The train was at least an hour late by now. Marie still waited patiently on the platform, but it was increasingly obvious that something major was going on. She saw no trains pass through any of the three tracks. Hundreds of people waited at the station and they kept piling up by the minute. She texted an update to her husband, "this sucks." It was crowded.
She texted her boss that the trains were way late, and just then the loudspeaker came on reciting some random train number arriving 22 minutes behind schedule. What train? People didn't memorize serial numbers of trains, they memorized what time trains arrived at stations. It was so frustrating and unhelpful, she wanted to scream.
The crowd was thickening by the minute and that told her more than anything the day was lost. It was a Friday and all the casually dressed commuters showed up early so they could also end the day earlier, but somehow it all got screwed up and no one was going anywhere. She never dressed casually so her feet were hurting from standing up. But she could put up with discomfort. What she couldn't put up with was that starting work later meant you were going to be stuck there late. And on a Friday!
But even waiting two hours was better than driving to the city and fighting for parking space. As she was playing around with her phone, someone came up to her and handed her an envelope. Instinctively, she took it and flipped it over looking for a label, which said "Read in ten minutes." It confused her, it was so unexpected. She flipped it over to the blank side in confusion and re-read the front before she bothered looking up. Why would anyone hand her an envelope at a train station?
He was handsome.
Short trimmed hair and angular face, and she immediately turned red at the implication of what had happened. He smiled and walked away and she got flustered and shoved the envelope in her purse faster than a rattlesnake. She felt like she was blushing. Was this a... she hadn't received a hand-delivered note in fifteen years! As the man disappeared in the thick crowd, she kept fingering the envelope in her purse. What did it say again? Wait ten minutes? Why ten minutes?
Feeling very self-aware about strangers having seen that exchange, she moved away from the group where she stood and thought hard. Why wait ten minutes to read a note? This was a mystery and she didn't like waiting. What if she opened it up right now and looked at it? She felt embarrassed and didn't know why.
Half an hour later, the loudspeaker voice upgraded the mystery train to 45 minutes late, which didn't make any sense. It was 22 minutes late 30 minutes ago, and that would put it past ... forget it, she thought, it was obvious there was some kind of a major meltdown. It happened a few times a year. Trains derailed, they broke down in chokepoints, and morbidly enough, people occasionally threw themselves on the tracks. It was starting to look like a hookie day.
And maybe it was. Just then a train announcement came on and the loudspeaker hamfistedly explained that all trains were canceled until further notice. She typed out a note to her boss that the trains had a meltdown and she'd be working from home once she got there, and then remembered she had an envelope to read.
How could she forget so fast? It'd only been a little while, but, more she thought about it, she felt a distorted sense of time. She ripped the envelope apart and started reading a neat handwriting.
"It's hard for me to write this note but I've been noticing you for awhile. I don't know if you're attached because I couldn't stare so brazenly waiting for the trains but I feel that you might be. The trains are all screwed up today and I felt that I'd never have another chance like this. You're beautiful, and I love your outfits. Did you ever feel like damning all the rules and chase a yearning, just for a moment? Explore that feeling with me. I live at the corner of the East parking lot, apartment 715, and I want you to come over. You don't have to do anything but I would love it if you would come. Least you could do is watch me beat off. I'm respectful, I'm clean, I'm not a freak, I'm just awkward at making friends and what's the harm anyway? It's unlocked. -Brad."
Jesus Christ! She blushed, then read the note a second time and pondered throwing it away in the trash can ahead of her, but then she compulsively looked at her watch and got distracted by it. It was a Friday, approaching 9 AM and she should've been at the office an hour ago. No one was at home, she was now supposed to work from home, and didn't have to be there right away. Why was she reviewing her schedule, she wondered? Emptying her thoughts, she started walking toward the parking lot underpass.
Was she really pretty, she wondered? She mentally inventoried her outfit and thought she looked respectable enough. Muted colors, but memorable enough. Black skirt suit with a sharp white button-up, dark gray pantyhose and her comfortable black pumps. And then her intense highlight, vividly colored ruby earrings and matching lipstick and nails. Dash of personality but not too cluttered. And someone noticed!
Closer she got to her car she pondered lazily which direction the far lot was facing. East? West? North? South? Just out of curiosity, she assured herself. After years, she should probably know that, but she simply didn't. Were the tracks oriented exactly north to south here, she wondered. Her phone map told her she was parked at the East lot, by one of many apartment complexes. But that was just an academic exercise, she had to go home right away so her shift wouldn't end way too late.
Her phone dinged and a text message informed her it was alright to take comp time for the train meltdown. Her boss was very understanding. Total hookie day and Friday night could start at a normal time with her favorite glass of pinot noir. That made Marie very happy to where she fist-bumped a ghost and squealed a "yes!" louder than she should have. Her time constraints relaxed and she couldn't wait to get out of her confining hosiery.
She was almost at her car when she paused and spotted a nearby building. Number on it read 700. She fished the envelope out of her purse and glanced at the handwritten note again, and it said apartment 715. So it was close, no big deal. No harm in knowing things like that. She unlocked her car and got in, but then didn't turn the ignition on.
She just sat there hunched over staring at the ignition button, pretending that the trains would magically start working. She leaned back and justified to herself that's why she wasn't driving off. But secretly, no, it was the love note that made her pause. What else could you call it? As dirty as it was, it was a love note, a forgotten byproduct of middle and high school days. Something you just didn't see anymore. A handsome stranger told her, a middle aged woman (albeit on the far youthful side of that), that he'd been checking her out. And as much of a pervert as he was toward the end, he was considerate enough to notice she was probably married. She inspected her wedding ring and pondered if it signaled her unavailability as much as she thought it did, or if her looks had faded over the years. She thought of the lines she blushed out in the mornings.
Feeling nervous, she got out of the car telling herself that she would trudge toward the announcement board to double check the train meltdown, but instead she ambled in the exact opposite direction, toward the apartment complex. What was she doing? Her legs got a little wobbly. Around the corner from the first building she found the entrance to number 715. It was secluded and she just stared at the door for a few minutes in complete indecision. Was it really unlocked? Did she care to find out? She tried it, and the door opened.
Oh god. That was the wrong thing to do. She felt like she was climbing a mountain of nervousness, and she had just looked down to face the drop. There was a sign right in the foyer that read "Nervous? Fix yourself a drink in the kitchen and then come to the bedroom."
She looked to her left and thought, "who drinks this early?"
But then she realized her hands were shaking and she wasn't sure why she was here to begin with. She put her hand back on the door handle. Was she here to find out whether a door was locked? No. And, well, it wasn't. She took a step toward the kitchen and then remembered to close the front door. Force of habit, forgotten so quickly. What the hell, she always closed doors behind her. Why did she forget this time, she wondered. The door clicked shut and that simple routine instilled a modicum of normalcy.
A variety of bottles were arranged along the kitchen backsplash, next to a tub of ice and plastic cups. She grabbed a glass out of a random cabinet instead - she had standards - and filled it with ice. She eyeballed the cabinet door and realized it was a classy shaker style. Not cheap. Then she casually picked a liquor bottle, a cheap Jack Daniels, and poured. Subconsciously wanting to stall for time, she poured some water from the faucet into the mixture and took a sip. Was it filtered water? Fine, guess it's her who drinks this early. Not like she had to go to the office anyway. She would take comp time. Friday night just started a little earlier today, that's all. She took a second sip nervously, surprised at how low the liquid got, then topped her drink off and walked right toward the bedroom.
The moment she went through the door, she saw the same handsome man from earlier laying down on the bed. But this time, he was entirely naked and was stroking his veiny cock.
Jesus.
He was chiseled, muscles and abs and calves and everything, and he had a huge cock. He was just watching her without saying anything and kept beating his meat up and down. Still the same strong handsome man she remembered from the station but somehow very different, far more vulnerable being found like this. But he was also so very real, not an idealized creation. He had three small scars spread over his chest. Laparoscopic surgery, she wondered?
"Come in, have a seat," he invited her toward the corner of his bed with a glance.
Marie hesitated but eventually put her purse on the floor and sat on the far corner of the bed, staring at his cock. He kept beating it slowly while looking at her and that made her nervous so she looked away every time they'd make eye contact. Is this how people hooked up? Her drink was in her left hand and she was resting on her right, nearer to him. Her skirt rode up when she sat down, far above her knees.
"Do you want to touch it?" he asked.
