On The Way to Work
story codes: MF


On The Way To Work
by Matt Tomas  



Her cheek gently grazed his freshly shaven face. She smelled like
lemons. A shiver rocketed to his toes up to his lips and surprisingly right
to his groin. Something he hadn't felt in years. Each morning was the
same. Rush through a shower, rush through breakfast, rush the kids to
school and barely kiss the wife goodbye. Jam onto a subway while trying
to down his second cup of coffee. Hurry to his day at the desk. Then back
home for mediocre conversation, bad t.v. and another sexless night. It
was all going by like a blur. However, this moment, stopped him cold.

She smelled like lemons. Like she had bathed in the freshly squeezed
juice. She looked close to his age but without the harsh creases so many
other women seemed to have between their eyebrows. She looked
smooth. Stressless. He had been bending over to pick up his dropped
magazine; when he stood back up she was entering the subway and they
touched. He immediately felt as if he had done something wrong having
broken the millimeter personal space often expected in such crowded
conditions. He looked into her eyes to apologize and became transfixed.
They were a golden honey brown. Large pupiled and kind. He wanted to
press his lips against the large red cushions beneath her smart Roman
nose. A plump heart shaped mouth that seemed to holler for attention
smattered across a flawless face framed by a haphazard halo of shiny
wheat colored hair.

He saw it happening. Grabbing her around her waist pressing his now
swollen groin into her flowing sundress feeling only heat from beneath her
panty-less center. All around him the day froze. As he gently pressed into
his kiss she returned with a heated part and slowly darting tongue that
tasted like warm candied apple. The kiss took off with fervor and before
he knew it their tongues felt like thick wet fingers pulling and gyrating. He
wrenched from the violent pulsing and gingerly ran his lips across her
cheek to her ear where he let out a sigh; a moan that seemed to come
from deep down. From frustrated days and nights.

From a life turned into an existence. She returned with the same
whispered gutteral call and reached down to lift the yellow material he
was practically pushing through. There were no panties as he had felt
when suddenly her top slid down one side revealing a pink nipple circled
by an even pinker shade brushed onto alabaster skin like a painting. He
gently licked and tugged her breast feeling her hips gently shake beneath
him. Insatiably licking at it with his slightly rough tongue over the smooth
delicate anatomy only poets could describe.

He couldn't control it any longer and unzipped his pants. He too had had
no underwear on that day due to an overloaded wash; an overloaded life;
and let forth the ache he hadn't experienced in what seemed like
decades. Hard was not the word for the rock that protruded from his
center and as if knowing exactly where to go he entered her with a
gentleness he wanted to hold onto forever. The hotness that surrounded
his cock was seering. Almost too much if it weren't for the cool wetness
that surrounded and subdued. The musky smell lifted between them as
their mouths found one another again like parts to a machine. Pumping.
Dancing in violent time. Their saliva was the food as they pushed and
pulled pushed and pulled until, as if he were eighteen again, he released
what was left of himself. What he had thought had been long asleep. And
it wouldn't stop. His legs buckled as she held him up and quivered
beneath him sending a gush onto his pants and shoes. It felt as if he was
going to pass out. There was a jarring. A pushing all around.

He opened his eyes. There she was, staring at him, a tiny smirk forming
on those perfect lips. People walked around him, practically through him,
but she just smiled. She knew. And he had missed his stop.



© 2007 Matt Tomas


Matt is a writer/actor/drummer/playwright who resides in Manhattan , NY.
He currently is working on his  first novel a suspense/thriller and touring
with local jamband: Eastern Exposure.

He has work published at the New York Resident as a weekly article
writer. Matt also has plays produced at: The Harold Clurman Theatre;
Theatre Row Theatre; American Theatre of Actors