A voyeur’s salacious NYC subway commute
My penis rears its ugly head when I least expect it. I’m not always thinking about my girlfriend when I feel my pants tighten. Sometimes, hearing my ex.’s name uttered by someone during a conversation or smelling her perfume on a total stranger is enough to set me off.
When a crowded E train finally pulls into Penn Station, I push my way on, and somehow manage to find a seat. A brawny man with a shaved head and beady, black eyes stands in front of me. His penis is as large as a bratwurst, bulging in his tight, black leather pants. I usually don’t eye other guy’s goods, but it’s kind of hard not to when it’s inches away from my face. I close my eyes and try to picture him pumping hard in and out of my ex-girlfriend, Sandra, while she holds on for the ride moaning and writhing beneath him. Thinking about it creates a bulge between my thighs, which I cover quickly with my briefcase.
Bratwurst Boy gets off at 50th Street, and I watch a short, stout woman with enormous breasts wearing a red dress that leaves little to the imagination take his place. I adjust my focus, so it looks like I’m staring into space, even though I’m staring right at her. I doubt she’d notice though, since her eyes are glued to the pages of Spin. I close my eyes again and picture Sandra’s breasts next to this woman’s. After a moment, I decide there’s no…
