Story Of Emma

Emotions are like trains and those depression-era hobos; the train had it's own rhythms and ways, went anywhere and everywhere. The hobos went along for the ride when the mood struck them and the train paid no mind. All the hobos had to do is choose how and when to get on board.

Emma had the unusual distinction of acting as both the train and the hobo at any given time. Like the train, Emma could speed along at a good clip, multiple engines pulling a heavy load with no effort. Her emotional furnace burned hot and hard, demanding as much coal as anyone could feed her.

Then there were times when Emma was free of the load and with a vengeance would pound along the long rails of life, whistle screaming for miles; I mean screaming! From one state to the next, as if the whistle -pull was stuck in place, her emotional anger would shatter windows as she flew by.

In the down times though, no manner of fuel, water, or tweaking of her engine would make Emma move. She would sit amongst the unusable engines and inexorably fall to pieces.

Emma also had the dubious resourcefulness of the hobo. She could latch onto any moving train with a moment of careful timing; swinging up into an empty box like an acrobat. She would go along for the ride not caring in one way or the other exactly where the train was going as long as it was away from where she was at that time. The train was akin to being her lover really. Emma gained sustenance from the constant change of scenery brought on by emotions set free to roam as they will. Then again, would wallow in despair when her vehicle of choice sat idle or she missed a chance at jumping a ride on a train that just plain moved too fast.

Emma had a complex, often confusing emotional paradigm; she repeated her mistakes with justifiable fervor, mistook good sex for love and wandered about from man to man like a hobo on a train.

Secretive and delusional, Emma never knew there were a few who could see her in gory and sometimes glorious detail. They could read between the lines she spoke and easily navigated her mazes of self-deception.

Those few would ride that train for a bit with her; loving her, hating her, and protecting her. When their own repugnance for their part in her continuous saga became untenable, they would simply switch the track she was traveling on or remove the track altogether; forcing her to find another hobo line to ride. She always found another to ride.

Her way of traversing life's rails started when she was a very young, gullible and helpless little girl. In the world Emma was born into, a female child was considered property to be used as the father (and others) so fit. Unfortunately for her, Emma was a pretty little girl; all pink with white-blonde hair and startling green eyes.

Emma was the middle-child of seven children in an up-scale family. Her mother, from a "good" family was little more than a brood mare with enough physical maladies and disruptions as to be a prime candidate for a study in passive aggressive, co-dependence in white females.

The poor woman had no true understanding of what Emma would be used for. By the time it came to light as a cognizant thought, Emma's mother simply denied it was happening. Emma was a true victim. As time went on, she used her victimization to navigate the hard, cold rails of her life.

Emma's father used her body as a prize piece of meat. His constant sexual molestation allowed Emma's brothers the belief that they too could utilize her perfect charms as they saw fit too. In order to survive this un-natural onslaught from people you should be able to trust, Emma developed a need for sex.

She learned very early to "please" her father by actually having orgasms. Her first actual pleasure came at ten years of age when she started her period. Her father, in response to her experience began plying Emma with the things her mother could only have hoped for. By the time Emma was fifteen years old, the act of sex meant love to her. The more orgasms her father gave her (or brothers as it were), the more she felt desirable and loved; wanted. Emma could not discern one from the other.

Emma finally broke away from her fathers abuse and married a man who gave her multiple orgasms; from which three female children were born. Five years into the marriage, when her husband decided that the porn movies and books were more exciting, Emma was devastated. To make matters even more complex, Emma had no skills in the work place, could not drive and was on the verge of a nervous collapse. I mean, after all, daddy took care of all "that" stuff.

Her only act of self-determination was met with hardships enough to break even a strong woman. Emma wasn't strong, she was just agile.

Emma left her husband. She lost her mind, lost her girls and the doctors over-medicating her served as a reason for the courts to take her children away for good.

Emma was agile. In her lucid moments she began looking for another daddy to supply her with all her financial needs and "love". All she had to do was find a man that would give her lots of good sex.. Emma needed sex. Sex was her train and that engine needed a warm body to run it.

Her most recent conquest was a six-foot-four black man. He was addicted to Emma's ability to take his full length into her body. Emma, was likewise addicted. She reveled in the feel of that thick black snake writhing past her cervix; her white thighs wide open as he made her wait to cum.

But when not fucking, the two of them played nasty mind games with each other; cruel, ugly. Emma would get violent and he would beat her down by denying her that thick long cock for weeks. Emma knew though he needed that pink hot flesh between her thighs. All she had to do was pretend to be contrite, like she did with her "daddy".

In time though Emma would tire of any man and would move on. Like that train rolling along, Emma always needed a new track.