Stranger on the Streetcar

The air was heavy and moist.
It did not move.
The streetcar was packed.
It roared and shook as it moved.
A nice fragrance surrounded me.
Not like the stale air off melting bodies.

My hand gripped the chrome pole.
Not necessary, too many people.
Her hand rested above mine.
Her arm grazed mine.
Her fingers were long and slim.
Her nails neat with rose colored polish.

The back of my shirt was damp with sweat.
The front of her blouse was too. Mine.
The streetcar wobbled back and forth along the track.
Her breasts trailed over my back.
Firm points replaced the feel of soft mounds.

A warm breath drifted over my neck.
The streetcar jerked forward.
Wet lips replaced the breath.
They lingered.
"Excuse me," the sultry voice said.

All I could see were long curls over my shoulder.
The man facing me smiled as he watched her.
I wanted to see what he saw, too crowded, no way.

A hand rested on my hip, hers I hoped.
It snaked inside into my pocket and felt around.
It touched a longing.
"For me?" she asked.
"Just for you," I replied.
The man smiled again.
He looked closer.
He watched.
His tongue wet his lips.

The streetcar moved smoothly, then slowed.
Her lips jerked forward against my neck.
She kissed the nape.
The lips loitered.
Her tongue slipped through them.

Her lips moved away.
The tongue did too.
"Where else would you like my tongue?"
"In your throat," I groaned.
In my pocket, her fingers rubbed along the shaft.
It grew even larger.
"Where else?" she cooed.
The man nodded.

She nibbled along my neck.
Her fingers began to please me.
The clang of the bell warned a car.
Clang, clang. The car was not moving.
Her fingers continued to move along the shaft.
I could not breathe.
I gasped.
I lost control.
My forehead banged the pole.
The clanging stopped. The car moved.
She bit my neck like a mother lion holding her cub.
She gasped.
Her breath was searing.
Her head rested against mine.

My free hand dangled.
She put it against her thigh.
Her flesh was hot.
I was too.
She pulled my fingers along the inside of her thigh.
She gasped again as I touched her wetness.
"You just did that," she moaned hoarsely.

My fingertips parted the opening.
She dragged them along the fleshy edge.
I felt a firm protrusion. Her clitoris.
She gasped again.
She pulled my fingers away.
"You can lick them later," she whispered.
"I need you," I tried to say. I failed.
He knew I was talking to her.
He wanted her too.

My briefs were a mess.
My meeting would have to wait.
I was a wreck.
My legs almost buckled.
"Where?" I asked.
"Why?" she replied.
"Because!" I insisted.

"Dink." Someone pulled the cord to get off.
The streetcar lurched forward.
Her lips did not touch my neck.
I realized she was not behind me.
I struggled to follow.
I could not.
He was gone.

I saw her curls though the window.
She held his hand.
They kissed.
They smiled at each other.
They laughed.
They were together.

I will always remember the stranger.
I will always remember that day.
The ride to work would not be the same.