The Train

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

She must be hallucinating. Robert wanted her to shave her p***y. Did all men fancy barbered pusses? Did older men like shaved pusses? Her father did. At least Kelli thought he did. Sally James had a shaved p***y. Perhaps she should do as John Thompson wanted and get her pubic hair shaved off.

Kelli understood that men are swine, but if a girl had to wallow in a pig sty, she needed rules and principles for survival. As accurately as reading palms, she thumbed through her standards. Males could essentially be ranked according their smiles and the way they esteemed women. For example, her class mate, Billy Evans, was very handsome with a perfectly shaped nose and blond hair, but would be forever ranked near the bottom on her popular list because he had difficulty with eye contact. Another who ranked low was Michael Franconia. He made good eye contact, but had a nearly nonexistent smile, and, besides, everyone knew Italians are crooks.

Kelli steered clear of jocks because they are usually egotistical bastards. Still she had encouraged David Harper, a big burly left tackle on the high school football team, to feel her up and even gave him a hand job because he had asked politely. She had also broken the rule about dating jocks by going steady with Robert, who pitched baseball. She evoked an image of them wound tightly together last spring beneath the branches of the old oak “make-out” tree in Central Park. She purposely had teased him until he finally pushed her down on the green grass, removed her panties, fumbled with his zipper and shoved his c**k, hard and deep, up inside her body. Virgins are supposed to feel pain, Kelli had read somewhere, but she could recall only the smallest discomfort.

High ranking males, like Robert Cooperman, another of her classmates, processed great smiles and looked at faces and not breasts. There were examples of other boys, other athletes, and of older men like her father who were worthy of consideration despite their smiles or the way treated women. One was her homeroom teacher. Mr. Gordon had hard penetrating eyes and even though he was married, Kelli would have served him jubilantly, gone off with him in an instant. Once she observed him flirting with Karen Worth, and had also watched his eyes wander across that slut’s t**s which were not nearly as pronounced as her own. Karen was a blondish girl with light skin and freckles. Kelli hated her. She wished Mr. Gordon would ogle her t**s like he ogled Karen’s. Men are not as easily manipulated as boys, however, and she had lost that flirtation.

Then there was John Thompson. He probably played sports as a youth. She had covertly observed him checking out her chest when the conductor first introduced them and he had penetrating eyes similar to Mr. Gordon’s. She knew without a doubt of mind, he could subjugate women as easily as snapping his fingers. She wondered if her father had this ability. Sally was a girl who submitted. It would be easy to submit to John Thompson. Kelli guessed she wasn’t much different than Sally.

From cob- webbed distance, she recalled hushed voices.

“Thank you, Charles. And not tonight. And perhaps tomorrow, Promus.”

She could have sworn she heard a door close. Then she felt Thompson shaking her shoulder and forcing her awake.

“Are you alright, Miss Stapleton?”

Her mind seemed fuzzy and her mouth seemed stuffed with cotton. “Yes, Mr. Thompson,” she sputtered.

With the back of a hand, he gently brushed her cheek. He rolled her over, pushed her away, sat her up, helped her stand, and then shooed her to the shower.

“Go wash, girl, and then come back to me,” he said. “But first, what should you say?”

“W-w-what?”

She blinked in confusion. Being astonished at the condition of her clothes—the wrinkles, the popped buttons, the torn zipper, the moist panties and the s****l tang, she stooped and gathered while noticing the sleeping man.

“Don’t bother with your clothes, Kelli. You’ll not require them. Go shower.”

Thompson disrupted her bewilderment, seeming to grow larger before her eyes. His voice got dark and commanding. His eyes flashed, and he answered his own question.

“You say thank you!”

She felt a swat on her bottom and saw McGee sit up and smile. She yelped.

“Huh, thank you, Mr. Thompson.”

Her face turned a bright shade of red. To the accompaniment of bouncing boobs and undulating butt cheeks, and slapping bare feet, she heard laughter.

“What the hell,” she whispered, dashing to the bathroom. McGee had already seen what was to be seen.

***

Kelli’s breasts were slippery and gorged, and slightly tender. The hot water sprayed upon her hair, wet her face, drizzled between her legs, and splattered at her toes. The soothing warmth massaged her reddened skin and shifted her memory to another time and another hot shower.

She had just turned eighteen, and for the first time in her life, she understood that pain could be defined by color. After gym class when many girls ditched last period to meet guys in the parking lot or to neck in stairwells, she had gone home early enough to stumble into a terrible racket reverberating from the second floor.

She stealthily climbed the stairs. Amid the grunts, and groans, and slapping flesh, she squinted through the partially opened door into her parents’ bedroom. There, on the bed, her mother thrashed under the strong black body of Joe Green; her head whipped to and fro, her brown hair swirled, her brown eyes were closed in ecstasy, and her red lips were pasted hard against the deep swells of his kissing. The black butcher from the meat shop across the street was f*****g her mother unmercifully.

Millions of words, sonnets, stories, poems, and songs, are written about falling in love, but few about failing at it. Yet, people fall in love and fail every single day. Kelli expected her mother and father had once been in love and wondered when the failure occurred.

Her dad had been the first to stray, she figured. She had seen him with Sally Cross some weeks before, but blocked that failure from her mind. Catching her mother doing it with the butcher, while smelling the sweet aroma of pot, wouldn’t block. Kelli determined to stay at school later; it would be her sanctuary and her hideout.

Then she found Noemi James. The memory of Noemi still sent chills down her back. According the yearbook, Noemi was the girl most likely to succeed. Kelli didn’t doubt it. Noemi was beautiful beyond belief, had more friends than stars in the sky, was genius smart, and was the easiest person in the world to talk to. She was a petite girl with deep brown skin and straight black hair resting perfectly on her shoulders. Her Asian face was sliced with bright golden eyes, and her full sensuous lips seemed filled with mystery. She weighed perhaps a pound less than Kelli and was unquestionably the most sought-after female in school.

Noemi made an elegant pirouette of her nakedness and tippy-toed back to the stall where Kelli was showering. “Hey, Kelli, let me help you. Let’s be best friends forever.”

“Gosh, I don’t know,” Kelli stammered, trying to understand what was happening, and why the President of the senior class had been so outrageously flirting with her these past several weeks. There were rumors, lesbian whisperings, about Noemi. Kelli found herself wondering what it would be like kissing another girl, especially one voted most likely to succeed.

Noemi chartered her territory immediately. She removed the soapy wash cloth from Kelli’s hands. She drew it across Kelli’s breasts, ran it up her thigh, and pushed it against her navel and soaped her belly. She dropped it, bent down and washed Kelli’s feet, and then threw it aside. She looked longingly into Kelli’s eyes. Her fingers initiated a similar journey. They massaged Kelli’s body, felt her virginal cleft, cupped her bottom and tweaked her n*****s. Her lips opened onto Kelli’s lips. She kissed tenderly and then with heightened force. She plunged in her tongue and snaked it against Kelli’s taste buds.

“Are you my good little baby, Kelli?”

Not understanding what to do or how to respond, Kelli moaned. “Oh god,” her knees were shaking and the pit of her stomach fluttered bird-feathers.

Noemi sucked Kelli’s n*****s. With her middle finger, she penetrated Kelli’s mound, and then as Kelli frothed like some demented spirit, Noemi pivoted and soared away, leaving Kelli to cope with a complicated fire storm. It was then that she understood the color of pain is black.

Noemi’s seduction flip flopped and reconnected to the train, and to Thompson’s dismissal, and the bathroom, and to the hot soothing water. Kelli pressed her n*****s as one would depress a button. She surveyed the hills of her breasts and massaged the abrasions around their peaks. Where he had chewed most delectably, she delighted at the throbbing. She perceived the discomfort with grand enthusiasm. Would he suck her, and lick her, and taste her again? She hoped he would.

She ran the wash cloth about her face and down between her breasts, and further to her v****a and within her pubic hair. She soaped her belly and rear valley, and she washed her legs. She scrubbed under her arms. From the vanity shelf she retrieved a complimentary tube and spread scented lotion on her limbs. She finger-combed her hair.

Disappointed that McGee remained, but reeling with infatuation and overloaded with desire, she wrapped herself in the cotton wrap provided and opened the door of desire. My god, her conscience wondered, “What would mother say to the perversion spreading beneath her daughter’s skin?” Perhaps an audience would be fascinating, Kelli thought. She massaged the discoloring bruise on her neck one more time. She shuddered and turned over in her mind the possibility of being possessed in front of Promus. Eager and curious, she fanaticized. She was a prisoner on some adventurous voyage. She was a slave. She was a wanton hussy with a brand! Was she really a hussy? She guessed maybe she was somewhat of a tease, but not a hussy like her father had once called her.