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I'm not really a writer, so keep that in mind while reading these. Just some junk I threw together a couple months back...

"Love and Trains"

The light flickers, but quickly brightens to its normal level. The train is nearly empty. A fat man is sitting at the opposite end of the train. He is sleeping. There is a light snoring, but Justin does not hear it. The train's noise as it moves to the next stop is far too loud. He, too, is sleeping. In the middle of the train, there is a pair of old Asian women. They do not speak to one another. They just sit, looking straight ahead, clutching their bags on their laps. The bags do not appear to be full.

The train passes by the scenery of the city. There is a Borders, one of the two-story ones. There barely seems to be any life out at this time of night. This is not true. The neutral voice of the train announces the next stop and informs the passengers which side the doors will be opening on. The fat man snorts, but does not wake.

The ads on this train are almost all the same. There are eight of the same advertisements trying to garner interest in a paid research study of menopausal women. Scattered between these, there are old construction notices that no one has bothered to take down. There is a hand-made flyer stuck in front of some of the ads. It touts the "new and exciting" opportunities in a career in door-to-door sales. On two of these flyers, someone has replaced the "s" with an "m." Justin chuckled when he saw this before settling into his nap.

The neutral voice announces that the doors will open on the right at the next stop. Justin's subconscious gets the message through that he needs to switch trains at this stop. He opens his eyes and looks around. The train he needs to switch to is there waiting for him. He finds a seat by the window and sits down. This train is more full. There is a man watching something on his PSP. Justin does not recognize what it is. He does not dwell on this.

Justin is headed to his friend's house. Dave. Dave is his friend. Dave shares an appreciation with him for The Simpsons. They often quote the show in conversation. Dave is slightly taller than Justin. He always wears jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, even when it's hot outside. Justin calls him crazy. Dave doesn't care. Their friend Kevin is also supposed to be there. Kevin is short. Kevin disagrees with Justin on most things, but they manage to get along well enough.

Justin is pondering. He does not have plans yet for the weekend. Perhaps he'll see a movie, though he doesn't know who he would go with. He does not want to go alone. He thinks that that would cement him as a loser. He does not think he is a loser, so he wonders who might want to go. His first thought is of Karen.

Karen is a girl in one of his classes. She has brown hair and eyes. He does not usually like skinny girls. Her breasts are smaller than he'd like. He doesn't think much of her butt - it's too tiny. Like a little girl's. He is drawn in by her smile. The light in her eyes when she does it. He wants to smile whenever she speaks to him. He suppresses this. His expression reminds her of a child who is awestruck, full of wonder. He does not know this. Nor does he know that she thinks much of him at all. She thinks he's funny.

He has her phone number. They did a group project together concerning the plight of marginalized children. He is unsure whether or not he should call her. He does not usually talk on the phone. What if she thinks he's a nut? He ponders this, before deciding to weigh the pros and cons of calling her. The train is seven stops from where he needs to get off.

He has finalized his list. It seems that the pros and cons are even. She's a beautiful girl appears on both. "Why would she go for someone average like me when she looks like that?" he notes. The optimist in him has placed "she thinks I'm smart" on the pros list. The pessimist in him snorts and is beside himself with laughter. The optimist in him shies away into a corner. He cannot decide.

He glances at his watch. "If I make it to Dave's house in less than twenty-five minutes, I'll call her tomorrow," he thinks to himself. He wants to call her, but he's afraid.

He makes it to Dave's house in twenty-three minutes and twelve seconds.


Karen is moping on her bed. Her friends are all out of town, at a concert she had no interest in. She doesn't want to do anything, yet she doesn't want to do nothing. She wants someone else to take control, for once. The television is on, but she's not paying any attention to it. Reruns of Family Feud. She doesn't like Richard Karn. Since she was little, she's had a fear of mustaches. Jeopardy, once panic-inducing, has become one of her favorite shows.


Karen asks him what he's thinking about. "What I'm thinking about? I'm wondering how I've managed to go all week without reading any of what I'm supposed to for Monday. I remember now," Justin says, with a smile. They walk in silence for a little while, before getting to Karen's house. Her roommate is at work.

Justin is leaning on the kitchen counter when Karen walks up and places her arms around his neck. "Guess what?" she asks.

"I don't know, what?"
"You're supposed to guess! Come on!"
"Hmm...I don't know."
"Ahh! You're no fun!"

She leans in closer, her lips at his ear: "I love you." "Pssh..I knew that, silly." His tone changes - no longer jocular, now serious: "I love you too." They kiss. "Guess what?" he asks, as he grins mischievously.

"Umm...chicken butt?"
"Nope."
"I don't know, what?"
"Oh, nothing. Just that...there's a tickle monster on the loose!"

She screams as he chases her into her bedroom. She tries to avoid him by using the side of the bed for cover, but it's to no avail. She is excited. They engage in a brief tickle war before switching to all-out wrestling. He always lets her win. She has him pinned, and not a word needs to be said as she starts to kiss him on his neck. She tells him to take off his shirt - "What if I don't wanna?" - she calls him a wiseguy and they laugh as he obeys. She pins him yet again, her legs straddling him at his waist. He enjoys being controlled by her.

He likes the way she tastes. Her aroma is intoxicating. He loves her, passionately.


The light flickers, and is out. He is afraid.
 

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"Sex."

They aren't what you would call a physical match. He is rather skinny, barely any meat on him. She is a curvy woman. Her stomach is not that chubby. She has large thighs. They are in love. A summer romance that is entering its third year.

He doesn't think of himself as a romantic guy. Flowers here, a dance under the stars there. He does what he thinks she'll enjoy, and enjoys it as much or more.

She thinks the world of him. She cried when he told her that he loved her, then cried because she thought he would think she was mental for crying because of that.

He almost cried himself at that point. Instead, he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. Her face was buried in his neck. He wished he could hold onto her forever.


Sam Baker is a healthy twenty-four year old woman. She works for MiscSyn Research. She is the fastest rising star in the company. Her business ensemble is complemented by the Bebe glasses that she wears but does not need. She feels they give her a more respectable appearance.

Sam does not have a boyfriend at this time. Her last one could not satisfy her. The sex was wonderful - he couldn't carry a conversation. It's been a week.

Sam's job is very stressful. The market research industry, particularly at MiscSyn, is very competitive. On the best of days, Sam unwinds with a glass of wine and a Shute. Most nights, this does not suffice. She needs her fix.

It is 9:00 PM. Sam's bath is drawn. She likes to lie her head back, relax, and let her mind wander. The stress of her day does not disappear - it goes out for a stroll. She thinks about her career. She wonders whether she'll get promoted now that there's an opening above her. She thinks about her attempts to talk to her ex about her job.

He didn't understand what Sam was talking about. She found this repulsive. Yet, she could not resist him when he grabbed her, placing his hands on her *** and squeezing as she protested. She wanted to keep talking, but he flashed her a gorgeous smile and her protests melted away. She did not like being seduced so easily, "a typical girl being overpowered by her man." She didn't let it get in the way of the sex.

Her hands are over her breasts now, as she remembers the look in his eyes when he first saw her naked body. His eyes had a glow to them, like a child opening a gift at Christmas time. Her nipples are very sensitive. She loved the way he would whisper what he was going to do to her so lightly in her ear, and hated that she loved it. Her right hand makes its way between her legs. Her finger slides between her lips, already slightly parted from her excitement, and pushes into her hole.

She does not let her finger stay long. She likes to tease herself. Her orgasms are better when she takes her time. She lets out a sigh as her hand returns to her breast. She squeezes them, lightly, but does not play with her nipples. Not yet. Her breathing is slow and steady.

Her hand drifts back to her sex as she thinks of when her ex let her take control. She goes slow, letting the sensations escalate only a little. She had tied his wrists together, blindfolded him. She would tease him, letting her hot breath hit his dick, but only for a moment. She wanted him to beg. She slides a finger inside, then two, but moves them slowly. Carefully. He did as he was told when she ordered him to "Lick my clit, damnit!" She gave him a lick and took him in her mouth, briefly, as a reward. But she wasn't done having fun yet.

Her left hand is now making sure that her right will have plenty of room to go to work. Sam had a thing about her toes. Never before had she ever had - or wanted to have - her toes sucked before this ex. She thought it was gross. Disgusting. Yet, blindfolded and lying prone on the bed, she made him suck her toes. She thinks it was the feeling of being in control that made her like it, but she is not sure. She had not tried it again. Afterwards, she could not help but take his member in her mouth. She wanted to taste him too. Her hand and fingers are well on their way to being sore.


She was insecure about herself at the beginning. She thought that he would think her thighs were too fat, her arms, her stomach.

He loved the smooth skin of her inner thigh the most. Soft. Beautiful. He loved to give her little kisses there before settling in between her legs.

She didn't want him to see her so close down there. She thought that it was ugly, that he wouldn't want to make love to her if he saw it.

He didn't understand how she could believe what she was telling him. He insisted that he would "pleasure her that way." He was drawn in by the smell - powerful. He did not know what he was doing. He wanted to make her feel good, but he wanted to explore at the same time. He spread the lips apart. A sight he would always remember. The slight shine, the pink, the slight trembling (from her nerves). He tried to think of what he had heard, but could not remember anything. He started to move his tongue around wildly, out of control. She guided him, told him what he should do. He felt unsure of himself, she wasn't making any noise like she had before, when they had only gone as far as their hands would take them.

She was entirely in his hands. She was convinced that he didn't like what he was seeing, even after he reassured her that she was beautiful down there, just like everywhere else. She couldn't believe that someone would like it.


The lights are off. He does not know what he is looking for, but his goal is clear. He is wearing only boxer shorts, black. They currently are being half-worn, is more accurate. His hands are cold. He prefers them to be cold. He is leaning back on his chair, his legs spread as far as needed to make room for his guys. He does not know where he picked up the idea to call his testicles his "guys," nor does he share this with anyone else. He refers to his penis as his manhood whenever it comes up in conversation, which is not often. In his head, he uses "****." He holds his **** in his left hand. His right hand is working his keyboard, entering "schoolgirls" into the search engine that he's found. He idly strokes up and down with his left hand, slowly, as he looks for videos that he may want to watch while he plays with himself.

An hour passes. He is still looking for a video good enough for him to get off to. He has moved from schoolgirls to teachers, from teachers to milfs, from milfs to lesbians. His strokes are quicker now, but he cannot finish with his left hand. He has narrowed his search to "lesbians" and "69." He changes his grip to his right hand as the video loads, anticipating that this video will be lengthy enough and good enough for him to cum to. Rather than clenching all of his fingers around his ****, he grips it with just his thumb, index and middle fingers. His ring finger presses down firmly, but somewhat lightly, on his shaft as he works his hand up and down at a steadily increasing speed. The video begins to play and he switches back to a normal grip, utilizing his entire right hand. The video shows one of the girls moaning while the other licks her, offscreen. He works his hand up and down, faster, faster, he is nearing orgasm. The girl in the video gives one final moan as he pumps his hand faster, faster...

He is barely done with his orgasm when the shame hits him. He cannot believe he has spent over an hour and a half stroking himself, mindlessly, like an animal, unable to control himself. He quickly closes the remaining windows, the media player. He erases his history. He will do this again almost every night. The shame returns, and grows and grows.


They are entirely comfortable with one another. He had taken her heart and held it close by, never putting it in danger. She had grown to trust him completely. She was sure of herself, had come to know the woman inside of her. They had sex because they loved one another. He wanted to make her feel incredible. She had learned to take more control. He would sit back and let her run the show. Whatever she wanted, he would do it for her.

He was happy. She would hold on to him, and him to her.There was a magic in their eyes.


The man was almost unfairly attractive. Good genes, good jeans. He had a strong frame, but was not too muscular. His abs were beyond steel. The smile was that of a movie star, eyes the deepest of blues. His dirty blond hair always seemed to fall into place, no matter how much it would mess up while he played sports. There was no flaw on his body.

This man was as popular as they came. He could have any girl he wanted, and frequently did.

Yet here laid his darkest secret. He was awful in bed. Godawful. Every time, it was the same. He had to be in control of everything that was going on. The women would take off their clothes and climb into the bed, as he would strip in front of them, with them marveling at his perfect body. He would not warm them up first, though he usually did not need to. Nor would he allow them to do that for him. He would mount them in the standard missionary position, and thrust like there was no tomorrow.

30 seconds.

No woman ever spoke a word about it. Even after he refused to see them again, they were too entranced by his perfect bod. Sad, really.


He didn't know how he was going to pop the question. He wanted it to be perfect, original. From the heart.

She had no idea.


"You know those Twix commercials? The one with the guy and his friend in the bookstore, reading some book about picking up women?"

"Yeah...?"

"I ****ing hate that commercial."

"Hahahaha. You do realize this is a commercial for a candy bar you're getting all fired up about, right?"

"It doesn't matter what the ****ing commercial's for, damnit! Look at the message in this commercial, man. This prototypical ******* - they're all over college campuses, all over the business world - is in there with some loser of a friend, and theyre reading this crap book about picking up women, right?"

"Yeah."

"So here's this woman, this beautiful woman who you just know is funny, charming, intelligent. She walks up and sees him reading this book with his friend and asks what the hell he's reading."

"That is the scenario, yeah."

"So here's the hook. 'Need a moment?' and all that ****. The guy eats a Twix bar, and all of a sudden he's pretending like he wasn't reading the book and calls his buddy juvenile."

"The sum*****."

"Yeah, so here's this beautiful, intelligent woman, and what does she do? She falls for it. She's in all the way. This guy - who isn't even all that attractive, mind you, this ******* just fooled her with a stupid, BS line."

"So you're saying you're pissed off because there's no way that that **** happens in real life. This smart, funny woman - there's no way she falls for that."

"Hell no. That **** happens all the ****ing time in real life, man. How can women be so ****ing dumb?"

"****."


They cannot live without each other. She's still as beautiful as she's ever been. He's the luckiest guy in the world.

She still gets lost in his eyes. She can't imagine life without him. He is an angel.

Bliss.
 
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