A-Trainin'

Sam had told me if I took the A-Train that I might witness some 'interesting,' if not 'wonderful' events—let's simply put it this way: events that leave even a sophisticated wmn like me wondering....

Business took me to New York and on my last free morning in Manhattan, Sam sent me instructions AND a picture.... The instructions told me exactly which train to take, what time, and where to position myself on the platform.... Sam even mentioned if I paid close attention when I boarded the train that I would see 'him'—not Sam—but a tall, bronzed, bald—completely shaven—built, business-type...immaculately laid-out—dressed as if I had dressed him, myself, Sam teased.... If at all possible, Sam wrote, I should sit next to him, or as close to him as possible, on the same side of the car....he would have no idea who I was, or what I was doing, other than taking the A-Train....away from Harlem....

She—the picture—on the other hand, expected me—Sam had sent her my pic—more than one, I'm now told, and each more revealing than the other.... Any way, she told Sam, that she was more than happy to take another long local to the end of the line....

Sam wrote that I should use my own discretion as to how to dress for NYC rush-hour ...while folks might be trancing, I would want to keep my focus and let her BE the focus.... So....I wore a simple ankle-length, black and white halter-dress, that buttoned up the front...black, three-inch patent, peep-toes....an 'industrial grade' thong, over sheer, crotch-less pantyhose....and a big black sunhat, with big black shades....inconspicuous...I think....

***

I was on the platform a bit before the train arrived....so much for being inconspicuous—or maybe it was just New York and the subway—I got more than a few looks—even some sistas—or was it just my imagination?... A-Train...like clockwork...I got on and there was Mr. Wall-Street, and a space between him and some youngster whose earphones looked like bio-mechanical implants—completely zoned—eyes closed, letting the rhythm of the 'A' do exactly what Mr. Strayhorn described....

Wall-Street gives me the once over as I crossed my legs and let the dress fall open at the thigh...I pretended not to notice as I 'read' my TIMES—folded 'New York' style....

Three or four stops down town, she got on.... Much, much prettier than her picture...dressed to the nines, but all business....about my color—chocolate with a hint of rust hiding just below the surface...dark hair in a straight, asymmetrical bob—a sort of Asian thing—dark glasses, almost as big as mine—these she lowered, ever so slightly to make eye-contact with me...to acknowledge my presence and to let me know that the performance he thought was his alone was really mine....

The suit was white...a linen-blend that defied wrinkles and held its shape—her shape—magnificently....she was, as one of our dear, departed uncles would have noted, 'built like a brick shit-house'....if the jacket of the suit had not been tailored just so, its seams would have been rupturing...she had had the audacity somewhere before entering the train to unbutton its top button...the pale bluish lace of a shelf-bra that dipped into a deeper purple cup, did little to keep her nipples from playing hide-n-seek with the most discerning as the train rocked from stop to stop....

I've often wondered how she got into that skirt.... I mean it was a simple enough proposition....it was calf-length, buttoned up the front, with a nice split in the back for a 'strider'....but girlfriend appeared to have poured herself into it, or to have painted it on....

In any case, to the rhythm of the train wheels, oblivious to the oblivious, she had undone all of the skirt buttons up to the hem of her suit jacket....then with a slight shift as she braced against the pole, the front of the skirt swung open ever so much—but certainly enough—to reveal a shaved—and what appeared to be—quite slick pussy...with a very large, pink, throbbing clit—or was that my imagination—the 'throbbing,' that is....

Wall-Street shifted against me in his seat...unaware that I was quite aware of his 'discomfort'....I glanced to the edge of my TIMES and saw that girlfriend was working her magic.... Stocks-n-Bonds had begun to rise....the 'market' was making a true 'upswing'....things were—should we say—'bullish'....and all this in my seat-mate's pants.... Yessssss...there was at least one 'bull' on Wall Street judging by the tent in daddi's trou....

Sweetheart did her best to 'stimulate' 'growth'.... I simply marveled at how much strain the material of a well-made suit can take...his greatest fortune at the moment—aside from the hard-on and the show that was producing it—was the fact that navy-blue pinstripe works quite well at hiding stains of all sorts—including precum, and I supposed, cum....

He shifted again on his seat...I played it off as if it was the motion of the train—I knew better.... I also needed to slide my rump slightly along the slick plastic of the New York conveyance—the real need to ease the stress on my thong....

It was then that girlfriend decided to wreck an 'economy' in a process of 'growth' that only seemed to be going up and up and up.... as if we were the only two other people in the car, she dropped a manicured hand to her bald, naked crotch....and just as Sam had said she would, she inserted three fingers up to the last knuckle without bending a knee...she thrust three, maybe four times, then shuddered....brought three cream coated digits out of her cunt and up to her mouth...and sucked....she must have felt the fleck of cream in the corner of that gorgeous mouth...a long, almost fuscia-colored tongue snaked out and lanced it from those perfectly lacquered, red lips....

At that moment, I knew I had to literally 'beat' 'inflation'....it didn't take much.... I dropped my hand coyly into Mr. Wall-Street's lap...found his raging and 'irrational exuberance'....and stroked three, four times through that very expensive worsted....that was all it took to bust that 'bubble'—on a train that carried a sizable percentage of New York's 'eight million' stories (more now, but who's counting)....Niobi would've been proud....

Having saved the 'economy'—or at least allowed one broker to regain his focus so that he might function somewhat more efficiently...I rose, smoothed my dress and made for exit as the train pulled into the station....

I was joined by the beauty who had caused most of his travail—almost.... We both blew him a kiss as we stepped from the train....he remained glued to his seat—cum can be like that....

As we mounted the stairs arm in arm she whispered about naked 'hedge' fun, 'deposits,' 'withdrawals,' 'liquidity,' and the possibilities of all kinds of 'inflation' and 'busting' as we hailed a cab for uptown....no need for the 'quickest way to Harlem' this time—in fact, she suggested we stop on route—time to check MY 'portfolio' and run through my 'assets'....she assured me she had brought the right 'tools'....

[thank you, Sam....muaaaaah!]