I woke up to rain. Wet and cold. It was grey outside, as I stood at my balcony doors and peered out, a door in each hand, open to the day.
The only question on my lips was, long-sleeved shirt, or short-sleeved shirt? How humid was it? I slid a bare arm out into the day, but I couldn't tell. I'd prefer to be cold than hot, but there were limits to how cold I wanted to feel.
I wore my blue and white striped long-sleeved shirt, the first long-sleeved shirt I have worn in weeks, the only long-sleeved shirt I have worn in weeks, and only the third long-sleeved shirt I have worn to work since I began in December.
Mikki Howard sang the songs of Billie Holiday, that was the music that got me off and walking, this morning in the rain.
The rain fell in a fine mist, it never let up. And by the time I got to Albert Street, I was sick of it sprinkling in my eyes and covering my shirt and making it damp. A B-Class was the first tram to appear around the corner, followed by another old B-Class. A chock a block full B-Class. Oh? Damn! Risking a fine and all, as we were three stops from the free zone. Still, less likely to get caught in a tram stuffed full of people than an empty one, it was just logical, I hoped.
I was going to sweat in that old tram being so full of people, I knew that. As we all know, I have a low threshold to heat and sweating. I needed to stand by the door, which I did, just inside the front door, so that way, at least I got the fresh air when the doors opened at each stop.
The fat Asian girl – am I allowed to say that? I’m allowed to think it, surely? Is that fat shaming by thought? You know, because I am writing my thoughts down? I don’t know. She was fat – with headphones stood next to me, with her Kindle and her kind face.
She gave me a look, when I waved her back into the tram first, after we'd both got out at the next stop to let other passengers off. I think we both had the same idea, fresh air by the door. She smiled as she turned and got back on. She didn't seem to mind.
A bit later, when a woman insisted on squeezing into the tram in the middle doors and they wouldn't close and the tram wouldn't go and we all got held up while we waited for her to sort her shit, I said, "Get off you idiot," accidently, out loud, by mistake, oops, the fat Asian girl smiled again. (Gotta be careful with headphones in)
I stood to the side and let people through, but I was staying by the door, the tram was a sauna. People are weird, they look at you as if you are the lowest of the low for not moving out of their way to give them room, to allow them in, even if they don’t really know where they are going. No, you just won't fit, the tram is full, I thought. Still they push in.
A beautiful girl, with long blond hair, got on with a coffee when she really wouldn't fit. But she was determined. She would have been the Home Coming Queen. She would have swallowed the Prom King’s cum in the carpark in the front seat of his Commodore at the year 12 formal, for sure. She’d have tried to hide the stains on her cashmere cardigan from her mother by having it dry-cleaned. The fat Asian girl and I looked at one another. After blondie had squeezed in, and the fat Asian girl had to give some room, Blondie gave a coy look around to see what the looks on our faces were. Were we scowling at her? She smiled sweetly at me, in the crush. She got her place in the tram, the beautiful girl always got her place.
And then another girl, with red hair and exposed cleavage, pushed her way in, like her tits into that bra that was two sizes too small, there really wasn’t any room. She would have fucked the lead singer and the drummer of the band high on E in share houses in Brunswick. She had to do a run up and down the stairs to allow the door to close and open again.
And then at the next stop, Nazeem Hussain got in, not that blondie, or Red, or I, for that matter, gave any room. The fat Asian girl had shuffled further inside by this stage, her battle for the door was lost. Well, he looked like Nazeem Hussain. He was as cute as Nazeem Hussain. Crisp white shirt, high collar, red patterned tie, tight fitting blue suit. He kind of clung to the wall like Spider Man, or a gecko, there was so little room for him.
Still I got to feel his arse, so it wasn’t all bad.
He could only balance on one foot, half up the front wall. And by this stage I was pushed right up against the front wall, my hands down by my sides holding the hand rail. I literally had a size nine and a half shoe length from the front wall in which to balance. If I’d lost my balance and fallen forward, I would have gone face first into Red’s tits, so I hung onto the hand rail at each side, level with my hips. Nazeem had to push in backwards to avoid the door as it closed, he and Red kind of shared the front step of that old tram. And whether he knew it, or not, his arse was exactly the same level as my right hand, which he pushed up against. I could feel the peachy curve of his cheeks, the tight woollen material following the contour of his curvy behind slide along my fingers. Nice and tight and firm it felt too. My fingers slid into his indentation, up his crack, if you like, like the fine curve of a porcelain bowl, quite easily. He was curvaceous and warm. He felt like he did squats, he was hard to the touch.
I did nothing, I swear. I didn't move a muscle, not a whit. Trams just get crowded in the mornings, and sometimes you can't help these things, I swear. Okay, I didn't move my hand, you may have me there, but where was I moving it to, I ask you? We were packed in like sardines. It is simply the cost of free travel in the CBD in the mornings. We were jam packed in, it was really hard to move, and sometimes you can get your arse felt up.
No comments:
Post a Comment