THE FOURTH TRAIN

The fourth train was the one where I finally got it right. As I've said before, by this time, I was of legal age, over eighteen. I was still struggling with college, having flunked a grade or two. Still living at home, but the situation with my parents was bad. We were fighting a lot. About the only good thing was that I was legal age to drink, so I didn't have to worry too much.

Basically, I was hanging out at this bar, relaxing and holding court. I was sitting with a bunch of guys, we had pulled two tables together, and they were competing to see who could buy me beer. I liked that, I liked it when I was the center of attention, you know.

I suppose I didn’t really get along with girls much, those days. Definitely not with girls my own age. The older women I knew in bars, they were fine, they were sort of like moms. Some liked me, some didn’t, but you know, I didn’t worry much. When there was a girl my age, there was some wariness, there was always a degree of rivalry and sexual competition. It was like, they divided the attention, you know.

And I think, back in those days, with college being this pit of hell, failing or fucking up everything, and the endless home wars, I think that... You know, being attractive to men, being the star of their show was really important. So you know, when someone else is taking the limelight away, of course, I was a little threatened. Threatened enough that I really didn’t have female friends, and didn’t really hang out.

It wasn’t overt, I wasn’t psycho about it, you know what I mean. I wasn’t getting into catfights, and I wasn’t poaching boyfriends just to feed my ego. Well, okay, I poached once or twice, and flirt-poached a few times. But even then, I really felt that it was toxic and mean and not at all the way I wanted to see myself. I didn’t like myself doing it, and so I tried to keep away from it.

Of course, just to be honest, maybe I was afraid of being beaten up. Once was terrifying enough, getting ganged up on in the girl’s locker room. But no, I don’t think I thought about that much, except after.

Partly, maybe one of the big reasons I didn’t like to poach was that if a guy was with a girl.... Well, okay, he’s taken, and maybe I could show my sexual power by taking him. But on the other hand, she’s off the board, you know. I mean, she’s not really competing with me, so I could relax a little more with her.

Actually, years later, I found I was remembered well for it, at least a little bit, and kind of considered an honourable slut by a some of the girls from back then. And you know... I’m sitting there with them, and all I could think was how fucking lucky I’d been. Because these bitches could have made my life a living hell back then, and they didn’t. Not more than they already had, and not more than it already was.

But you know, I remember the way I was back then, and it’s not hard to see myself deliberately going out and doing things that would have had them hating me... And then... Oh my. Lucky, I was just lucky.

Or maybe desperate, because you know, if I lost this.... Well, there weren’t that many other places in my life back then where I could go.

Anyway, hanging out with guys was infinitely preferable, especially when there were no other girls around. Then I didn’t have to worry about competition and rivalry. I could just take it for granted that they were all interested in me, they all wanted to be my friend, they all wanted me to like them. Sure, they just wanted to fuck me. But, so what?

I’ve got a lot of good memories of just hanging out in bars, sitting at tables with two or three or a handful of guys, laughing and joking, never paying for my own drinks, and talking and listening and it was just cool, you know. I was never ever alone in a bar. I mean, even if I walked in and didn’t know a person, I’d just sit down with a table of guys, and there we’d go. Good times.

So this time, this was actually one of my favourite bars, it was part of this old hotel, so you’d go out the side into this little lobby and you could rent a room. The bartender was nice, he knew I was underage, but he didn’t hassle me. More just kind of looked out for me. And I paid that back mostly by being respectful and not fucking up or drawing too much attention. This was the place where I did the 69 year old guy for his birthday. It was a neat place, all kinds of people came through, regulars who’d been going there 40 years, guys in suits, workers, everyone. Strippers at supper time and all day Fridays and Saturdays. I nagged them to get male strippers in once or twice, but you know, not really seriously and it never happened. They tried live music once, didn’t work out.

I was sitting at these two tables, that we’d pulled together. Me and a half dozen guys. I was sitting at the head, or at least that’s what it seemed like. Holding court, and just joking around. I think I’d blown a couple, but I’m pretty sure I hadn’t had actual sex with any of them. But you know, I did have this reputation at the time. So, there was a lot of sexual tension, a lot of it, and I didn’t mind. It made things interesting.

Anyway, we were going back and forth, and there was no shortage of half-assed double entendres that made me laugh because they were so stupid. You know, it’s funny, but like, I was entertained back then because it was stupid, and I knew it was stupid, and I thought they knew it was stupid too, sort of like this joke we were all in on. But looking back... Maybe they really were that stupid. Wow.

But we were sitting there laughing, and it got on to junk food. I think I was getting a little hungry. And I said something like, “You know what? I would fuck you all for a bag of hickory sticks.”

Hickory sticks were this candy, sort of like potato chips. I remember I used to eat it all the time as a kid, it was my favourite. I don’t even know if they make it now, or ever made it anywhere but southern Ontario. I remember looking for it in Minneapolis. Hickory is a kind of wood, isn’t it? Never mind.

Anyway, a light bulb must have gone off in someone’s head. We just kept talking and stuff, but five minutes later, there was this bag of hickory sticks in front of me. For a moment, the whole table was just silent, we were speechless. Because we all knew what I’d just promised, and here it was. Then, you know, I burst out laughing and we all had a good laugh.

I ripped open the bag. Someone reached for some, and I pulled the bag away. Uh uh, all mine, mine, mine.

So Eve, are you really going to do it.

I might. Grinning like a Cheshire, stuffing sticks in my mouth.

You won’t, you’re just fucking with us.

Maybe.

You’re such a fucking tease.

Hey, I said it, I’ll do it, if you’re all man enough.

Oh yeah, we’re all men.

Mmm hmm?

If you’re up for it, we’ll do you like a freight train.

Okay, this is kind of recreated dialogue, which is why its kind of sucky. My memory is not perfect, sometimes its more flavour and images. And I’m a lot better remembering how I felt at a particular moment than what someone actually said in their actual words. But you know, back then, mostly we called it gang bangs, and that freight train comment sticks in my mind, cause that’s the first time I ever heard anyone talk about it like a train.

But the other thing was, you know, this back and forth. Psyching each other out, kind of joking and half not joking. It was like this big game of dare, but we were laughing a lot.

So I’m going, fine. Do you have condoms? Show me condoms! And you know, one guy actually had some in his wallet, which everyone found absolutely hysterical. And then there were these little trips to the bathroom and this little pile of condoms growing in front of me.

And I’m saying, well, really. This isn’t many. I thought we were talking gangbang here? I mean, this isn’t even a start.

Somebody claimed that his condoms were extra large. Bullshit, they were all getting them from the vending machine. But you know, we were oohing and ahhing over cherry flavoured and unlubricated and ribbed, whatever it was spitting out.

I said, “This isn’t extra large! This isn’t even a condom! This is just a pencil wrapper!”

We just fucking roared, you know. He’s going, “No, no, it’s a condom, and it’s extra large.”

So I replied, “Are you sure?” I’m holding it up to the light and squinting and going, “It says ‘pencil wrapper’”

“No! It’s a condom!”

And I’m turning it around and around and going, “Oh wait, there’s writing on the back here. It says, if you have a horny little monkey, this pencil wrapper can be used as a condom for horny little monkey sex.”

“Extra large monkey!”

We were just killing each other, you know.

That part of the conversation, I remember that clearly, because it was so much fun. Also, from that point on, everyone was calling him Monkey. Although sometimes we called him Horny Little Monkey and sometimes Extra Large Monkey. That nickname stuck for a long time, I remember.

But it just kept on. Really, it was the only topic of conversation. Everything came around and back to the gangbang, to the joking that wasn’t quite joking, that whole will she or won’t she thing. I was enjoying it, I loved the heightened tension, the edge to the play.

And at some point I said, well, get a room. Because I’m not doing it on this table. We all laughed at that. I’m going to be doing all the work, so you have to pay for the room. Or fuck it.

And a few minutes later, there was a hotel room key.

I’d like to say, okay, that’s the moment when it got serious. But I don’t think it was. I really can’t pinpoint when we sort of tipped over from talking about it to actually committing to it.

Partly, it was because the idea wasn’t scaring me. I mean look, I’d fucked the hockey team. It hadn’t been fun. It had been kind of sludgy and alienating, but fuck, you know, if I could get through that, I could handle anything. Especially, I figured I could handle them.

Besides, I knew these guys. I liked these guys. I liked this bar, this was a place where I’d had adventures, where I was welcome and had friends and felt comfortable. I’d fucked hockey players, and wow, they were such assholes. So you know, the thought of doing these guys, it wasn’t filling me with terror or anything.

And they were so eager. I could see the eagerness peaking out behind their joking. I was amused, and felt superior, but it was an affectionate superior. I just felt confident and in control, and the way they played to it, literally laying offerings at my feet, it made me feel like I was on top of things. I think in some ways, they were even a little intimidated, an intimidation that I didn’t feel at all.

Looking back, I think maybe even that first joke I made... That the idea of really doing it might have been there, or at least, that the idea wasn’t so unacceptable that I couldn’t joke about it. Maybe, on some level, I really was setting it out on the table, and if I hadn’t liked the way it went, I would have just said okay, it’s a joke but its not funny now, and shut it off. But you know, it turned out to be okay enough that I went through with it.

Oops! Did I just give the big surprise away. Probably not, considering the title. Still, anyone who wants their money back can just go up and ask the manager for a full refund, or complimentary tickets to the next showing.

In some ways, actually, I think we dragged it out. I mean, sitting around the table, joking and flirting, we were all on safe ground. We knew where we were and what it was about. But the thing was, when we went up to that room, you know.... Entering the empty space. They really wanted to go there, they were entranced by what was promised, but you know, they were a little afraid.

Probably real guy fears. Will I be able to perform? What if I’m too fast? What if I’m small? But more than that, you know, I think there was probably this big existential dread. I think on some level, men fear women, and you know.... As much as they want it, they’re a little afraid of it. Or maybe that’s bullshit.

After a while though, you know, we all wound up going up. First one to open the room, and then me and another guy, and then the others, one at a time. Six in all. What? You thought we’d all just go on past the desk clerk as a group? Fuck that, he’d have figured we were having a room party and kicked us all out. So, of course, we had to sneak our way up.

So, we watched the first guy. They wrote down the hotel room number on little pieces of paper. We counted down on our watches. It was totally secret agent mission, really silly in hindsight. The wait, that whole one at a time thing, added to the tension. I remember when it was my turn, it was all duh duh da DUH! I had butterflies in my stomach, walking down that hall.

The hotel room: Well, it was kind of crap, you know. Cheap 1950's style hotel room, with furniture that was almost that old. Everything was painted white about fifteen times, and you couldn’t open the window or see the moldings cause it was all painted over, even where the paint was chipped it was painted over. The air had that vaguely musty smell, and the bedspread was a little faded. Queen sized bed, and I remember, ultra-soft. When I laid on the mattress, I practically sank right into it, I’ve been on waterbeds that were firmer.

The most awkward moment was when we were all getting together up there. It took about fifteen minutes. Do we start? No, we should wait. The room is filling up, I mean, there were seven of us in all, and you know, that’s not a lot of space in that room. All of the joking we’d done downstairs, one guy tried and it just fell flat that was finished, and it was actually hard for us to even look at each other. I think that was the closest I came to changing my mind. I sat on the desk, swinging my legs, I wasn’t going near the bed. Someone stood by the window, another sat on the bed, another on the chair, one guy watched the door, opening it as we knocked. I think he was the happiest, he actually had something to do, he was Doorman.

I’d love to write that I was completely on top and in control and confident and fearless all the way through. I sure as shit hope that I seemed that way. The truth was, I was excited, but nervous. I was thinking, hockey team, and wondering if this was a mistake. But at the same time, I felt I’d painted myself into a corner with my bravado and joking down there. I didn’t feel that I could back out, and really, even if it wasn’t a good experience, like... I’d had the crap experience, I’d rather do the crap experience again than lose face in front of them. Is that insane?

The last one in, actually, saved us. I don’t remember his name. I honestly don’t remember any of their names. I know the faces, so that’s okay. He was the tall skinny one, I would have guessed he had the biggest cock, but I was wrong. Anyway, when he came in, he brought out a joint. We all agreed, we needed a toke.

So, he lit it up, I took the second hit, guest of honour, and held it in my lungs, as we all solemnly passed it around. It wasn’t really strong or anything, and there was only enough for one lung full apiece really. By the time it got to the end, there was nothing. So none of us got a real buzz or anything. But the thing was, it kind of gave us all a common ground, a shared experience, this sort of platform.

I exhaled finally, and after we were done with it, I said, “I want to see your cocks.”

Which blew them away for some reason. They kind of were shocked. Who gets undressed first in these kinds of situations? Mostly, I think, that women just don’t pull enough trains. I mean, etiquette never gets the chance to really develop. Who does what? What’s the proper thing to do? You can’t leave this kind of thing to men... They can barely go to the bathroom unsupervised.

So, you know, that turned into this big argument, which was kind of fun. It was almost like downstairs again, except we didn’t have beer. It kind of gave us something to go on about that wasn’t quite facing it.

Anyway, the big compromise was that I would take my top off, if they took theirs out. They wanted me to take the bra off, but if I did that, their pants had to come completely off, and some of them just weren’t ready for it. It was practically on a count of three. It was almost a negotiation, looking back,

I think both sides were looking for that irrevocable commitment. I mean, what if you take your penis out and I laugh and run out of the room? What if I get undressed, and there’s all of you standing there in your clothes? It was negotiating vulnerability and insecurity and a bunch of stuff that I never really thought about until now, as I sit here writing about it all.

So, I got to see their cocks. A couple I had seen before, most I hadn’t. One was bigger than I thought it would be, a couple weren’t hard, one of those was pretty small. The guy with the small cock was defensive, I mean, they were checking each other out (but not admitting it) more than I was. He said it wasn’t hard yet, but it would get bigger. So you know, typical guy bullshit razzing.

So I said, well, okay, bring it here. To where I was sitting on the desk, swinging my legs. He came close and I reached down and pulled his hand away from his penis, and started fondling it gently, squeezing and stroking it. I told him it was all okay. It swelled and hardened quickly in my hand, and you know, I just had this flash that he was really inexperienced.

I’m kind of proud of that moment. I could have been a shit, but I wasn’t. There was a moment there, in that situation, where I was gentle, and I did the right thing, where I was caring. I think it made him trust me, and it made the rest of them trust me. Suddenly, you know, they weren’t all there on the sexual chopping block. They were with someone who was prepared to accept them, even forgive them.

He asked if he could touch my breast. I said yes. I remember him cupping them through the bra, tracing the feel of a hardening nipple with his fingertip. Very gentle. It made me smile.

Then someone else came close, so I reached down to handle his penis, already erect too. His hands reached for my breasts too.

It was so cool, I mean reaching down and holding two hot cocks in my hands. I mean, it was absolutely cool, every girl should do that at least once in her life. It was just neat. I wanted to giggle.

Take off my bra, I told them. Two sets of hands reached around behind me. They did manage, without too much fumbling. I felt arms holding me, almost like a hug. Then it slid down my shoulders, and I was sitting there topless in front of them with nothing but my jeans and sneakers. I was flushed, blushing, like the tops of my shoulders were red, my nipples were so fucking hard.

I felt really excited you know. Sexual excitement, but more than that. I felt like this thrill, like when I went bungee jumping, just before I jumped. That kind of excitement. It was wild, and bold, and my stomach was full of butterflies.

But you know, still not quite ready to take that jump into free fall.

“Everyone wears condoms,” I said. “Like, no sex without condoms, period. And no rough stuff. And no talking about it afterwards. And everyone gets naked.”

They all agreed. You know what, I didn’t believe for a second that they wouldn’t talk about it. But I just wanted to set some ground rules you know. But anyway, I hopped off the desk, and then we were all taking off our clothes in an unsexy way. It was like we were stripping down for gym class, you know.

And then they were all naked with me. And you know, the other times, it hadn’t been like that at all. It hadn’t been them all standing there naked, with erections bobbing, looking at me and kind of wanting to fondle me. You know what, it was cute! You never know how you’re going to feel in a situation, and like, you know, I thought, maybe I’d feel threatened or insecure or overwhelmed. But you know, it was just they were so fucking cute.

“Hey,” I said, “after this, let’s all go in the sauna!” They didn’t laugh, and probably you didn’t. But you know what, I still think it’s fucking funny.

I wasn’t quite wet. Like, excited, but not really sexually ready. I thought maybe you know, I should sneak off and use some lubricant. Then I thought, well, I bet all I need to do is finger myself. Then, and I think, that’s sort of when it started to hit me, I don’t have to, they’ll all do it for me.

So I sat down on the side of the bed and you know, said, okay. I want someone to lick my pussy, and whoever does that best, they get to be the first one. So the first one down was Extra Large Little Horney Monkey, and he just went to town eagerly down there. He wasn’t really great, but you know, enthusiastic, like he really wanted to taste. I leaned back laying flat on the bed, I sank right into it. And I said, someone get on the bed to play with my breasts. Two guys climbed on. They were sort of all over with their hands, but then the one on the left just settled on sucking my nipple, and the other kept his hands roving. That left three, I guess they watched. I remember, one was on the other side of the bed, jerking off, and if I bent back my head, I could see him upside down, jerking off. I said, ‘save some for me,’ and winked.

And you know what. I was really having fun. I mean, I’d pulled three trains, but it wasn’t like I really knew what to expect. And this was different, this was totally different from any of them, and I was really surprised at how comfortable I was feeling. I was really just amazed at how much fun it was.

Three boys did their work, and Little Horney Ultra Large Monkey was getting sneaky, like alternating between fingering me while licking me. And I was ready, yes I was. So I said fuck me. And the other guys, the ones who were feeling me backed off, which was totally disappointing. He climbed up me and hovered, I reached down, to hold his cock, lifted my legs and wrapped them around his ass, and just kind of pushed him in me. I gasped, and then he was just thrusting wildly, out the starting gate like a bucking bronco. I whooped. He just pounded madly, you know, know rhythm, no pace, no control. And of course, he came in a minute. He didn’t want to let on, but I felt him freeze up, and then he tried to keep on. So I reached down, and yeah, his cock was softening. So I said it was okay to stop now.

The next one, someone was already trying to come up on me, but I twisted around and reached for the guy who’d been sucking my nipple. I wanted him next, and pulled him onto the bed with me by his penis, and just half straddled me. It took a second for his cock to find me, then I drew him in, and he came almost right away. Thank fucking god for rubbers, I thought. Geez, first five minutes and we’re through two. The other one, the one who’d tried to climb on me was just so fucking eager, so I spread my legs. He kind of knelt between my thighs and then slid his cock in and he was good. I could see him, and he practically had a vein in his forehead throbbing, he was trying so hard not to come right away, eyes crossed. But he didn’t, he fucked really good.

That’s always the thing with trains. The first guy or two, usually they’re sort of like appetizers. I don’t know, maybe it’s that stress of being ‘first guy.’ They usually come pretty fast. Sometimes they don’t even come, they lose their erections. It’s not a rule, sometime’s its not like that. But you know often enough, that I’m pretty sure there’s some kind of ‘guy thing’ operating.

This one was good though, he made me come. Which wasn’t hard, because I really wanted to. Hey, I’d gone through three guys in like two minutes. If it was all like this, then you know... We’d be finished in the time it took to order pizza. So I had to get mine in fast.

But then, you know, something started happening. I got... I started to get fucking ravenous. Like, I wanted it. I wanted to fuck. It kind of crept up a little, from normal fucking, to just craving it. I wanted more, and more. He came, and I wanted the next one. I straddled him, and started humping my body hard, I grabbed his hands and slapped them on my breasts.

I wanted a cock in my mouth. I demanded. Fuck me, yes. Harder. Give me your cock I want to suck it while I fuck him. Yes, get on the bed. Now. He could hardly stand. I lunged at his cock, I think it was Monkey, but you know, I didn’t give a shit, it was a cock and it was mine. It was only half hard, I sucked it right into my mouth. Underneath me, the cock inside fell out, and I reached quickly down, positioned it, and just rammed down hard. It was really awkward, the bed was too soft for the guy I was sucking to stand easily. He was all over, and even wrapping my fingers around his thigh, he was falling out of my mouth, or the guy below was falling out of me. It was frustrating, and it seemed to stoke my fire. I was just fucking incandescent. He was hard. Put a condom on, I ordered.

I climbed off, positioned myself on all fours on the bed, my face was right at the edge. Like this, like this, like this! My voice was strained. Behind me, he was just scrambling up, trying to get behind me to fuck me doggy style. I remember the bed bouncing and sinking as his knees and weight positioned behind me, and then his hands were on my ass gripping them. Oh fucking yes! And he sank his cock in, and it went deep, and he started pounding, still gripping my ass. My mouth found another cock, and I made this completely animal noise as I went down on it. I stopped and reared, spittle flying off it. Someone play with my tits, pinch my nipples! And it happened! Hands were all over me. I took my head off again, more spittle, and this time, ‘finger me, finger me as he’s fucking, finger my clit! And finger up the ass!’

I couldn’t believe the way I sounded, as if I wasn’t me. Eve had stepped out for a second, and there was this ravenous she-beast. A finger punched roughly into my ass, dirty fingernail cutting for a second, but no one reached for my clit. Frustrated, I reached underneath to try and do it myself, but it fucked up my balance, so I missed. He slipped out behind me, found me, thrust back in, and then I was coming. And ooooohhhh fuck, it was good.

He didn’t stop while I tried to catch my breath. Just kept pounding desperate thrusts, and then he came himself. I rolled over on my back, legs spread, waiting for the next body to climb over me, and it did. I pulled him close arching my belly against his, licking my neck, just wrapping my legs around him and holding him so he couldn’t thrust hard while I let the ripples fade, and then we started up again. And after him, another, but he wasn’t enough. Even while he was fucking me, while his cock was in me, it wasn’t enough.

I wanted more. I just wanted more and more, and it didn’t matter that I already had a cock in me, or that I was clawing my own breasts, arching my back, all but convulsing on the bed. I wanted it, I wanted the smell of them in me. I wanted them in my mouth, I wanted their hands on my body.

The next one, I was on the edge of the bed. I half fell, half climbed off, straddled him on the floor, while someone stood behind me mangling my breasts and when I came I clawed my fingernails down his chest leaving red marks and pounding myself so hard on his pelvis I think I bruised him.

And then no one was hard any more. So I just sucked whoever wanted to be sucked, and fingered myself, spreading my legs wide and arching my hips. And when it was hard, I just pulled a condom on and straddled it or bent for it, or did whatever, reaching for the next while feeling this one starting to move inside me.

Then a face between my legs, and hands on my breasts, changing positions constantly, and two guys fingering me, and then I was sucking this guy but he wasn’t getting hard so I started sucking his balls in my mouth and sneaking my finger up his ass, when that worked, I just climbed straight up, rolling a condom on literally as I positioned myself over him, to slam my cunt down desperately in a handful of angry thrusts chasing my orgasm before he lost his erection.

One of them left early, which pissed me off. I remember grabbing his pants to try and stop him. But then I let him go, and just grabbed someone else.

It was great, it was so fucking great. I felt unstoppable. I felt like I was just devouring them, chewing them up and swallowing them down. I was hungry for them. Finally, my last orgasm, I was fingering my clit and just jamming, humping my crotch in this guy’s face, and leaning up against someone their limp cock inches from my face, I’d reach and take it in my mouth and let it fall out, and I came one last time. And I was just this sweating, soaked, gasping, panting, red flushed mess... And I’d flattened them, totally flattened. But you know, if they could have kept going, I wouldn’t have stopped, I would have fucking well kept on and kept on and kept on.

And that was it. After a while, no one could get it up, like, not for anything, and they were all tired and I had a good come, so I relaxed. And you know, relaxing, I just kept on, and this unstoppable heat, this relentless urge just kind of dissipated, and without really picking a moment, it just seemed to be over.

There were used condoms all over the place. And condom wrappers. It really struck me as funny. I laid there on the bed as they kind of gathered them all up and tried to flush them a half dozen times. The trick to flushing condoms, by the way, is to tie a knot in them.

So we turned on the TV and channel flicked until we found much music. The first guy to leave, I mean, apart from the one who left in the middle, I don’t remember. Someone went to the toilet. There was washing up, I heard the sink. I started thinking, you know, a shower might be nice.

It was friendly at the end. I think they were feeling a little overpowered. But kind of happy, I mean why not, they came as many times as I could make them. There was some joking around and talking, a little awkward...what’s the etiquette on post-gangbang conversation? But really, I was just kind of feeling a good happy glow. Some of them kind of stuck around, until finally, I said (in a friendly way) “Go already.”

Then, you know. I was alone on this sweaty bed with its damp sheets. Just stretching out and wriggling my toes. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I was just fucking amazed. And you know, being alone after that, that was great. I was just kind of absorbing being there. I would have killed for a smoke, or a toke, or a drink or a beer, or anything. Nothing.

Anyway, I just kind of laid there for a little while, then I got up and had a shower. Padded restlessly around the hotel room. It smelled of them still, and of me, the place reeked of sex. And I was a little sad they’d cleaned up all the condoms, it just kind of went with the ambiance of the experience.

I was sated, you know, but not quite satisfied. I could have kept on going. If they’d come back, or a new crew knocked on the door, well fuck, who knows? But I didn’t need to keep going. I was past that. So, for a little while longer, I just lazed around.

Then I went down to the bar. They’d all split, except for a couple who were playing pool. The tall guy and Extra Large Horney Monkey. So I kind of pressed myself up against them, but you know, not really interested, just being affectionate. I left them to their game, and found someone else I knew to sit with.

And I said, “Guess what I just did...”

That was pretty much it. I jerked off a guy in the bathroom, just for the fun of it. Then we sat in his car and smoked a couple of joints. And then I went home, somewhat early for a change. I think my energy was running out and I was getting tired finally. But I was really happy and cheerful and if Mom and Dad wanted to fight, well, it’s not happening tonight.

I remember thinking, okay, this time I got it. I got it right. I’d mastered the gangbang. Oh yeah, I was it, that’s right. I was all that, believe it. Slept like a baby. And that’s the story.

Looking back, you know, I’m just grinning my ass off as I write this. Fucking great. The only thing that wasn’t so great was that homophobia that guys have. You know when you’re all on the bed and his leg touches another his’s leg, and suddenly they’re just like... Okay, separate corners of the bed now. Like, for fuck’s sake, grow up. They were all too wary of each other, they’d be checking each other out, but god forbid they should accidentally or even deliberately touch while playing with me. That’s why I couldn’t get my clit fingered (assuming they knew where it was) while I was fucking.... Oooh, scary, too close to another guy’s penis! If they’d just been a bit more comfortable with each other, I mean, comfortable enough to get close and not worry about it while they were all paying attention to me and doing stuff for me.... then it would have been perfect. But as it was... Not bad.

I didn’t have the toxic blowback that I got from pulling the first train. I think it was just, you know, the whole social thing in the bar was different. It’s a lot smaller than high school, everyone is there to just get along, they don’t have to be there, and you know, they’d see me and have to talk to me after. What I found was that everyone was still nice to me after, which was cool. It took a lot of the potential sting out, or maybe it took the mystification, the bad taint out of it.

I suppose the story got around, and probably you know, they passed unflattering judgements. There were hints of that kind of thing, like, I’d hear about people saying ugly things, or if a guy was too drunk, he’d mouth off. But big deal, the world runs on gossip and cutting people down behind their backs.

But mostly, to my face, people were nice. And you know, if anything, I was more popular than ever. I mean, a lot of guys probably thought, hey, if she pulls trains, maybe she’ll pull one for us. And shy guys would think, if she’d pull a train, maybe she’d fuck me. I suppose it worked both ways, my sexual reputation intimidated others maybe. I don’t know, if guys stayed away from me because of my reputation, there were enough who were attracted that I never noticed.

I think there was even genuine respect and admiration there too. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but I think it came as much from how I acted afterwards as the fact that I did it. Like, hey, I’d taken on a half dozen guys, and then I just kept on being myself the next day and the day after. I was tough, I was cool, you had to respect that. Eve was the can-do go-go go-hard girl, and she was still nice to people.

After that, I pulled a lot of trains. Not constantly or anything, but you know. I did a lot. There was no terror. Like, the fact is this - any woman, any fucking woman can take on a half dozen= hard men and go through them like a buzz saw. We can just do it, you know, we can fuck and fuck and fuck, and unless we get like a bunch of athletes, we’ll handle it. That’s real power, like, the woman power that we aren’t supposed to acknowledge.... We just have this greater sexual power. Don’t get me wrong, you know, I can be satisfied with one guy. But I can do more...

I’d found my power. I found the secret. I mean, the first few... The first one was just, you know, kind of emotions and weakness and I kind of left that feeling fucked over. And the second one, the black guys, was okay, but sort of ambiguous. And then the next one, the hockey team, that was just self destructive. But this one, I felt elated. Like I’d solved it, like I understood how it worked, and how to make it work...

So, I wanted more. Mostly, they were fairly deliberate. Guys would hear I've pulled one, they'd ask and then call friends; or sometimes it was just I'd be sitting with a group. Sometimes I'd get invited to a party where I knew in advance I was the only girl. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out where that one was going. It was totally unconnected with school though, I'd learned my lesson there. (You know why high school boys don't get laid? They fucking well don't deserve to!)

Mostly, it was the bar and low life culture that I hung around with back then.

I shouldn't call them low lifes, but geez. I'm trying to think of a better name. They were basically the people I hung out with. Guys who'd hang out in bars on weekday afternoons playing pool and relaxing. Small time drug dealers or bootleggers, petty criminals, shoplifters, B&E artists, or maybe just guys on welfare or between real jobs. I'd float around inner city apartments and booze cans. It was all really casual and friendly, and comfortable in a seedy, run down way. Hmm. Maybe low lifes is good.

I wasn't doing it like every night, or even every week. I was just... Open to doing it, I guess. So, maybe between that one and the time I left home, maybe a half dozen. That's not so bad. Maybe one every month or couple of months, though it didn't space out like that. I did two in one week, once.

Memorable ones? Well, there was four guys in a van once, where I learned a very important lesson: Don't have sex in vans.

Basically, I was hanging out shooting pool on the hill, and we sort of talked about it, and I said okay with these four guys and we went to this van in the parking lot. It wasn't finished inside, not like you'll see in car shows. It was just basically the rough metal. They put a blanket in for me, but geez, that was nothing. It was really uncomfortable and awkward, and they all wanted to be in at once, but there wasn't room, so a couple of guy sat up front and looked back. The van rocked constantly, and it wasn't flat, there wasn't room to stretch out or anything, so it was like, I'd have somebody's elbow in my face and I'd be twisted around. And it smelled in there, not good male smell, but like ucky smells, oil and machine parts and cleaning solvents.

When it was over, and I was getting out, I saw some of the guys from the bar had come out to watch the van rock. I was so embarrassed and angry. I just went back to the bar, they asked if I'd had fun, and I just said 'fuck you.' Like, I never ever did any of those guys that came out to watch the van rock, and some of them asked. I hate vans, they're just so like stupid sleazy. They just offend me, they're pathetic. I've done it in cars and even in pickup trucks, but never ever again in a van.

After that, I basically put my foot down and required that they get a room if they wanted me to pull a train for them.

Listen, if you're so pathetic and broke and fucked up that a bunch of you together can't afford a room... Why is any girl wasting her time with you? Look, save up money to have 'losers' tattooed on your foreheads so the rest of us can steer clear.

And I did a rock band after their concert once. Well, actually, it was a jumped up garage band, you know. The sorts that get to be opening acts for real rock stars. They had a few CD's out, so I guess, you know, middle of the road.

And it wasn't the whole band itself, it was the drummer and the bass player and some roadies. Mostly roadies. It was an okay experience, I guess. But I went away from it feeling kind of 'bleagh', like, big fucking deal. Disappointment I guess. I thought it would be rock stars all full of magnetism and electricity, but instead it was just stage crew and electrician assholes in their jeans and T-shirts with no style. I guess the actual band members liked to pick one on one. They'd just cut the prettier groupies out of the herd and let the roadies try and clean up on their leavings. I guess I didn't make the cut. Which was sort of degrading. That was the end of that particular thing, being a groupie lost its appeal. I was nobody's leavings, fuck that.

Anyway, that kind of woke me up that doing the whole groupie thing was just a bag of shit. I mean, like in music, there's lots of guys I'd do, like Robert Palmer, or Tommy Lee, Rob Zombie, Leonard Cohen (he's god). Not really into the boy bands they're just too featureless for me, they're polished so smooth they have no identity, its like ken dolls having a band. And lets face it, Mick Jagger should be in a wheelchair.

But I'm wandering. The point is like, I think I'd require a certain amount of respect. Hmmm. I'm just not making sense here.

Look, you know, I'm just not into being a disposable kleenex slut for guys who won't remember my face while they're fucking me.

There was another one, they rented like a four star hotel room for me and came up one at a time. These were University students at McMaster, so they had a bit of money. It was sort of good and bad. The hotel was the most luxurious place I'd ever been in my whole life. The room came with its own bathrobe, and the bathroom alone was bigger than some places I've lived in. I was up way high, overlooking the harbour and it was just gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. I remember being up real late, scarfing down room service and watching the sunrise coming up. It was a good moment.

But I didn't like them coming up one at a time, or the five or ten minute gaps where there was nothing much happening between them leaving and coming in. I didn't like having to 'relate' to them over and over, instead of it being some luxurious fantasy experience, it wound up being sort of draining. They got dull and repetitive. It was like they all read the same script, they just acted so generic it got hard to see them as persons and not as time wasters. I didn't care who they were, not really. It's shocking to admit how shallow I was. They'd come in and sit down, undress, talk to me or not talk, and I found I cared less and less about them. They just got tiresome. The sex itself was fine, but everything surrounding it just became drearier. I realized I'd have preferred it if they'd all been in the room at the same time, so I could just have one or the other and skip all the awkward talking and trying to relate to them.

Like, maybe it would have been cooler if I'd stuck bags over their heads.

That was a sort of odd thing to realize. That I was as shallow as they were. Well, not shallow, you know, but sort of that I had my own dynamic. Like, the thing was, it was just sex, and I didn't really want to have to care about them, relate to them, or any of that shit. It just took energy out of me.

I remember being kind of bugged that I hadn't liked it more. At the time, I guess I just figured I just liked it sleazy, but now, I don't know. I think things were a little more complicated.

I mean, how do hookers deal with serial trains? One man at a time, one after the other, where you've got to talk to each fucking one of them and pretend they're all special. Like, I don't think they can do it, not really. I think they just sort of back off and go all burger king and plastic it all up, making that minimal contact putting borders all around it, and sexually, I don't think it's all that satisfying for anyone for that reason.

You know what I've noticed? Everyone, men and women, tend to romanticize hookers. But I don't see prostitution as romantic at all. There's this idea that prostitutes are free-er or more sexual or sensual, that they're about sex or fucking. I don't see them that way. I see them as tired women who've walled themselves off from their bodies and from other people and made it all plastic and uninvolving. It's like they're crummy waitresses in a crummy greasy spoon, except they're better dressed and on their back. I don't like it at all.

But anyway, maybe doing that one sort of gave me this insight into why hookers are the way they are. Maybe they need to be that way to cope.

I'd used to get the feeling that in a train, it was like there were two teams. Them and you. Not terribly equal. A lot of trains have that, some more than others. And, you know, that can be a really fucked up and kind of unpleasant situation to be in. Listen, if you're going into this thing looking for some kind of emotional bonding, forget it, you're going to die in the cold. Cause they bond with each other, not with you. That doesn't mean that they don't relate to you, or have a relationship with you, but its not that way it is with single people.

The thing with sex is that you can get all these things out of it. But they're different things. You can get love, or intimacy, closeness, tenderness, sharing, hard raunchy excitement, like, lots of stuff. Maybe you can get lots of different things. But sex isn't just about the same things, and you get different things from different kinds of sex. So you don't get the warm tender fuzzies from pulling a train, no way, not available.

But at the same time, there's other stuff you pull from it. But you sort of have to reach for it. I liked pulling a train all at once, having them in the room with me or one after another, bang bang bang. Fuck this relating to them. They're my meat, they're there for my pleasure, and I want that pleasure, I want that excitement, that intensity. I want them hard for me. I want them eager for me, they can fuck around and joke around with their buddies, but I don't want them there for any reason but me.

Like once I had the knack of it, what I really hated was the class clown. You know, the idiot who'd be there and start carrying on and laughing and joking. He took attention away from me. Well, that's part of it. The thing is that those guys are just disruptive assholes, self-absorbed, they think they're funny when they're just being offensive. One guy acted out so much, I just quit in the middle, I said fuck this, its him or me. He was getting drunk, and he'd give out these rebel yells and shout "It's Ho-Time!!!" and he was more interested in just being with his buddies and fucking around and impressing them with how fucking funny he was or something, like he had this need to be the center of attention. They tried to argue because he was their buddy, and I just got so mad, I walked out. Listen, if you come for the party, you fucking well come for the party. You don't go to a movie and pull out your cell phone and start talking to your friend about some shit, or at least, you don't get to do it in front of me.

The key to walking out in the middle of a train, by the way, is to always put the guys you've fucked in front of the ones who haven't had their turn. Basically, guys are selfish and once they've had theirs, they don't care about you, but they don't care about their friends much either. So they're like motivated to pour oil on the water and just try and keep everyone calm. Guys who see the meat walking away and who haven't had any can get really aggressive and panicky. So the thing to do is to keep shoving the guys who have been laid at the guys who haven't and start walking. Also, like, you know Captain 'I got mine' Peacemaker will try and talk you into it, so you basically should agree to talk, but somewhere away and private, and then make sure you're someplace where you can walk. I mean, you talk to them, but the point is, you are walking and you say whatever fuzzy thing about being reasonable that gets you closest to the exit. Most guys will back down from a confrontation if you don't panic them. Of course, that doesn't always work, like, if you've been driven out to some country road well, what, you're going to walk back? You have to finish it then. Not, of course, that this is advice that you'll ever find a use for.

Like, for me, it's about the sex, it's about the high. I don't want to fucking relate to them. I don't want to have to put up with all this touchy feely stuff. I mean, I just want to feel good. I want pleasure, I want energy, I want excitement. I don't want to have to fucking care about you, so get over it.

Like, I find with trains, the more guys, the harder it is to keep them straight, to remember who is doing what, who's who, even their fucking names and faces. Over six or seven guys, it's all a blur. The point is, you don't matter. It's like cheesecake. One single bite of a cheesecake is something to savour. But if I'm eating a slice of raspberry cheesecake, I'm not going to take a single bite, and I'm not going to have a fucking relationship with every single bite. Like, pulling a train, the experience the relationship is to the train. And as a raw experience, it can be fucking spectacular.

It wasn't the sleaze thing I wanted actually. It was the power, the totality of the experience. It was just the way it was done that time, it sucked the energy and intensity of the experience. Instead of being energized and powerful, I just got drained and tired.

If I was going to do it that way again, I think I'd meet them at the door and rip off their clothes, throw them on the bed, and kick them out when they were all used up. And if one of them tried to tell me his name, I'd just say I didn't care. Yikes, I sound brutal.

Well, excuse me for peeing on your little male bonding experience, next time just have a circle jerk while you beat a drum and talk about your fathers or something. I mean, what's in it for me?

Well, anyway, that's my take on emotionally navigating the whole group sex thing. You know what pisses me off. No one ever writes about these things. It's like we've got all these gaps in our society, about how we're supposed to feel about things, and whether we're supposed to feel about things. But it's there with trains, it's like, nobody ever talks about or thinks about the important stuff, it's all just fucking mechanics and judgements and fucking Barbie doll superficiality.

Like, with trains, there's all this stupid baggage. I was reading this book "Fast Girls" its about teenage sluts, and sometimes its so dead on I want to cry, and sometimes its so clueless that I throw it across the room. She talks about trains, and she says 'the train job (?) is basically mythical"

Excuse me? Hello? Like right in her own book, she talks about this girl who wound up pulling a train of four guys. Sure, she acknowledges the stories that go around, but a lot of times, it's like she's uncomfortable with the sexual experience of the girls she interviews, its like she wants to minimize it and say we're good girls, just misunderstood victims. And yeah, its true, like for how you get treated and the whole social thing, victim works. But at the same time, we're part of the dynamic, not merely static objects in it.

And here I am, ranting on about a book you probably haven't even read.

But you see, the thing with the writer here, is that she's just like so party line about the subject that its unbelievable. It's all mythical, no girl wants to admit. And its really derogatory and degrading, and just not proper. And if a girl is in one, then its rape.

Okay, it isn't sex the way it is supposed to be, and it can be very ugly. But looking back, you know what I've realized about it. Back in college, after it was flying around that I'd pulled my first train, the girls were as fascinated as the boys. Maybe more fascinated.

So here's what I think. Girls are supposed to be all love and feelings, and we're not supposed to really like sex, we're just supposed to be in love and like sex is a by-product. But, I think, down deep, really deep, it intrigues.

Like, if you came up to a woman and said, 'here's the thing, you can have a train, as many or as few as you want, it'll be nice in a clean room with silk sheets, no one will be rough, everyone will be clean, no diseases or pregnancy, and afterwards no one will ever know and you'll never have to see them again or anything.... Its just going to be a night of raw, throbbing sex with three or four or a half dozen good looking guys.' I think she would be interested. She might not say yes to your face, but I think the idea would excite her. She'd be interested.

Thing is, if a guy managed to have sex with a half dozen women, continuously, and left them all exhausted and satisfied, fuck, it would be on the front page of the newspaper. They'd throw him a parade. I'm not kidding.

But of course, if a girl does it, she's the biggest douche bag in the world. But think about this. I think its like, if you are a teenage girl, and you don't know much about sex, and it terrifies you and attracts you and you are totally insecure and boy crazy and all that... The idea of a girl simply being able to devour a bunch of guys. That's powerful. I think, there's some secret desire there, for that kind of power, that kind of sexual freedom. I mean, if sex is the subject of fear, then a girl who is fearless with sex is powerful. And what's more powerful than the strength to go, not just one on one, but with many. There's all this emotional stuff with sex going on, and like with a train, you just throw that stuff away, the doubt the guilt, the insecurity, the 'does he really love me' and you just have the raw sex. I think every woman, or every girl has fantasized about doing trains, but that it's the most absolutely secret fantasy, cause it goes so against what we're supposed to want and feel in sex.

But at the same time, cause of the dynamics, it has a lot of potential to be a really negative experience, like in terms of how it goes and how they treat you, and how you feel about yourself afterwards and the social consequences. I think some girls might go into it looking for something, power or love or security or even just acceptance, and if they don't have their feet under them, they could get really badly burned by the experience. It can fuck you up.

Basically, I think a lot of women would pull trains if men weren't making it so unpleasant. Does that sound prejudiced of me?

Train Jobs, I guess, are a train of blow jobs. It's in the book. I was surprised to read about it, it may be a bigger deal in the United States than in Canada, or maybe its from like bible belt redneck land or from the 70's, I dunno. When I was in college, and afterwards from other girls, I really got the impression blow jobs weren't a big deal. Like, phut. It's nothing. It's like a handshake, but wetter. They did them when they wanted to give the guy something, but not go all the way, or sometimes to just kind of finish a bad date so you could leave. But not significant. For a girl, I think, it's the sexual act that she has to invest herself least in. I mean, teenage boys, like if it was a minute that’s a marathon. So you go down, ten or fifteen seconds, whatever, come back up and touch your lipstick up and that's it. Compared to that, heavy petting took longer, and there was more touching and feeling and messing up clothes and hair and things.

So like the blow job is like an ultimate disposable sexual act. I've done blow jobs, and like a minute later, I can't remember anything about the guy except maybe his cock, it made that little impression on me. Anyway, I think that if a girl, a 'young slut' wanted to look for power in sexuality but didn't want to really expose herself, like under some circumstances, I could see a train of blow jobs happening.

By the way, have you ever seen those 'ultimate gangbang' videos, where its supposed to be this girl doing hundreds of guys? They're such total shit it's unbelievable. Not physically possible. Look, more than a dozen guys, you get really sore. I once did a whole roomful, I mean, a lot, and fuck I ached for days, I could hardly walk. So, I mean, if you watch one of those videos, it's like sure, big group thing, but they have fluffers, and they've got rest stops. A lot of those guys are like only on the bed, they wave their cocks in the general direction of the girl across the room and that’s called sex? Oh and they're all on a time limit, like thirty seconds or five minutes. Get real. I could pull a train with hundreds of guys too if they were all premature ejaculators. The only one that I'd respect even halfway is Annabel Chong.

And Bukake? What the fuck is that?

I don't know why, but those videos just piss me off. I guess I find that it takes a real experience, my real experiences and reduces it to this dumb cartoon thing. I dunno.

I think a lot of the stuff floating around in society about trains is all male bullshit. Guys are fascinated by gangbangs. I think they’re fascinated by the whole ‘whore/madonna’ thing, like a total sexual being you know. Trains or gangbangs represent a kind of absolute, raw, distilled sex, devoid of person or personality. I think part of it, especially for men who go into it, is male bonding. But for guys who are fascinated or fantasize it, I think it also represents a kind of ultimate woman figure. Geez, I’m just digging myself into a hole... Okay, stop here. For the record: I have no fucking idea whatsoever what is going through men’s heads.

Most of the trains I pulled were back in Hamilton, when I was in college. I mean, that was when I was closest to doing it steadily. After that, it just seemed to be occasional. A few times in Minneapolis, but I really did seem to settle down living there. Chicago, including one time when I blacked out. Never with Jules, he’d have cut my breasts off, and not in Des Moines or Phoenix. Winnipeg once, Calgary a couple of times but mostly not a big deal there. Windsor once, totally worthless. There was the big one in Minneapolis, and another big one new Years with Shan. Funny thing was, I seemed to do more, almost regularly, again back in Hamilton, when I was going to University. Not like, as frequently as when I was a teenager there, and very much more hit and miss.

Two years. My gosh, it’s been about two years, a little more actually, since the last one. I don’t know. Peculiar. Maybe, just whatever was in my life that made me need them, or the circumstances that put me there, maybe that’s just not operating now.

But so what. In the end, I really don’t regret it, I certainly don’t accept any moral judgements of me as a person for having done it. The bottom line, is for me, it was what it was, and its about what I get out of it. So there.