Trapper and Emmeline (11 page)

I looked at him again too.

He was watching us check him out, his face turning wary. He looked dissolute but middle-class, like a fat banker with a sedentary lifestyle. He was not repulsive by any stretch, but I wouldn’t be as generous as Emmeline and say he wasn’t bad looking.

“He got you off not three minutes ago. That makes him a nice guy.” Words can’t describe how hard my dick was, tel ing her to do this thing. “You wil rock his world. He wil go to his deathbed remembering you. Remembering how you went back for more fingering.”

“Ooh, that's good,” she said. She glanced back at him. Of course he was staring at her (wouldn't you?). Her eyes met his and locked.

“Okay,” she said.

“Hold his gaze,” I told her. I was hot just thinking about how Emmeline and I looked to that man. I was obviously her real lover, and I was obviously convincing her to do something.
Jeez,
would that turn me on. If I were the seated man staring at us, I would be begging with my loudest telepathic voice for the hot girl to come back and grind my shoulder again.

Emmeline peeled off me and went over to him. Our drama had not gone unnoticed by several other passengers in the subway car. Emmeline had an audience that avidly watched her return to the stranger.

This time she stood right next to him, half in front of him, with one leg between his legs. This offered him much better access than before. She was so close, her breast brushed his temple when the train veered on the track. Her legs parted, her clog heels tapped the floor impatiently.

When he didn't react fast enough, she bumped him with her knee.

He looked startled. She arched her eyebrows at him and kneed him again, harder this time.

He got the message. His hand went back to her leg.

I, and everybody else who was watching, pretended nothing exceptional was going on. Our faces remained studiously blank, but the air in the subway car was thick with attention. At least a third of the men around us were aware of Emmeline’s bit of theater, watching closely.

The seated man’s hand slid up the inside of her thigh, lingering on the soft skin. Al of us would have lingered too. I had never felt the inside of a woman’s thigh on a subway train, but now I desperately wanted to. Maybe Emmeline and I would re-enact this for ourselves some day…

I didn’t want to lose track. I focused on them again. His hand was under her smock, but it wasn’t hidden. The dress was supremely short, and we could see his wrist below the bottom hem. Based on the movement, he was busy under there.

The subway rocked suddenly, and she grabbed him to stay standing. She didn't let go. From then on it was a tight, intimate clinch: Emmeline and the businessman, starting on a little journey together. The stranger blindly buried his fingers into the delicate folds of her nether lips. Emmeline gripped him tighter, pul ed him closer. She stared down into his eyes.

The stranger had a free hand. And it was holding an iPhone.

He held the iPhone under her dress. The screen was showing movement, which meant it was in video mode.

He was shooting video up Emmeline’s skirt.

The bastard!

She let him. She
more
than let him. When she saw what he was doing, her knees almost gave out. My ‘innocent’

girlfriend was ready to be dirty, and to own that dirtiness as publicly as possible, by letting herself be captured on video in a stranger's phone.

He held the phone up to her face, so any future audience for the video would know she wasn’t a dog. Who
was
this guy? She glanced at me incredulously, and then back at the phone. She let her face show her lust. It was so fucking amazingly sordid. His fingers worked in her twat, and the sensations echoed through her nervous system. She stared down at him with growing arousal and disarray on her face, as the orgasm rose in her. She watched the little pinpoint camera as sensation wel ed up through her body.

The train stopped, the doors opened.

More commuters flooded in.

They didn't exist as far as Emmeline was concerned. But several newcomers noticed her. You would have noticed her too, when you stepped in: the flushed, breathy, beautiful, high-breasted Mediterranean model—such a contrast with the drab commuters around her; the short, wispy dress that showcased her gleaming soft legs in the fluorescent lights; how her breasts and hips shimmied when the train moved again.

When a woman gets to a certain level of arousal, she's just going to stand out against any background the world can provide. She’s going to be a Monet on a concrete wal .

Then another man joined them. It was the man behind Emmeline. He clasped on to her when the train lurched.

At first it seemed like a normal subway personal-space accident. Then his hand slid around her ribs and cupped her left breast. She took a surprised breath, which knocked her briefly off the rails of her orgasm. She looked around, and observed that she had the attention of several other commuters—though not everybody in the train, hard to believe.

Emmeline didn’t look at the newcomer. She didn’t flinch from his touch either.

He was an older man in a suit, perhaps fifty-five. He had a suitcase in one hand, and his other hand was on my girlfriend. He stood close behind her, letting her ass ride against his crotch. He hefted her breast. I saw it slip around her low-cut top—if he wasn’t careful, he would lift her breast completely out of the dress.

Emmeline pretended nothing untoward was happening.

Except it was.

The seated man filmed the newcomer’s hand on her chest. Then he started again under her skirt. Emmeline slipped back on track to orgasm, but she didn’t tune completely out this time. She checked the car to see who was watching. She was now aware she was making a spectacle of herself, and her latent exhibitionism was magnifying the sensations the

men were giving her. Fingers on her clit, fingers inside her pussy, fingers massaging the hard points of her chest.

I saw another man secretively filming her from two seats away.

Emmeline saw him too. She didn’t care.

I couldn’t believe shit like this was probably happening under my nose al the time. If I believed what Emmeline said, then al the sweet, pretty women I tried to treat so properly had secret fetishes and fantasies. Apparently, these women I talked to were merely waiting for me to finish gal antly not-touching them. And then they would go off and get finger-fucked by strangers in the subway.
Women! Who knew?

The man behind her was active on her chest. As the orgasm wel ed through Emmeline’s body, she fluttered against him, and then her whole body quivered. The man pressed his cock between the cheeks of her ass and felt the orgasm build that way. My loving, sweet girlfriend was being double-teamed, groped by strangers on a train, videoed—and now about to come.

The standing man slipped his hand into her dress, down her top, and held on to her bare breast with his bare hand.

This, and the fingers in her twat, made her come with a strangled gasp. She rode the orgasm with tight, wild movements, sandwiched by the two strangers who pressed against her to feel her body’s reaction.

The subway pul ed into Emmeline’s station and started its long, screeching deceleration.

When Emmeline’s eyes focused on me, which took a little time, I nodded to the door. She extricated herself from the hands, pul ing them out of her dress with an embarrassed, apologetic smile. But she didn’t just walk away this time.

This was new Emmeline, an Emmeline with rules. She leaned down and kissed the seated man, a kiss that lasted just long enough for him start responding. Then she twisted around to kiss the man behind her (her ass stil grinding his crotch). It was her first look at him and she just closed in and kissed him. These were wet kisses, warm and grateful, and I even saw her tongue briefly search their mouths.

And then she final y trotted over to me with the train’s warning bel s ringing, and she pushed me through the doors just as they closed. We staggered onto the platform, laughing. She waved at the subway car, at al the ardent, needy faces that stared back at her.

Emmeline gave me a kiss of my own, and I could tel from her mouth that she was incredibly turned on. She pul ed back, leaving me dazed and unresponsive as my lips processed al the information she had just kissed into me.

She gave a little yelp at the ceiling. “Can you
believe
what just happened? I’ve been waiting for two men since forever!

Two dirty old men making me feel slutty.”

She was being her usual loud self, which drew looks from people on the platform. She was always drawing looks.

“Why weren’t you videotaping it, Trapper?” she shook me with pretend anger. “I want to see it over and over again.

That was epic! Strange men have me on video, video of me being slutty in the subway. They’re going to rape themselves tonight, watching it.”

“You like being recorded?” I asked, when she let me speak.

“Apparently I do! Let’s make a note of that, shal we?” She laughed. “This is strange to say, but I hope I find it online!

Alongside my growing col ection of Internet porn pictures.”

She grasped my hand and pul ed me toward the escalator to the station exit. Though she was clearly excited and distracted, she stil remembered to push me onto the escalator first. That was one of her personal rules—a corol ary to the rule that she always had to take the most visible location in the room. If she stood below me on escalators, then the men behind her could more easily look up her skirt.

Yes, she was fantasy made flesh.

I felt a little like she was herding me somewhere. “Where are you taking me?”

“I know you want to get home, but I want to talk about what just happened. I had an amazing orgasm. Two of them!

Yummy-bunnies! I think it’s because of this insane day, with the new kissing rule. Thanks to the touching, flirting, and kissing, I have never been so turned on, and for so long. And then I have not one, but
two
men perving over me in the subway.” She gave me another kiss. “You must be my lucky talisman. You make my sex life total y amazing and decadent.”

“Al women say that.”

“Though,” she added, “tomorrow I’l probably be mortified. It’s like waking up after a night of drinking and going, ‘What did I do?’”

“We already did that,” I pointed out.

“Shit, you’re right! We’re racking up life experiences, aren’t we?”

“You know, you don’t have to be mortified if you don’t want to be.”

“I know, I know. And it’s not corruption. It’s life-affirming wickedness.”

“Or something like that.” I squeezed her shoulders.

“I need to start my subway games again, because apparently men have gotten better at it. Or maybe I have this availability vibe now. No—I know what it is. Look at me—I’m basical y naked! That’s the difference. I wasn’t dressed like a sex-addicted schoolgirl before. Now I’m an open invitation. Al I have to do is kick a guy like a broken vending machine, and he’l wake up and get me off. If only I’d realized this secret a few years ago. The shit I could have gotten into! The wardrobe I’d have by now!”

I tried again. “So… where are we going?”

“I’m letting you walk me home, and then you wil meet my father. You have graduated to meet-the-father status. You’re the first boy to attain this distinction.”

“What did I do?”

“You rewired my sex drive.”

I didn’t believe her for a second. “Wait, Emmeline! Was this whole train, stranger, pervert, public sex thing just to get me to come to Queens?”

Her smile gave me my answer.

“Unbelievable, Emmy! You could have just asked me to come!”

She broke out laughing. “I’m
kidding.
Meeting my dad was an afterthought.” She turned serious for a moment. “And that reminds me. Can you pretend that I’m not a living, walking porn puppet? Daddy thinks I’m his innocent sweetie.

Pretend you respect me.
Don’t
touch me.”

“Yikes.”

So we walked three blocks to her home in Queens, and I met her suspicious Greek father. He was Sam, or Sammy to friends. I was al owed to cal him Mr. Petrachios. He told me several things in quick succession: My handshake was weak.

He worked in construction. He knew gangsters. He kept track of his family. He didn’t like how I looked at Emmeline.

I spent the entire visit pretending Emmeline didn’t exist, and then fled the house as early as possible.

With the door slammed behind me, I heard a low whistle from a second-story window. I walked up the path and turned around.

“Hey, Romeo!” Emmeline had her window al the way open, and the curtains pul ed aside. She was perfectly visible in the light.

While I tried to think of a Juliet pun, she pul ed the smock over hear head, and dropped her tiny, stretched-out panties.

It happened with two smooth, dancer-like movements that had her naked in a second. She held her hands up and made a
Ta-da!
motion, and blew me a kiss.