Subway
by Crimson Dragon
http://www.asstr.org/~Crimson_Dragon, email: dcrimson@yahoo.com
The doors swished shut behind me; the singsong warning notes muted. I stood still a moment while an ocean of humanity swept around me, a desert island. Taking a deep breath, I joined in the flow, the island disappearing beneath the waves.
Tired this morning. My feet dragged as my legs steadily pushed up the stairs.
At the top, breathing hard, outside of the tube, the first faint notes tickled my ears. I frowned, uncertain recognition flitting through me. Around me again, the ocean flowed and ebbed.
The sheets lay cool against my bare skin. Somewhere in the house a wooden slat expanded or contracted with a pop. She stirred beside me, her breathing gentle and regular. Her lips trembled, her voice slurred with sleep. She mumbled something; I couldn't understand but I listened anyway.
She stirred again, perhaps sensing my gaze upon her soft features. After a moment, her eyes fluttered open. She blinked in the moonlight, disoriented and confused.
"You were ..." she whispered.
"In trouble?"
She shook her head, blinking again. Her fingers rose, gently traced the line of my jaw. Satisfied that she was really awake, she propped herself up on an elbow. Her short brunette locks fell across her shoulders, the moonlight flashing through her hair with the twinkling of a waterfall. The top of one breast peeked shyly from beneath the sheets.
"Naked," she said, her voice strengthening.
I raised my eyebrows, and she giggled.
Photo (c) Copyright 2006 John Nemeth. All Rights Reserved.
I began to walk again, the ocean tide finally ebbing around me. Soon, another train would rush into the station accompanied by a tempest of stale underground air and I would be surrounded by humanity again.
My footsteps echoed across the utility-grey ceramic, muted conversation floating down the maze of corridors.
And above it all, a single violin, haunting and classical.
"I want something," she whispered in the darkness. The moonlight continued to filter through the curtains, her face pale and ghostly. I tilted my head to the side, an uncertain smile across my lips.
Without another word, she slipped from the bed, blinking sleep from her eyes, the moonlight casting shadows.
Sometimes, she slept nude, preferring the satin touch of the sheets against her bare skin. And sometimes, she preferred the intimate warmth of a nightgown.
Tonight, the nightgown flowed about her curves, the shadows of her legs, her breasts, giving her an ethereal quality.
A sigh reached my ears, and I felt the kiss of air as she drew the thin satin over her head to drop at her bare feet, a puddle of crumpled fabric in the moonlight.
And before I could breathe again, she was gone, the almost inaudible patter of her toes on the stairs outside of the bedroom.
Somewhere below my feet, a train rumbled like a subterranean beast stirring from a long hibernation. An artificial breeze tickled the back of my neck, my hair wrapping about my shoulders.
A toddler, just learning to walk, tottered uncertainly towards me, hand in hand with her mother. The child smiled up at me, and I smiled back.
The haunting strains of the violin reached for me around the last curve. The notes again sparked a memory.
She appeared in the doorway, one pale hand resting easily against the oaken jamb. Her beauty radiated into the room, the moonlight pale but for a moment. Her chestnut hair, her deep brown eyes, her shimmering skin glowing from her breasts to her bare toes.
And from behind, the haunting strains of Mozart engulfed her.
She walked forward, her movements dreamy. Bending, she rested her fingers on the sheets that still covered me. I wanted to touch her, to breathe her, to kiss her forever.
Her lips touched mine; her sigh melded with Mozart.
Photo (c) Copyright 2006 John Nemeth. All Rights Reserved.
A smile tugged at my lips as I recognised the music. Ahead, a woman, no more than a college girl, stood drawing the bow across the strings, its movement suggestive and yet innocent. Her eyes were closed, her music without audience save for herself.
The music washed over me, notes and phrases flowing like water over my senses.
Somewhere behind me, the toddler laughed, and for a moment, a burst of an angry jackhammer intruded.
But her bow continued in its graceful arc, no interruption enough to crack Mozart's spell.
She slipped naked between the sheets, her skin soft as velvet against mine. I reached for her, and with a laugh she pressed her breasts against my fingers.
With a smile less than innocent, she raised herself and kissed me again.
Below us, the symphony swelled in time to our sighs and movements.
I stood mesmerised, the jackhammer and the toddler only peripherally in my memory. Mozart washed over me, the girl's bow rising and falling, squeezing exquisite notes from her harmony of strings and wood.
I was only dimly aware of other commuters flowing around me again as the beast below discharged its passengers. The girl swayed as she played, her eyes closed, her full lips slightly parted.
The river of humanity glanced at the girl, most ignoring the music, some grimacing at the clatter of the hammer above and the rumble of wheels below.
Afterward we lay quietly, our breathing synchronised, our skin damp with perspiration. Her beauty rushed through my memory as she had knelt above me, her head thrown back, her bare breasts lifted, her lips parted in a cry.
Her head cradled in the crook of my arm, her chestnut locks scattered across my chest, her arm lazily thrown over my naked thigh. Her hair smelled like spring.
Mozart still floated through the moonlight. Her breathing began to slow with a sigh of contentment.
I made to rise but her fingers gently stopped me.
"Let it play," she whispered sleepily.
I nodded and settled back under her, my own breathing slowly returning to normal.
For a while, I listened to her sleep while Mozart flowed around us. I closed my eyes against the faint moonlight. It would be dawn soon.
As sleep crept upon me, I heard her whisper.
"Thank you."
Her eyes opened and focused on me. Her smile was easy and genuine; perhaps a little apologetic. Dimly, I was aware of the jackhammer still rattling the concourse. The girl's bow continued to coax beauty from strings and polished wood. Without effort, her violin turned to another, perhaps more popular, classical piece. The "William Tell" Overture, or "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy." The spell broken.
I fished a twenty from my pocket and bent to place it in her violin case amongst the small change that lay scattered against the velvet. The girl smiled again, as if she could see into my memories.
"Thank you," I whispered.
(c) Copyright - July 2004 by Crimson Dragon. All Rights Reserved