This morning started out like most mornings - I woke up late as fuck, rushed to shower and get ready and screamed profanities at all the cars in front of us on the way to the station because what the fuck why are you driving so SLOW??? while ML kept making sure the windows were rolled up.
What the universe tells me. Every day.
Then I raced up the stairs to the train platform-- which is really more me stumbling up the stairs trying not have a stroke because I'm out of shape and drink too much-- before
Honestly? By the time I flopped into a seat and tried to catch my breath, I was pretty much done with the day and I'd only been up for 40 minutes. Which explains why I forgot my number one Rule of Goddamn Commuting.
Put in earbuds and turn on iPod. Immediately.
I nicknamed mine "this is the only reason I haven't fucking strangled someone during my commute"...
So there I was, sans musical goodness piping into my ears, sitting on the train and trying not to blind myself with my eyeliner pencil when I heard you.
Moaning. Grunting. At first I thought perhaps you were in pain but... you sounded quite the opposite, if I do say so myself.
Now, I've heard lots of things on those rusting shit-boxes of transportation before but never did it sound like someone was shooting a porno in the seat behind me. Soap operas, yes. Porn? Not so much.
For the first two minutes, I kind of just sat there, one eye done all purty, making me look like Alex from A Clockwork Orange, but less ultra-violent and rape-y and more exhausted and perturbed. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn't know what to do.
To be honest, I think my facial expression on a daily basis is very similar to his...
Do I turn around and confront you? I'll admit it was my first thought -- to indignantly stand up and lambast you for your pornographic behavior (because honestly, it sounded like you were fucking someone, albeit somewhat quietly) but I was afraid I was going to come face to one-eye with your penis and I've already seen a penis on public transportation and I'm still scarred from it.
Do I tell a trusted adult? Well, frankly, I trust my fellow commuters about as far as I can throw them, though I did tell an entire car full of them a few years ago about the guy sitting next to me who kept dropping his hand on my thigh under the guise of sleeping and that took care of the problem right quick. But what am I going to say? "Hey conductor, I think the guy behind me is jerking his purple-headed monster. Can you go look?"
That's what happens to masturbators, mister!! Go jerk off in the train station bathroom like everybody else!!
No, that wouldn't do. So instead, I just sat there like a fucking jackass, listening to you mewl and grunt because I just couldn't bring myself to look. Thankfully, you stopped after about 10 minutes and I turned on my iPod and fell asleep.
But I totally saw you when you got off the train in New York, Mr. Moany McMoanfuck. You, with liver spots and salt & pepper hair, in your crisp fancy-man grey suit. I was the one in pigtails who was looking at you like you just took a shit in the aisle, by the way.
Here's the thing - all day long, I've been wondering just what the fuck you were doing behind me for ten minutes that made you so ecstatic with pleasure you were goddamn moaning and groaning on a public train.
Were you really fapping back there? If so, gross to the Nth degree, dude. Or maybe you were deep throating a particularly savory banana? Does doing a crossword puzzle get you off? Were you learning an alien language that sounds exactly like moans of ecstasy? Or perhaps you were watching an episode of Downton Abbey, because apparently everyone is orgasming over that show.
I just don't know. It's probably better that I don't.
At any rate, I hope you cleaned up after yourself. And I memorized both the car number and the row you were in.
That seat is dead to me now, thanks to you.