stomach. They each slide
two fingers into my boxers, carefully unwrapping my
cock. I haven't been this hard in a long time. They no
longer look into my eyes, but let their eyes wander
around my cock. My veins. My small balls. In this
stage, it is hardly noticable that I am uncut. Not
that they care, I think. She is smiling, the same
smile I had seen on the E train; he is licking his
lips, the first time I see him do that.

Her hand wraps around my cock as her other hand tells
him to get naked, too. Too naked men, one dressed
woman. I am awfully pale compared to them, although my
cock is dark red now. She gently slides her fingers up
and down my cock to my balls, then holds me again
firmly, slowly pulling up, slowly pulling  me closer
to her mouth. My cock is twitching when her tongue
makes first contact with the tip of my cock. I know
her tongue is warm, but it feels cold and all the more
wonderfull. She is licking around the edge of the head
of my cock, then slowly taking me into her mouth. For
a brief moment, I close my eyes, not believing the
sensation. But she is still there when I open my eyes
again, my cock a little deeper in her mouth. I need to
touch her shoulder to believe it, need to touch his
shoulder as well. When I then feel his hands going up
my legs and his face moving closer to her, I know he
understood what I didn't even know myself I was
saying. That I want him to suck me too. And he does.
Less patient than her, he wraps his hand firmly around
my hard cock, almost squeezing it as he takes me all
the way in. Not all the way into his throat, but deep.
The first guy ever to suck my hard cock, and he didn't
even have to ask.

His other hand on my ass, he motions me to lay down. I
do, my cock buried in his sucking mouth untill I am on
my back, he straddling between my legs, starting to
suck me harder. I feel shy again, as she moved up, a
little to far away from me for my comfort, but she
assures me with a smile that she is not leaving, just
getting undressed. Quickly. When I see her gorgeous
naked tits, I can't help but touch his shoulder again
to remind me that I am not dreaming. She knows that I
need her closer and she slowly slides her hard nipples
over my waiting lips and tongue, letting me suck them
gently, while she watches him licking the full length
of my cock. When she kneels behind my head, looking
down at me, her hands running over my chest, I almost
want to fuck her right there, but I give in and go
with the flow and enjoy his mouth and tongue and hands
massaging my cock. I am looking down at him as he
looks at her above me, then at me, and the three of us
smile. Happy, horny, comfortable. I look up at her and
she knows what I want and what she wants. Lowering her
pussy onto my mouth, I realize how incredibly wet she
is. Her pussy juices are melting over the tip of my
tongue as I taste them painfully slowly, circling my
tongue around her clit, not quite touching it, not
quite entering her, one hand on his shoulder, another
hand on her soft ass, licking her out, now playing
with her clit.

I seem to hear her moaning, or maybe it's me. Her
fingers slide into my mouth, meeting his hand there.
They hold each other as I lick them like a little cat.
He pulls her off me towards him and she crawls over my
chest to him. I happily watch her wet pussy, her tight
little asshole as she moves away from me, slightly
worried they'd leave me alone now, even though I know
I had more than my fair share. I'd be happy even if
they did. If I could just watch her mouth sucking on
his cock, just watch his cock sliding deep into her
cunt, maybe just watch his finger probing her ass, I'd
be happy. No, I'd be happy, if they told me to leave
now. They invited me, I am a guest, I am very clear
about that. But they don't tell me to leave. He just
rolls around to sit back with her kneeling between his
legs and between mine and she goes down on him. I
can't see his cock in her mouth, but I see him closing
his eyes, facing the ceiling. She touches my knee with
one hand and out of nowhere produces a condom as I
watch her ass, her wet slit as she kneels in front of
him.

I don't know much, but I believe I know what that
means. But I want to lick her pussy from behind, slide
a thumb into her wet cunt, a finger massaging her clit
as she spreads her legs some more. I feel daring,
probably inappropriately so, but when I let my tongue
slide around her asshole for the first time, I
definitely hear her moan, and she seems to raise her
ass just a little more. I LOVE licking out a woman
from behind, love sliding my tongue into her ass as I
slowly fuck her pussy with a thumb, never forgetting
to give her clit my attention as well. I could do this
untill she comes while he shoots his hot cum into her
mouth, but her hand taps my shoulder again with the
condom, so I guess she has other wishes, and I happily
comply, quickly unwrapping the condom, sliding it over
my hard cock. Kneeling behind her, I watch her neck
going up and down over his cock, his hand resting on
the back of her head, and I rub the head of my cock up
and down between her wet pussy. Slowly stretching her,
the head of my cock disappears in her body, her lips
sucking me deeper and deeper untill I am burried
inside her, holding me there as my hands slide over
her gorgeously olive ass. She is pushing back towards
me, squeezing my hard cock, making me want to fuck
her. Manish is moaning louder now, the slurping sounds
of her mouth on his cock inviting me to slide almost
all the way out, then all the way in again, still a
controlled motion, but I am already beginning to feel
like I need to hold back. I want to fuck her hard and
fast and slow and deep, unable to decide, slowly
losing control, I suck on my finger and slide my spit
around her asshole. She pushes out her asshole,
wanting to be massaged, to be entered as I fuck her
pussy a little harder with each stroke.

Driving my finger gently, slowly into her ass, I
regain a bit of control, fucking her in long deep
strokes, the three of us moaning, him clearly close to
cumming, as I see his hips moving up to meet her
mouth, her ass pushing back on my cock and onto my
finger, I am holding out, hoping that she will come
with him and with me, but she doesn't. He does, with a
deep but friendly grunt, breathing out, breating in,
and the image of his hard cock in her mouth, his cum
flowing  over her lips, makes me cum. Hard and deep
inside her, I am almost afraid my cock or my finger
might hurt her, but she doesn't even seem to notice as
she is still sucking on him, licking him up and down,
while I cum and cum.

Three bodies standing still for what seems like
minutes. His eyes closed, my cock still deep inside
her, I pull out as she releases his cock with her
mouth, so she can move. She looks back at me over her
shoulder and laughs. Loud and openly, wiping her mouth
with the back hand. "Oh my God", she says, her first
Americanism, as far as I can tell, but she seems to
actually mean it. His body is relaxed and gorgeous,
her face bushed and laughing, while I try to remove
the condom as gracefully as I can, for a split second
thinking this is going to be awkward. But it isn't.
She hands me a tissue, smiling again, or maybe still
smiling. Manish gives me a big huge grin in a boyish
sort of way, never even close to any of the
high-fiving that I so detest. "I feel like its my own
birthday", he says, and he leaves it at that. "I need
some water", she says, and goes off to the kitchen. He
just breathes out a big smile. When she comes back
with three glasses of water, her brown eyes radiate.
"That was a pretty damn good birthday present, thank
you, baby", she says to him, kissing his cheek. "Oh,
you are welcome, I am glad you like the new bed", he
laughs. "Yes, I love it! Except, I didn't come yet,
what do you think about that?" she says with a big
grin. All of a sudden, I feel accused and turn beet
red again, but all I can say is "uh oh..." She laughs
again, the same lovely laugh. "Oh, it's okay", she
says, looking me straight in the eye, "but how would
you like to suck his cock hard for me again, I am sure
that'll make me cum sooner or later." If my face could
have gotten any redder, it would have. His eyes got
even larger, as if he hadn't heard right. But I heard
her. She wants me to suck his cock, plain and simple.
I have never sucked a cock in my life. Sure, I had
thought about it many times, but had always felt I'd
need the comfort of a woman to cheer me on, in order
to actually do it. And here she was, smiling at me
again, waiting for my reaction. I looked at him, he
looked at me, then her. "Well," I say, "it is your
birthday after all, isn't it?", taking a big sip of
cold water and putting the glass down.

When the E train pulls into my station, I am hoping
desperately that it would be their station, too. I'd
love to help them with their bed. I'd love to see her
smile one more time, giving me a hint that, yes,
they'll get off here and then they'd like to get off
with me. But she doesn't. She looks at that guy next
to me again, his KFC junk food almost finished, then
gives me a last quick look as the subway door opens
and I wish I'd live a couple of stops further down the
E train, somewhere deeper in Queens.