The midnight train had already passed more nameless suburbs than I cared to count; drab, still and silent they all were under a full September moon. The endless clatter of steel against steel and concrete had lulled me into a state of limbo; hanging somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. I was at the back of the rail car and I could see a tight group of Chinese teens laughing and joking at the far end; obviously obeying their curfew to be home by 1 a.m. But my journey was far, far longer than theirs.
Now and again the train stopped at dim stations whose names I neither knew nor cared to know. People got off, scrutinized briefly by the lone security guard, trying hard and alleviate his own deep boredom. I had been to a metal gig and my head still hummed with the rich, dark music that had cleansed my soul for over three hours. Only, I knew down deep inside, that I had no soul and the thought filled me with a sense of profound peace. My ears still ached pleasantly and the acrid smoke exhaled by some of the club's patrons still hung about my clothes.
My clothes were simple; just black jeans, black leather boots, silver rings on six of my fingers and a black T-shirt. Upon that t-shirt, the logo of a band; Mayhem. An arcane symbol, undecipherable to those not in the know, but instantly recognizable to followers of the band's particular brand of black-metal. The train stopped again but this time someone got on. The distinctive Mandarin chatter died down momentarily as the new passenger passed and I opened my eyes in time to catch her figure walking slowly towards me.
I saw a pair of soft dusty black canvas shoes below tight black vinyl pants. Beside her hips; slim tattooed arms and wrists adorned profusely with dark beads and amulets in silver. She wore an ornate silver ankh; larger by far than all her other jewelry. It momentarily caught the light until my gaze shifted to twenty delicious centimetres of bare midriff below a loosely laced black top.
She could not have been much older than twenty-five, with bouncing chestnut curls reaching to just past the nape of her neck. Her eyes stared ahead cooly; no doubt looking for a spot at the far end of the train, as far from the chattering teens as possible. I sat back as she approached, catching a whiff of sweet lavender perfume and I saw that her eyes shifted for an instant to the left as she noticed my t-shirt. Then she was gone and my eyes turned to the window and the dark, indistinct shapes of deserted slumbering streets full of suburban architecture barely worthy of the name.
Minutes later the train came to a halt again and I saw the entire group of teens file off to repeated hugs and farewells in Mandarin. The clatter of steel on steel returned and I now shared the car only with the security guard at the far end, 99.9 per cent of whose attention was devoted to his phone. There I was again I thought, in that zone of nothing and nowhere; the void in time and space where absolutely nothing happens. But I was wrong.
The bland aroma of nothingness was suddenly replaced by rich lavender, the stark metallic grey interior of the train was suddenly blotted out by black canvas, polished silver and faultlessly smooth flesh. Rather than sit beside me she slid gracefully and lithely behind the back of the seat in front of me, to crouch there facing me with her hand on my thigh. Long, delicate fingers with black polished nails pressed into my flesh as she easily twisted around to glance at the security guard. The man's mind could not have been further away from us than if it had been marooned on Saturn's moon of Titan.
She dropped to her knees, turned back and for the first time, she made eye contact and smiled. She had elfin features and steely grey eyes with maybe a hint of green. Those eyes widened as her look implored me to trust her. And trust her I did. Rapidly, her hands lifted my t-shirt and found my belt buckle. In a matter of seconds, she had unclasped it and pulled down my zipper. She gripped my jeans and underwear and wiggled them down sharply, making me raise my hips to aid her. To say that I could hardly believe what was happening at this point would be as gross an understatement as it is a monstrous cliché, but I'll say it anyway.
A deft hand now took hold of my cock but rather than greet it with her parted lips, she began to pump it. Starting at the base, where she was careful to put just the right degree of pressure on my balls, she worked the shaft slowly but firmly until whatever inhibitions I felt, and they were considerable, slowly began to melt away. All I could see was her glorious riot of chestnut curls bathed in the sweet aroma of lavender which made my mouth water. But the sensations that her hand was now creating around my sensitive flesh worked to bring my cock gloriously to life. On and on she pumped; increasing her speed once she started to see the success of her handiwork.
I sighed deeply and raised my hips as my cock began to attain its characteristic concave curve. Evidently satisfied with this, she now flicked my foreskin back and forth, doing so more and rapidly in an obviously practiced way. Sensation flowed down my shaft and made my balls contract. I tensed my hips and that was her cue; I instantly felt a pair of warm, firm lips engulf the head of my cock. She was in no evident hurry, she slid her tongue up and down the underside of my shaft, zig-zagging it from side to side until she reached the base where she gave my balls a rapid lick with the tip of her tongue. She then returned to the head, circling and lapping at it with her tongue and rubbing it on the inside walls of her cheeks.