It was actually quite pleasant on board the train as we started moving. The cozy temperature was pleasant, the bright sunshine was pleasant, and there was even a business man sitting across the aisle with his elementary-aged son, reading him a Dr. Seuss book, enjoying their pleasant time on the light rail. It was all simply pleasant.
And then she got on board.
The doors opened at the Power Inn station, and an uniquely dressed woman sauntered in with an unattractive man, who was looking as happy as can be. The two of them plopped down in the empty seats that were directly facing me and Jayne.
Judging from the way she dressed, it was apparent why she was with this guy. High heels and knee-length socks. Dyed red hair and excessive makeup. Strategically placed tattoos and creatively positioned piercings. Top it all off with a miniskirt and a tank top so tight and revealing that her abundant breasts became a pair of prisoners that couldn't wait to bust out of their cotton cage to wreak more havoc on society.
This guy she was with just had to be paying her for company. He looked like your typical southern hick, complete with the trucker hat, dirty jeans, plaid shirt, and of course a mullet. He wouldn't have looked out of place at a mangy flea market in backwoods Alabama, and yet here he was in Sacramento with a woman who ranked infinitely higher than him on the scales of attraction.
Despite that, they decided to get a little friendly.
The train started moving and within mere seconds of them sitting down, she leaned slightly over and wrapped both arms around his neck, all the while smiling and giggling. She slid one of her legs onto his lap and used it to gently caress him where it counts. Of course, still giggling. The guy, smiling, tried to say something to her, but mumbled so carelessly that any possible comprehension of his phrase was lost. She kept giggling. Who knows. Maybe she thought it was funny.
"Next stop, Watt/Manlove." Only three more stops to our destination.
She started to play with his hair, giggle even louder, and rub a little more. Her companion was smiling like an idiot, obviously loving every minute of it. The lady drew her lips close to his face, and began to whisper to him. I turned to Jayne to quietly mention my feelings of awkwardness, but as I turned back, it got out of control.
She was now totally licking his ear!
This wasn't a "I'm a kitten trying to get water" type of lick. This was a full on "your face is a melting ice cream cone and I happen to be Gene Simmons" type of lick! Right in front of me, not even five feet away, is Miss Tongue giving Alabama Joe an ear-waxing while rubbing his junk with her leg and giggling like a banshee, while he is looking heavenward with a huge grin on his face and chuckles ricocheting out of his mouth. Looking around I could see that everyone was as equally horrified as I was. The business man across the aisle had even repositioned his body somewhat to keep his young son from witnessing the dirty deed. Yet there they sat, either completely oblivious to their surroundings or entirely apathetic to the fact that there were many people who could see and hear their pre-game festivities.
For about two more minutes the giggles, chuckles, slimy ears, and intentional leg movements kept going, going, going, slowly crescendoing, louder, louder, louder, until finally! Piercing through the deafening shrieks of mutual and disgustingly public pleasure came the voice of an absolute angel!
"Next stop, Butterfield." Yes! Oh Yes, yes, yes! Oh what sweet relief!
Jayne and I wondered how much better walking would have been as we grabbed our things and ran from our seats to the exit, waiting eagerly to hop off the train and leave the two lovebirds, and that memory, behind.
The light rail slowed. The light rail stopped. Through the windows we could see Butterfield station, our land of freedom. Finally, the doors of the Sacramento light rail opened, and we hopped off the train. Those doors couldn't have opened any sooner.
The columnist delivered the goods as promised when this piece was foreshadowed earlier this week. I'm not convinced it needed the full two-paragraph intro with a plug for free passage thanks to the University.
ReplyDeleteBut, that aside, once the column launched into the endless love scenes, it moved faster than a light rail train between 29th and 48th.
While the writer was very descriptive of the clothing worn by the woman, he could have gone even a little further by throwing in the color of the mentioned mini-skirt and top. And while the writer's companion on this train excursion is mentioned, she only makes two, mostly cameo, appearances.
This one line was puzzling: "He wouldn't have looked out of place at a mangy flea market in backwoods Alabama, and yet here he was in Sacramento with a woman who ranked infinitely higher than him on the scales of attraction. "
So she was attractive? I didn't pick that up until that point. Now I really want to know what color her outfit was.
The writer does bring things full circle nicely (even though the train goes relatively straight down the track) by telling the readers about his escape from the train, a clever way to end the piece.
High marks for organization and letting it loose while writing.
Best line in the piece: "And then she got on board."