A Different Train of Thought
The train is barely inching along, it's crowded, and I'm sitting in the smoking car because I couldn't find a seat anywhere else. I don't mind the occasional cigarette myself, but sitting in a wagon with fifty people lighting up out of frustration is enough to fill the air with dense smog that is definitely heightening the already overwhelmingly claustrophobic atmosphere.
I've noticed I'm not the only one being made uncomfortable by the whorls of smoke that are languorously spiralling everywhere. Others are coughing, sighing, or waving their hands in ridiculously futile gestures to try and clear the air. Up ahead, I can't tell exactly where, a woman has been sneezing on and off for the past hour. Surely the poor creature is allergic, but like me, she's stuck in this wagon and cannot move.
On the seat to my right, asleep, is possibly the most repulsive old man on the face of the planet. His liver-spotted tortoise skin is drooping around his face and neck like melting wax. His head is thrown back and his nearly toothless mouth is open, a thick stream of transparent saliva slowly oozing out onto his shoulder. He is snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and several irate passengers keep glancing in his direction. They sometimes look at me, as if I should do something about it, but I look away. Hey, it's not my fault.
The woman up ahead is still sneezing. I hear someone yell out, "Could you please blow your nose?" and others laugh self-consciously at this blatant display of callousness.
I know they're all thinking the same thing, but most of them are too polite and reserved to say it. Apparently, the woman either ignores this suggestion or nose blowing does nothing for her, because she keeps on sneezing loudly every minute or so. They're full, wet sneezes, very pleasant to my ears. Having nothing better to do, I've been listening in ever since she started, and I'm amazed by the variety of sounds her nose is capable of producing. Her sneezes sound like "russhah!" or "hesshoo" or "ack-sshht", but all of them are loud enough to be heard several rows back, even through the old man's snoring. I'm grateful for this small boon, and can't deny that it's getting me excited despite my otherwise foul mood.
I glance at Old Man, and then turn away disgusted. What's on my left hand side is no better, mind. Sitting there is a ginger teenaged wanker with a dodgy haircut. He's not snoring, but he is playing his personal stereo at top volume, which is equally annoying. Trying to decide which of my neighbours I despise the most at this moment is impossible. All I can do is sit here and fume, because I couldn't find another seat on the train even though I desperately want to. Like several people around me, I glare at Wanker Boy, silently willing his earphones to explode and kill him. Wanker Boy glares right back at everyone, unaware that the tension in this wagon is such that it wouldn't be surprising if a mob suddenly turned on him.
Allergy Lady in front of the carriage sneezes, a wet sounding "Het-umph!"
I sigh and look away, though I'm still annoyed at Wanker Boy. His music is so loud that I can recognise the songs thanks to the beat and tinny music competing against Old Man's snoring and Allergic Lady's sneezing for space in my ears. It appears to be some sort of mixed tape, filled with cheesy pop. Among others, we've gone through Steps, Mel C, the Backstreet Boys and now, it's Britney Spears.
"Oh baby baby, oops, I want to kill myself again..."
A businessman in a pinstriped suit is leaning back to throw Wanker Boy his own set of futile murderous glares. I catch his eye and through gritted teeth, we exchange empathic smiles. I just know that we are thinking the same thing; "if Hell exists, then it must resemble this train". Businessman is kind of cute. He's young, with sandy hair that's just a little bit too long and smoky grey eyes. His lips are thin, nicely arched, very appealing. I wonder for a moment, out of the blue, what it would be like to kiss him. I find this depressing, so I look away: Businessman is probably going home to his wife, whilst I'm going home to an empty flat.
Just when I think it can't get worse, the train lurches and grinds to a halt. Old Man gives a bubbly, startled snort next to me before picking up his previous rhythm. Wanker Boy looks around mischievously and actually starts signing along to the music. Up ahead, Allergic Lady gives a frighteningly loud double "Husshaah!... Hresshaaa!" I'm so on edge I feel like I'm going to explode. Despite everything else around me driving me insane, her persistent sneezing is actually getting me horny.
"Attention all passengers, we are experiencing technical difficulties. We will attempt to get this train back on line as soon as possible. Please accept our apologies for the inconvenience caused, and..."
Immediately, people begin whipping out their mobile phones to alert their friends and families that they will be even later than expected. This sudden rush of moaning makes me roll my eyes. It should be expected by now; travelling with British Rail, you're late more often than not. Wanker Boy gets his own mobile phone out. He doesn't unplug his earphones while he uses it.
"Calm down, relax, it will be all right, you won't go nuts," I tell myself. "Just focus on something pleasant. You can get through this train ride."
Up ahead, Allergic Lady punctuates my thoughts with a loud "Hersshooo!"
I smile. This woman must be a godsend. A good friend of mine always said the best remedy for a bad mood was masturbation, and listening to this woman's fantastic sneezes, thoughts of this can't help creeping up in my mind. I glance around, trying to catch someone's eye, but everyone is too preoccupied by their own discomfort or their mobile phones to pay any attention to me.
I look down at my lap. The train is pretty cramped, and I've had to travel with my rucksack and winter coat weighing down on my skirt-clad thighs. Come to think of it, this isn't necessarily as much of a pain as I'd thought at first. I could probably sneak my right hand under there without anyone noticing anything. It's great being a girl; you can pleasure yourself discreetly in public places with the appropriate covering and no one notices anything. Old Man is dead to the world, and if the train's harsh movements couldn't wake him...
As if to spur me on, Allergic Lady sneezes again somewhere in front of me. "Hack-sshht!!"
That does it. Oh-so-slowly, I manoeuvre so that my hand sneaks under the cover of my coat, under the elastic band of my skirt and beneath the thin cotton fabric of my underwear. Old Man doesn't even stir, though I accidentally brush his arm as I'm doing it. He looks like a corpse. Were it not for the snoring, I might actually be worried. It takes about five seconds for my cool fingers to reach my sex, which is already hot and slick from Allergic Lady's previous sneezes. My index brushes against my clit and I smile. I'm going to relax on this train if it kills me.
Next to me, Wanker Boy has just finished his telephone conversation. He cranks his music up even louder, and I hear several irritated sighs from the neighbours. It's the Spice Girls' "Spice Up Your Life". The irony doesn't escape me.
That was a different kind of sneeze, sounding higher and more desperate than her previous ones. My fingers start moving very slowly on my sex and I close my eyes, pretending to try and sleep. Anyone besides Old Man, were he to wake up, would see nothing out of the ordinary if they looked at me, nothing except a girl trying to sleep despite the noise. I'm very much awake, however, my hearing straining in Allergic Lady's general direction and my thoughts a sudden whirlwind of fantasy.
I can almost picture her in my mind's eye, snapping forward, eyes shut, a light spray expelled in front of her by the force of her sneezes which are becoming increasingly violent. She's probably rubbing her nose furiously between each of them, cursing the maddening itch brought on by the smoke, powerless to stop it.
What might she look like? Her sneezes are fairly deep, so I imagine her being somewhere near thirty. I give her black hair and deep blue eyes, which by now must be reddened and fairly watery. I decide her nose is fairly prominent, and her nostrils wide and eloquent. At the moment, they're surely reddened and hypersensitive from all the sneezing and rubbing. I can imagine them flaring wildly between sneezes, as she's involuntarily breathing in allergenic smoke, wider and wider, her eyes slowly shutting to slits as her chin quivers, trying to fight back the sneezing.
I'm already pretty hot, and I know it won't take me long to get myself off. I imagine people around Allergic Lady looking at her with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. I imagine her looking incredibly embarrassed because of the seizing nose she can't seem to get under control. And yet, despite this, I see her enjoying the sneezes, because for a few seconds afterwards, the itch in her nose subsides. Of course, it always comes back a few moments later, with a vengeance. Picturing this, I get more excited.
Perhaps she has a few tissues with her, which she uses to dab at her reddened nose and streaming eyes. By now, they must surely be thoroughly sodden, and she's probably wishing she'd brought more along. Her nose is torturing her, and she's just wishing she could get away from the source of her misery. No such luck; we're all in the same boat, and she just has to sit there and sneeze in front of everybody. My fingers are probing and tickling, circling around my clitoris, which is already very sensitive. I do it slowly, both to prolong the pleasure and to make sure what I'm doing isn't obvious. It feels simply wonderful, and even though the muscles in my thighs and lower stomach are contracting, I can feel the rest of me relaxing.
Allergic Lady's sneezes really are getting harsher. Her throat must be starting to hurt. They're coming a bit faster now, even though I imagine she's making an effort to keep it down. It's the prolonged exposure to the smoke, wreaking havoc in her sinuses. I can picture her bleary eyes and her expression, which I think must be almost perpetually sneezy by now. I can see her rubbing and pinching her nose, wishing the incredible tickle would go away. Even as her head rears back in preparation for the next one and her breathing starts to hitch, she must be cursing all the smokers around her. I can see her like that as I continue to pleasure myself, poised on the verge of the next enormous sneeze, tensing and waiting for it to overwhelm her and my hips buck forward, barely noticeably.
I imagine her expression right after the sneeze while my fingers are revolving around my gorged clitoris with slowly increasing speed. Her eyes are closed and her breathing shallow, as she enjoys the momentary reprieve. Even those shallow breaths make her take in more allergenic smoke, though, and her large blue eyes are watering more than ever. She sits back and lets the tickle grow yet again in a never-ending cycle. Tickle-wait-sneeze-wait-tickle-wait-sneeze-wait...
Again in my mind's eye, I see the next sneeze forming. The image is so vivid now that I know one more sneeze is all it will take to get me over the edge. My fingers are working magic on my sex and my whole body is tensing in preparation. I can feel a low pulse, just barely kept at bay, and feel my cheeks getting flushed with pre-orgasmic tension.
I picture Allergic Lady's expression, tinged with discomfort as she leans forward with her head thrown slightly back, her eyes fluttering, her features slack. I imagine the tickle torturing her, smoke fumes reaching to the very back of her stuffy nose and poking at her tender membranes, making her nostrils quiver involuntarily. I can almost see her chest heaving, while her features register a look of intense agony as she's trying desperately not to give in this time, not to sneeze again. This is getting me so hot I can hardly stand it, and my fingers actually pause. Unfortunately for Allergic Lady, the tickle is just too strong.
I hear a loud "HAH!" escape from the front, and immediately, my fingers press down, hard, on my clit, stroking, coaxing. She's going to sneeze again. I picture her features contorting desperately, definitively, her eyes squelching shut, her tongue protruding slightly in a sneezy grimace as her body rocks forward for another massive explosion.
With those two glorious sneezes helping to fuel my orgasm, I feel it overtake me. At last, release. As rippling waves of pleasure sweep through me, originating in my sex and flowing outwards like ripples in a pond all the way down to my toes, I feel myself relaxing. Slowly, I remove my hand from my drenched sex and bring it back to the top of my bag. I can't help but notice it's glimmering in the train's soft lighting.
"Attention all passengers. We've managed to fix the fault and are now resuming our journey. We apologize once again for the delay. Complimentary tea and coffee are available in coach A for those of you who..."
Not only am I feeling more relaxed and at peace than I have all day, but things are looking up. We are moving again, and this announcement has managed to wake up Old Man. He sputters, looking around, and mumbles,
He struggles to get up, and I let him through, smiling. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I pray he'll get lost and forget where he was sitting before.
My smile broadens into a grin as I hear Wanker Boy complaining next to me. "Bloody batteries," he mumbles, shaking his personal stereo.
The woman sitting next to him mutters, "Thank God for that!" as Wanker Boy goes into a sulk.
Businessman, the one with the nice lips, looks back in Wanker Boy's direction once more. He's also smiling at the lad's misfortune. I catch his eye and give him a wink. Businessman winks back.
"Want to get some tea?" he asks me, getting to his feet.
I subtly glance down at his left hand. It's bare. "Sure!"
Up ahead, Allergy Lady sneezes again. "Hiiisshhh!"
Things are definitely getting better. Perhaps two more hours on this train won't kill me after all.