The Man on the Subway Cornered Me at the Last Stop

The subway was packed at that hour, that dead stretch of afternoon when it was no longer office time but still not night. I was traveling standing up, gripping the cold pole, wearing my headphones even though I hadn’t heard anything for a while. I’d dressed the way I like when I go out alone: black skinny jeans clinging to my legs and a loose tank top that left my shoulders bare. At twenty-one, I still find it hard to admit how much I enjoy clothes showing off my shape, someone looking at me twice and lingering in uncertainty.

The carriage braked suddenly and inertia shoved me backward. I crashed into someone. A large, solid body, the kind that took up space without asking permission. I noticed him before I could even turn around: the heat radiating from him, the weight holding me up without any apparent effort on his part.

I wanted to adjust myself, take the step forward that the invisible rules of public transportation demanded. But there was nowhere to go. The carriage was crammed, and with every sway, my back pressed against his chest again, my waist against something lower that was beginning to harden. The first time I thought it was accidental. The second time, I stopped thinking that.

He didn’t move away. Neither did I.

The train entered a long tunnel, and the metallic noise covered everything. I felt his breath trail down the back of my neck, warm against the chill of the air conditioning.

—Easy… —he murmured, barely a thread of a voice against my ear—. We’re getting off at the next stop.

I didn’t know whether he was talking to me or thinking out loud. The sentence hung there, as if the entire carriage had held its breath at the same time. I nodded. A tiny, almost automatic gesture, more to get through the moment than to answer him. But we both knew what that gesture meant.

What are you doing? I asked myself. I didn’t answer.

The train screeched as it braked into the station. The doors opened with a hiss, and people began pushing their way out. I tried to move forward with the crowd, but his large, rough hand closed around my hip and guided me with firm pressure, without violence, without hurry.

—This way, boy —he said.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order disguised as a whisper, and some part of me had already decided to obey long before he finished the sentence.

We stepped together onto a crowded platform. He kept me close, his enormous body acting as a shield against the crowd moving in every direction. Only then could I look at him properly. He was older, much older than me, with a weathered face and arms forged by some kind of work that wasn’t done in an office. He looked at me as if he already knew everything about me, as if he could read in my tight clothes every night I had tried on garments that weren’t meant for me in front of the mirror, fantasizing about feeling complete.

—Come on —he said, leading me toward a side corridor, away from the turnstiles.

The smell changed. Dampness, cheap disinfectant, the distant echo of trains filtering through the tiles. We reached the station bathrooms, a poorly lit place with cracked walls and a faucet dripping somewhere that no one ever seemed to fix.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder. He took a quick look around to make sure we were alone and turned the latch. The metallic click echoed louder than it should have.

—No one’s going to bother us here.

He turned me around against the wall. The cold tile struck my palms, and his chest pressed against my back, covering me completely.

—I saw you on the train —he said, his deep, hoarse voice pressed against my ear—. Moving like that, in those jeans, pretending not to notice. You drove me crazy.

His hands moved down my sides, spanning the taut fabric, recognizing every curve as if he had a right to. I felt his hard erection against me, pushing, claiming territory I still hadn’t given him completely.

—Tell me you want this —he demanded, biting my earlobe.

—Yes… —The word came out trembling, higher-pitched than I intended—. I want it.

He laughed softly, a guttural sound that vibrated against my neck.

—Good boy.

His fingers slipped beneath my tank top, traveling up my chest until they found my nipples, and he squeezed them without gentleness. The pinch tore a moan from me, caught somewhere between pain and something that wasn’t pain at all.

—Ahh… —I arched my back against him, my legs already weak.

The echo of a distant train covered the moment. He hurriedly undid my jeans and pulled them down to my knees along with my underwear, leaving me exposed to the cool bathroom air. His rough hand closed around me and began to stroke me, slowly at first, the wet sound of skin mingling with the dripping faucet.

—Look how hard you already are —he whispered against my neck—. And I’m only just starting.

—Please… —I pushed my hips against his hand without thinking, seeking more friction, more of everything.

He pulled his hand away abruptly. I heard him unzip, the rustle of fabric, and then felt his freed cock, thick and hot, pressed against me.

—Spread your legs and bend down a little —he ordered.

I obeyed. I braced my forearms against the wall and arched my back. He spit into his hand and prepared himself with slow, obscene movements, the wet sound echoing through the empty bathroom. Then he rubbed what remained against my entrance, making patient circles, measuring me.

—Relax —he murmured—. I’ll go slowly at first.

He pressed forward. I felt the broad, hot tip forcing its way in, and my whole body tensed.

—Mmm… ahh… it’s too much… —I moaned, biting my lip.

—Shh. Feel it going in.

He pushed with steady pressure, without pulling back. The ring of muscle slowly gave way, stretching around him until the head finally slipped inside with a wet pop and my body closed behind it, gripping him.

—Nnghh… —a sound escaped me that I didn’t recognize as my own—. You’re opening me up…

—That’s it, boy. The worst is over —he growled, advancing another centimeter.

I felt every ridge sliding inside me, brushing walls no one had ever touched with such intent. The heat of his flesh invaded me slowly, filling me little by little, and with every centimeter I let out a broken gasp.

—Oh… I can feel all of it… —I murmured when he finally buried himself completely, his body pressed tight against mine, his rough hair brushing my skin.

—All the way in —he purred, rolling his hips, moving inside me and finding a spot that made me see stars.

—Uhh… there… —I moaned uncontrollably, my legs trembling, my whole body contracting around him.

Then he really began to move. He pulled almost all the way out, leaving me empty for an instant, and drove back in hard. The sound of skin against skin filled the bathroom, mingling with the faucet, the echo of the trains, and my own gasps, which I no longer bothered to contain.

—Yes… like that… harder —I squealed with every thrust, my voice breaking.

He gripped my hips with both hands and sped up. The rhythm became brutal, precise, every blow tearing a new moan from me. I pressed my palms against the cold tile as if the wall could hold me up, but nothing was holding me anymore.

—You’re going to come like this —he said through clenched teeth, without asking permission—. With mine inside you.

He didn’t need to touch me. Pleasure rose from somewhere deep inside and burst without warning. I came against the wall, my body convulsing, clenching around him with a force that made him moan.

—Nnghh… here it comes… —he grunted, burying himself to the hilt one last time.

I felt him finish inside me, hot, every pulse accompanied by a deep sound rising from his chest. He stayed like that for a few seconds, pressed against my back, both of us breathing as if we had run for miles.

When he withdrew, he did it slowly. I leaned against the wall, my legs still trembling, not quite sure how I had gotten there from a subway car on an ordinary afternoon.

—Good boy —he murmured, giving me a gentle pat before zipping himself up.

He turned the latch and left without looking back, as if none of it had happened. I stayed another moment in that dirty, poorly lit bathroom, listening to a train pull into the station, thinking that the next time someone pressed against me in a crowded carriage, they wouldn’t need to say a thing.