They entered the subway on 34th Street. Raindrops in their hair and on their Indian faces, smiling as they bumped into people trying to get themselves sorted out in the crowded car. She was lugging a big rolled up futon mattress, he had to deal with the matching frame. The IKEA labels clearly visible, they obviously had taken the bus from Elizabeth to Penn Station. He was tall, about 6 feet, dark hair with a few grey streaks at the front, about 29, maybe a little older. She had her dark black hair made up in a ponytail, showing her goergous face, maybe 24. They didn't look like any of the conservative Indians one finds in Queens; they didn't wear wedding bands, let alone traditional dresses, but they just bought a bed for themselves. She managed to get a seat, while he was standing. Sitting down as the subway pulled out of 34th Street, she caught my smile. Rather than looking away quickly, as most people would do in NYC, she indulged me in an open friendly smile back, her pure olive skin as shiny as her black hair, her lips full and naturally dark around her white teeth.
I was wondering whether she knew what was going through my mind right then. How I envisioned them carrying their stuff up to their walkup, a small 1 or 2 bedroom probably, how they would unpack their new purchase, tired but excited, struggling somewhat with the IKEA instructions that she would insist on reading first, while he already started working on putting it all together. How she'd make fun of him as he started out on the wrong path. How he'd sheepily ask her to show him the instructions. This would go on for a good half hour, but they'd finally be done with it, and she'd walk to their closet, getting out their best white linnen, also from IKEA. As I was thinking this, she glanced at him, then at me again. He looked around the subway, as if to see whether there were any sleazy men around that he might have to protect her from, or maybe to see whether there were any hot women around that he could look at, only to conclude that the hottest woman on the planet would be no comparison whatsoever to the one he had, the one who'd go home with him to unpack their new bed just a few stops later.
Maybe she knew that he was thinking this, and it made her happy, and it made her feel like she could look at me, maybe thinking something quite similar to what he was thinking. I am a handsome European guy, about his age, not quite as tall or muscular, but I have friendly green eyes and a warm smile. I once met a woman on the subway who told me that I had the nicest and most natural smile she'd ever seen on a NYC subway, otherwise she would have never agreed to go for a coffee with me, which I asked her to do when she first asked for directions to BAM, and then mentioned that she's way to early for a dance performance there. It was the nicest compliment ever. So maybe this beautifully natural Indian woman with, I assumed, conservative parents who'd rather marry her off to someone else, someone more wealthy maybe or at least someone with a better degree, maybe this woman in her simple black tank top, with that futon mattress between her legs in front of her, maybe she thought what I wished she'd be thinking right now. That she was looking forward to when their new bed would be made, covered in fresh white sheets, and how she would pour herself and her man a glass of red wine. They'd laugh happily as they'd test the firmness of the new futon, careful not to spill any red wine onto the sheets, and they'd look into each other's dark eyes, knowing that maybe that wine could wait a little. That maybe it would be nice to just kiss right there, licking each other's lips, their warm olive hands running over each other's chests, his strong and muscular, with just a little black hair, hers warm and soft and small, with two gorgeously dark nipples, getting hard as she starts sucking on his probing tongue in her mouth.
But I wished she'd be thinking something else as well, and her frequent glances at me encouraged me to believe that there was a possibility that she might indeed be thinking just that. How it would be if, as we leave the E train at the same stop, they asked me to help them carry their new futon up those stairs to their small sparse apartment. An apartment with few items, mostly from IKEA, but some unusual prints on the walls. A traditional Indian print here, one that her grandmother insisted she should have, a photograph of his extended family there, a family that she knew she'd soon be part of. I would happily oblige helping them; although I am not very strong, six hands are better than four, and they don't live far from the subway. We'd exchange names and casual niceties, shake hands and all that, and he reluctantly lets me tell them how this bed needs to get set up, since a friend of mine had bought the same one not long ago. Double-checking the instructions, he makes sure that I don't screw up, as she laughs and smiles, happy that her man is man enough to let a stranger into their home, telling them all about IKEA furniture.
I obviously don't overdo it, letting him know that he's still in charge here. Men can be weird in situations like that, but we get along very well, and there is no awkwardness. The apartment smells wonderful, he is almost too good looking, but he has none of the cockiness that plague many American men who learned sometime between loosing their diapers and entering kindergarden that life is always competition, all the time. As the bed is done, she comes out of the kitchen with three glasses of red wine, but he stops her, because he has to get the fresh linnen first and make the bed, before we can drink to our new friendship. When he comes back from the closet, she doesn't bother waiting for him to be done making the bed, she doesn't bother with the rules and ettiquette of looking deep into my eyes, or into his, while saying cheers in that Indian British accent of hers, instead she announces to noone in particular that it's her 26th birthday today, and that this is one of her birthday presents.
"Our old bed was way too loud", she says, a remark too casual for me to notice, so I ask what else did she get? "Well, so far, only the bed", is all she says. "Alright, it's all done, look at this!" he announces from the bedroom, so we go to take a look, she carrying his glass of wine, me following. "By the way, my name is Manish, what's your name", he asks. "Frank. Nice to meet you. Looks pretty good to me." The first awkward silence in the past twenty minutes. If they'd thank me now, I'd know it's time to finish the wine and get out, but they don't. They just smile at each other, as she puts her arm around him, and he rests his hand on her back, gently sliding it down to her ass in her ankle length dark blue skirt. "So, are you ready for another present", he says to her, very quietly, as if I was not supposed to hear him. She looks into his eyes for what seems to be an eternity, first without any expression, then smiling, then blushing as they both turn around to look at me. I feel like a child. My heart is beating fast. I look at him, at her, at him again. Finally, she simply says, yes I think so, without taking her eyes off me.
The E train is at 7th Avenue now. She is sitting in front of me and has opened up her hair, as if my thoughts had made her warm. I think she is licking her lips while she glances at him. Then smiling at me again. Then looking in disgust at the old man next to me who is eating KFC with his hands out of a plastic bag, his fingers greasy, little pieces of chicken scattered around his thin lips. Smiling at me, she is rolling her eyes. I almost have to laugh. But, as if waking up from a nice dream that needs to be finished, I go back into my world, looking at her, at him, at the IKEA labels and the Made in China print on the plastic wrapping covering their new purchase. She leans over to him and opens her lips. Her tongue slightly licking over his teeth, her hand running up his chest and into his white shirt. The first button goes off as he slides his tongue into her mouth. The second button as she wraps her lips around his tongue and mouth. The third button as his hands start wandering over her ass. The fourth button as she puts down her glass of wine onto their nightstand. The fifth button as he does the same, now holding her ass in both hands. The last button as she slowly lets her hand drop down over his belt to his crotch, spreading her fingers wide as she slides them underneath his balls, her palm pressing against his cock.
I am fascinated. I don't move. My cock does though, but I am too busy watching to notice. She unbuckles his belt and quickly opens the first buttons to his jeans. Second, third, fourth, and her hand slides into his gray boxer briefs. He is looking to the ceiling as he stretches his arm out into my direction. I am too far for him to touch me, but he just holds his arm and hand there, and I make a small step towards them as she slides her other hand into the back of his jeans, over his ass. His fingers pull slightly at the arm of my shirt, I make another small step, his fingers pull the arm of my shirt up. I am pretty sure he means "take off your shirt". That's what I want him to mean, so I do. Slowly, never taking my eyes off her hands in his jeans, their wet lips kissing each other deeply now. They don't seem to notice that I let my shirt fall to the floor. I feel small and shy. I am a good deal shorter than him, almost as short as she is, especially now that I am only a foot away from them. But I don't feel like I am intruding. I feel like we are dancing.
They pull me in, ever so slightly; first his hand, strong, but not too strong, then her hand, small and even softer than his, both running from my lower back up to my shoulders and neck, touching me. Touching me more firmly, as she turns away from him to me, so close that I cannot make out her full face any more, just her large brown eyes, her nose with a small diamond stub almost touching my mouth, her mouth, smiling, a little wet from his tongue. Her lips touching my mouth, I feel her teeth on my lips, then her soft warm tongue sliding over my lips, in between my teeth, playing with my tongue, just a little at first, then stronger, her hands going down over my ass, pulling me closer. I follow the pull with a little step, but they move away from me by the same distance. Another step and another, and they sit down on the bed, next to each other, looking up at me. I am beet red, I feel strong and tall and at the same time shy and unsure. Four hands running over my stomach, up to my chest, down to my belt. Unbuckling me. Five buttons. My jeans to my knees.
I hadn't realized I was this hard, but I was. My cock clearly visible underneath my white boxer briefs, the tip almost loking out. Her palm sliding up against the veins of my cock, her other hand firmly deep inside his open jeans, motioning him to pull them of. He does. I do. His hand on her hand on his hard cock. His other hand running over my stomach. They each slide two fingers into my boxers, carefully unwrapping my cock. I haven't been this hard in a long time. They no longer look into my eyes, but let their eyes wander around my cock. My veins. My small balls. In this stage, it is hardly noticable that I am uncut. Not that they care, I think. She is smiling, the same smile I had seen on the E train; he is licking his lips, the first time I see him do that.
Her hand wraps around my cock as her other hand tells him to get naked, too. Too naked men, one dressed woman. I am awfully pale compared to them, although my cock is dark red now. She gently slides her fingers up and down my cock to my balls, then holds me again firmly, slowly pulling up, slowly pulling me closer to her mouth. My cock is twitching when her tongue makes first contact with the tip of my cock. I know her tongue is warm, but it feels cold and all the more wonderfull. She is licking around the edge of the head of my cock, then slowly taking me into her mouth. For a brief moment, I close my eyes, not believing the sensation. But she is still there when I open my eyes again, my cock a little deeper in her mouth. I need to touch her shoulder to believe it, need to touch his shoulder as well. When I then feel his hands going up my legs and his face moving closer to her, I know he understood what I didn't even know myself I was saying. That I want him to suck me too. And he does. Less patient than her, he wraps his hand firmly around my hard cock, almost squeezing it as he takes me all the way in. Not all the way into his throat, but deep. The first guy ever to suck my hard cock, and he didn't even have to ask.
His other hand on my ass, he motions me to lay down. I do, my cock buried in his sucking mouth untill I am on my back, he straddling between my legs, starting to suck me harder. I feel shy again, as she moved up, a little to far away from me for my comfort, but she assures me with a smile that she is not leaving, just getting undressed. Quickly. When I see her gorgeous naked tits, I can't help but touch his shoulder again to remind me that I am not dreaming. She knows that I need her closer and she slowly slides her hard nipples over my waiting lips and tongue, letting me suck them gently, while she watches him licking the full length of my cock. When she kneels behind my head, looking down at me, her hands running over my chest, I almost want to fuck her right there, but I give in and go with the flow and enjoy his mouth and tongue and hands massaging my cock. I am looking down at him as he looks at her above me, then at me, and the three of us smile. Happy, horny, comfortable. I look up at her and she knows what I want and what she wants. Lowering her pussy onto my mouth, I realize how incredibly wet she is. Her pussy juices are melting over the tip of my tongue as I taste them painfully slowly, circling my tongue around her clit, not quite touching it, not quite entering her, one hand on his shoulder, another hand on her soft ass, licking her out, now playing with her clit.
I seem to hear her moaning, or maybe it's me. Her fingers slide into my mouth, meeting his hand there. They hold each other as I lick them like a little cat. He pulls her off me towards him and she crawls over my chest to him. I happily watch her wet pussy, her tight little asshole as she moves away from me, slightly worried they'd leave me alone now, even though I know I had more than my fair share. I'd be happy even if they did. If I could just watch her mouth sucking on his cock, just watch his cock sliding deep into her cunt, maybe just watch his finger probing her ass, I'd be happy. No, I'd be happy, if they told me to leave now. They invited me, I am a guest, I am very clear about that. But they don't tell me to leave. He just rolls around to sit back with her kneeling between his legs and between mine and she goes down on him. I can't see his cock in her mouth, but I see him closing his eyes, facing the ceiling. She touches my knee with one hand and out of nowhere produces a condom as I watch her ass, her wet slit as she kneels in front of him.
I don't know much, but I believe I know what that means. But I want to lick her pussy from behind, slide a thumb into her wet cunt, a finger massaging her clit as she spreads her legs some more. I feel daring, probably inappropriately so, but when I let my tongue slide around her asshole for the first time, I definitely hear her moan, and she seems to raise her ass just a little more. I LOVE licking out a woman from behind, love sliding my tongue into her ass as I slowly fuck her pussy with a thumb, never forgetting to give her clit my attention as well. I could do this untill she comes while he shoots his hot cum into her mouth, but her hand taps my shoulder again with the condom, so I guess she has other wishes, and I happily comply, quickly unwrapping the condom, sliding it over my hard cock. Kneeling behind her, I watch her neck going up and down over his cock, his hand resting on the back of her head, and I rub the head of my cock up and down between her wet pussy. Slowly stretching her, the head of my cock disappears in her body, her lips sucking me deeper and deeper untill I am burried inside her, holding me there as my hands slide over her gorgeously olive ass. She is pushing back towards me, squeezing my hard cock, making me want to fuck her. Manish is moaning louder now, the slurping sounds of her mouth on his cock inviting me to slide almost all the way out, then all the way in again, still a controlled motion, but I am already beginning to feel like I need to hold back. I want to fuck her hard and fast and slow and deep, unable to decide, slowly losing control, I suck on my finger and slide my spit around her asshole. She pushes out her asshole, wanting to be massaged, to be entered as I fuck her pussy a little harder with each stroke.
Driving my finger gently, slowly into her ass, I regain a bit of control, fucking her in long deep strokes, the three of us moaning, him clearly close to cumming, as I see his hips moving up to meet her mouth, her ass pushing back on my cock and onto my finger, I am holding out, hoping that she will come with him and with me, but she doesn't. He does, with a deep but friendly grunt, breathing out, breating in, and the image of his hard cock in her mouth, his cum flowing over her lips, makes me cum. Hard and deep inside her, I am almost afraid my cock or my finger might hurt her, but she doesn't even seem to notice as she is still sucking on him, licking him up and down, while I cum and cum.
Three bodies standing still for what seems like minutes. His eyes closed, my cock still deep inside her, I pull out as she releases his cock with her mouth, so she can move. She looks back at me over her shoulder and laughs. Loud and openly, wiping her mouth with the back hand. "Oh my God", she says, her first Americanism, as far as I can tell, but she seems to actually mean it. His body is relaxed and gorgeous, her face bushed and laughing, while I try to remove the condom as gracefully as I can, for a split second thinking this is going to be awkward. But it isn't. She hands me a tissue, smiling again, or maybe still smiling. Manish gives me a big huge grin in a boyish sort of way, never even close to any of the high-fiving that I so detest. "I feel like its my own birthday", he says, and he leaves it at that. "I need some water", she says, and goes off to the kitchen. He just breathes out a big smile. When she comes back with three glasses of water, her brown eyes radiate. "That was a pretty damn good birthday present, thank you, baby", she says to him, kissing his cheek. "Oh, you are welcome, I am glad you like the new bed", he laughs. "Yes, I love it! Except, I didn't come yet, what do you think about that?" she says with a big grin. All of a sudden, I feel accused and turn beet red again, but all I can say is "uh oh..." She laughs again, the same lovely laugh. "Oh, it's okay", she says, looking me straight in the eye, "but how would you like to suck his cock hard for me again, I am sure that'll make me cum sooner or later." If my face could have gotten any redder, it would have. His eyes got even larger, as if he hadn't heard right. But I heard her. She wants me to suck his cock, plain and simple. I have never sucked a cock in my life. Sure, I had thought about it many times, but had always felt I'd need the comfort of a woman to cheer me on, in order to actually do it. And here she was, smiling at me again, waiting for my reaction. I looked at him, he looked at me, then her. "Well," I say, "it is your birthday after all, isn't it?", taking a big sip of cold water and putting the glass down.
When the E train pulls into my station, I am hoping desperately that it would be their station, too. I'd love to help them with their bed. I'd love to see her smile one more time, giving me a hint that, yes, they'll get off here and then they'd like to get off with me. But she doesn't. She looks at that guy next to me again, his KFC junk food almost finished, then gives me a last quick look as the subway door opens and I wish I'd live a couple of stops further down the E train, somewhere deeper in Queens.