By Juliet Mathers
Duchess of Satin Sheets
The train rocks back and forth through the tunnel. My body is pressed between men in formal attire and boys with their scarves untucked. I catch my reflection in the glass door of the conductor’s cabin, check that my red lipstick is still intact and move my hair to the side. The driver calls out a station.
I undo a button of my blouse and wonder if he’s watching. It’s 7:30 in the morning and everyone has somewhere to go. Men and women nervously clutch luggage in different shades of mahogany.
They look pathetic, bored with their lives and their ill-fitting clothing. At the next station ,the doors open and the atmosphere changes. A man walks on grinning, his skin is the colour of cocoa, and he’s wearing dark clothing fitted to his lean frame.
His eyes reach out and grab me before I quickly look down blushing. When I look up ,he’s staring back at me. A new energy runs through my body. My palms start to sweat. I look down again. The train jolts, and as I move my eyes upward I see him walking in my direction.
Before I know it, he’s standing right next to me. My heart picks up and my breath quickens. My whole body is pulsating in his presence. We both face the door, looking ahead, with one leg of his pants pressed up against my thigh, and one of his arms drawn across my back, holding onto a bar behind me.
I look straight ahead but I can feel him glancing down at me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see the outline of his long eyelashes, full lips and chiseled facial features.
Trying to control my breath, I’m increasingly conscious of my lips, my hips, and my cascading neckline and cleavage looking up at him. As I turn my eyes toward him as well, the train comes to a heavy jolt, and my body falls into his arms as the lamps go out.
I cling onto his frame, his stomach strong, his arm muscles holding tightly onto me. My heavy breath is now up against his throat, his jacket pushing into me, buttons crushing into my chest, my nipples turning hard under my blouse.
The conductors voice calls through the train: “We are dealing with some minor engine difficulties, please stay calm and we will get things repaired as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.”
But his words are fluid in the air, and the only sound I’m conscious of is my breath and his. I push my body closer to his, and one of his hands lets go of me and glides down the front of my skirt.
The other hand holds firmly onto me as he glides his fingers inside of me. My breath becomes unsteady and my body is on fire. His fingers move with rhythm and force. I press my lips up against his chest, muffling my increasingly heavy breath, before my whole body quivers and collapses into him.
The lamps start to flicker and he removes his hand, pulling away as the lights come back on and the train starts to rattle again. In the light are bodies separate but our eyes lock. He grins. The conductor calls out the next station.
The doors slide open and he walks away, hands in his pocket. He gives me one last, hungry look before stepping out onto the platform, and I blush and look away. I look back at the glass door of the conductor’s cabin, fix my lipstick again, and smile back at my reflection.
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