Monday, May 21, 2012

An open letter to the lady reading trashy romance novels on the morning train

Does it excite you?
I think it does, because as I stand behind you I can see your bosom rising and falling in the slow consistent rhythm that signals arousal. An arousal you try to contain, but your face flushes a light shade of pink. Your mouth hangs open, every so slightly, and your grip on the book tightens just as your eyes scan over the more graphic paragraphs.

Are you loved?
Do you have someone in your life to hold you in his(or her) arms? Someone to moan sweet nothings into your ear as your mind becomes a blank white sheet of pleasure and pain. Do you have someone to escape into at night, someone to share your skin and steal your heat and taste your teeth, when your insecurities and doubts crawl out from under your bed to haunt you?

Is the hero appealing to you?
Sweat dripping down his perfect chest in the words on the page, her eyes rolling back into her head, she moans with textual ecstasy. Do you project yourself onto her? Or do you prefer imagining yourself as the watcher in this story. Standing in the dark corner of the stable as the two of them make sweet fictional, grammatically accurate love on the hay pile.

Are you excited that we know?
Does it heat you up to know that you have an audience to your lust on this cramped morning train? I share a brief look with your other observer, an office man with an innocent face. He tries to look away, but your radiant arousal makes him ever so flustered. I could see him constantly admonishing himself internally for peeking into your private fantasy, but failing to look away as every jolt and shake of the train presses his body up against yours. He wants to throw you down on the floor of train and take you violently as all of us watch, and I think you would like it.

But finally, thank you for making filling my morning commute with sexual tension. Your pheromones fill the carriage, with a heady scent. I wish you many amazing orgasms with a tender, thoughtful lover. Someone to make you forget your fetish for reading trashy romance novels on a crowded train. I wish you an eternity of toe-curling kisses, of musky,sweaty scent, of screams and moans in unison, and of post coital cigarettes

But most of all I wish you love.

love, peace, and hand grease,

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