Walking alone in the heart of Chicago is not for the faint of heart. Along with the striking beauty of seemingly never ending skyscrapers as well as all of the historical brownstones lies a dark undertone of danger. It is hidden but omnipresent. The juxtaposition of high crime and enchantment is on full display most during the holiday season.
Families fill the streets picking up their last minute presents for loved ones. Lights are hung high. The most magical of all spectacles is the gigantic Christmas tree at the train station downtown.
In December of 2010 I had just returned to my old stomping ground of the windy city. One of the first stops was to take the L train to see the sights. Cold blooded by nature I decided to opt for less as more for my evening attire. A red sweater that cut low exposing ample cleavage and a skirt that cut off right at the knee. I donned no gloves or scarves or even a hat. It was wind running up my legs with a cool breeze. Nipples hard under my sweater I clutched the handrail for dear life as I rode the train.
Sometime in between the woman singing her third carrol with her toddler and the cigar smelling stranger shifting too close to me I began to feel aroused. I am sure there is something wrong with me. I am positive this is not normal. I felt eyes staring at my chest from a tired looking man 3 rows up from me. I was the spectacle he longed for on his boring daily commute.
Stans Automotive his shirt said. I gave always loved a man who knows how to fix things. Greasy and withered was his look. I immediately imagined going to bed with him. He would be detailed as his profession required this from him already. He was accustomed to making things right. I wanted him to make me feel right.
I don’t know what came over me. I moved closer to him on the train. I didn’t want to push this too hard and look desperate. I began asking questions about cars for the issues I was not actually having with mine.
He had a slight dimple on his left cheek that was endearing. His name was Sam. Stan was his boss. He was originally from Boston but came here for the holidays with his brothers family. We began talking about the area. He gave direct eye contact the whole time as if to say he was taking notes of my suggestions. I also love a man who wants to please you.
As the stop neared I took liberty to tie my laced boots in front of him so he could imagine me bending over. He commented on my boots at this moment. We exchanged number with him saying he hoped to hear from me soon. The Christmas tree downtown was as lovely as you would imagine in a postcard.
Three weeks went by. No Sam. I thought oh well it wasn’t meant to be. I continued on with my life. At an ice rink that I had recommended and frequented often I saw him. He skated somewhat near me and asked if I wanted to hang out later.
I went home and shaved everything to be smooth for him. At a local coffee shop parking lot we kissed as he clutched my breasts with vigor. Back to my apartment I shared with my roommate we made our way to my bedroom.
He lifted me onto his waist pulling down my underwear as he pinned me against the dresser. I leaned back to take all of him in. He smelled like kerosene. I imagined he was tuning his car and lifting a truck engine as he stripped me of all of my clothes and used his stubby fingers to meddle around with my clitoris.
My back was hurting against the hard dresser wood as each thrust put me against it in a fury of passion. I would be bruised from this and was excited to have signs of my excursion. His penis was average size with a curve towards the head of it that really hit my spot.
I gave him a break, slid on top of him and rode him. I pretended I was Bonnie from Bonnie and Clyde just rewarding my cowboy for all the work he put in. I called him big boy and went up and down as hard as I could. It was the recklessness that I got lost in. Twenty minutes in my thighs tired.
He put whip cream on my vagina and licked off the lady the way she deserved. He called me his sweet girl. HIS. He claimed me and my body. It was everything I wanted to hear.
Author: Freya Fitzpatrick