Life’s been shitty. Big deal. I doubt that death would taste any better, either. So, I write, which is pretty much an in-between.
I write a lot because no one cares about listening to my adult ranting. That’s O.k. One thing I’ve sure learnt in these almost two decades living as a teenager is that it’s just okay that people don't really care about each other. This even makes way more sense than one that is constantly concerned about other people’s lives.
Soon it will be september again. (“You and me? I don’t remember. When did spring come in September?”). Yellow september. Anti suicide campaigns everywhere. I don’t really know where they got to call it “yellow”. Yellow sure represents despair way better than hope. No wonder why hope is represented by green. Green is like the opposite of yellow as well. Green is nature for food and shelter, yellow is the gold of greed and well, despair.
Plus, I’ve been specially distracted by a peak of sexual tension, and I've been clinging to that as a drug, with serious addiction levels.
I wonder if heterossexuality and monogamy are nothing but old-fashioned kinks. So, my parents educated me to chase these ideals as dogmas written in stone. But lately I’m getting more comfortable admitting that I love these- and many others! - kinks. In my very own personal way. (“My desires are...unconventional.”)
I have not the slightest idea right now of how it looks or feels like to be in a cabin all to myself in a train. Passenger trains are already a transportation modal that is far from usual in my third-world-latina reality. Unless we’re talking about urban trains and subways. But these don't have cabins. Not even a W.C.
So, I was intrigued by the idea of a private cabinet on a train. Somehow I imagined it like the space of an elevator, or such. Equipped with some...door? And then no one would see us inside, or come in. Would be our private, very very very small, mobile hotel room. Or so. I have no idea, and feel like Googling it would break a little bit of this silly imagination game.
The closest ambient I can imagine is the train WCs. And believe me, I can clearly visit and revisit all the dirty movies I’ve made in my mind during three or four of our train trips…
You send me a pic of your impressive cock. (“Something from last night..!”). Of course, pictures of this magnificent living monument to the male phallic genitalia are always welcome anytime. ANYTIME. From anytime from right now to any other moment that there is a picture of your dick was taken or will be.
Anyway, maybe it’s 2 a.m and all the other passengers are asleep. Corridor lights are dimmed, as the long night flights I faced a couple of couple of times across the Atlantic just to kiss your goddamned perverted smile once again. The sweetest motherfucker I’ve ever met. No doubt.
I would sure be wearing a skirt, for I’ll want to make my pussy easily accessible. But expect me to be wearing something on...or around it. It’s up to you to find out and deal with it.
A perfect scene so easy to picture. I’d sit on your lap, and no longer my feet would touch the floor. You’ll use your legs to spread mine, pressing your crotch against my buttcheeks, making sure I can feel your cock growing harder from under your pants. Would you take my panties off? Or would you carefully check on how wet I already am, before moving on..?
I imagine your long and impetuous fingers sliding decidedly into my throbbing soaked hole. (“How many fingers would you force in...?") Or would you think that I’m already so dripping wet that you will just lube all your fingers one by one, dipping them into my pussy juices and then use them to stretch my asshole...from the pinky to both thumbs.
You filled my mouth with your sticky fingers, forcing it open, as you slapped my face and pulled my hair, guiding me to suck your fingers clean and prepare my throat to get fucked.
In such a small place, I seem to feel even more tiny in contrast with your massive figure. I’m sure you’ll find the best position to ram your cock all at once down through my throat, until I’m suffocating, shaking, mutely begging in despair (“yellow, gold and greed”) for you to take it off and let me breathe, as you will force my hands to keep fingering my ass, toying my pussy or simply held tight, helpless while you try to feel the edge of whatever you are pushing inside my lower holes, with the head of your cock ripping me from the opposite end.
Sure, I’ll need to have makeup removal tissues at reach, because no beauty routine can barely survive two seconds of the wild facefucking session that follows.
What kind of positions could we explore in a cabin like that? I trust you to find a comfortable way of sitting hard on my face and let me drown while sucking your balls eagerly as my primaire mammal instincts demands. Coke me on your hot pulsating meat and smear my own spit over my eyes and mouth, serving your own delicious butthole for me to kiss in delight, and you’ll hear me moaning loud out of purest lustful pleasure.
It's difficult to put in reasonable words all the million dirty sequels for the previously narrated. I somehow don’t think you would bother to undress me for this fuck. Maybe taking off my panties, exposing my boobs from the bra cups under a partially destroyed shirt. Fuck me straight from over the fishnet stockings.
I’m soaked wet and drooling my pants while writing you these daydreams. I’m given, I’m open and exposed, but still I want to twerk on your cock with my ass instead to take you too roughly into my pussy, that haven’t been fucked for years...I want the ending where you pull me butts up to the floor or couch or whatever, and shoves your firehot dong intensely and deep enough to gap me tremendously open. I wanna cum with you slapping my cunt as I hold my gaping asshole beautifully thirsty to drink your hot sperm… I love to feel it gushing from my arse, in between my legs, dripping from your cock to my lips...my tits…
Yeah, I’m sure I’ve never been on a train cabin. But it must be fun.
