Her favourite time of day.
The escalators sigh downward, spilling forth the tired tides of office workers onto the subway platform. The less room there is, the more excited Roxy becomes. No matter that she is standing, and no seats remain as people wait and pace and stare at the incoming train times on the screens.
Roxy is an expert at getting a seat on the train. That’s where it’s essential to be seated. She has developed this into an art form. Sometimes she is a visibly pregnant woman. Other times, she has too many shopping bags and walks with a limp, wincing slightly at each step until someone offers her their seat.
Seven minutes late, the train arrives, sidling almost guiltily into its place beside the platform. Today, Roxy is wearing a summer dress and sandals, and has one ankle bandaged. She hobbles through the open door, looking expectantly left, then right.
She tries not to count the number of business-men already inside her carriage; tries to ignore the thrill on her skin as two men in suits brush against her. A tall man, seeing her incapacitated ankle, stands up and offers her his seat. She smiles her thankyou and sits down.
Finally. She is eye level with her favourite subject.
She pulls out a newspaper, as the train pulls out of the station. Her mind, however, is not on the news of the day, but rather, the views of the day.
Roxy is a connoisseur of cock.
And here, in this crowded carriage, a panorama of penises surround her. Most of them are elegantly zipped away in discreet wool-blend compartments, but Roxy has a very discerning eye. Like an expert gossip, she can fill in a lot of detail from the vaguest of outlines. The more crowded the train, the more thoroughly and diligently can she conduct her surveillance of this magnificent creature in all its fascinating variations.
Her eyes glide subtly from one to the other, noting the differences in volume and shape. Some lie to the left, others to the right. Roxy can deduce who wears what kind of underwear by the directionality of their compass-points – so to speak. Those gravitating southwards are swinging free in breezy boxers. Those curving north-east or north-west suggest the more humid atmosphere of Y-fronts.
Ride a little more with Roxy and Peek Hour here.
(The complete version of Peek Hour is published as part of the most recent anthology The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 13. The author requests that you respect copyright and NOT share this piece of writing in any way or form, via electronic media or otherwise without my consent in writing. Like it here. Or buy a copy here . Otherwise I will send the intellectual property police to whip your sorry ass.)
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