The Girl In The Red Coat

Even though it was slightly past two AM, Ian had never seen the metro so empty. He shuffled to a seat, his head foggy from the night’s activities, which had included drinking too many pints of “grog” at the pirate-themed bar, The Sunken Ship. He’d hoped he feel right at home there, feeling like a sunk vessel himself, but the whole place had only served to remind him of his solitude.

The evening had been his friend Grady’s idea. Once Shan had packed up the last of her cardboard boxes in her steel-colored Volvo and left with a weak “I’m sorry,” Ian hadn’t felt like being alone, and Grady, hating when anything threatened his own fun, especially on a Saturday, had lured him from the half-empty apartment with promises of all drinks on him. Ian acquiesced only because he knew staying home and staring at the vacant spot on the bed where Shan had slept beside him for a year and a half would kill him. Taking a tour of D.C.’s nightlife had sounded much better, but it wasn’t. If anything, being around so many happy, flirtatious twenty-somethings unable to see beyond the sexual promise of the night to the hangover of tomorrow only broke Ian’s heart further, and the act of trying to smile for Grady’s benefit exhausted him, even though he knew it was ridiculous—when had the night become all about Grady’s good time and why did he feel responsible for it? Ian didn’t have the energy or the reserves to ensure someone else’s happiness. Hadn’t that been the whole point behind Shan leaving?

Now Ian slumped in his seat, the metro jerking to life. He wedged his bunched-up hooded sweatshirt between his head and the cold glass, assuming a position of rest but unable to relax. The darkness weighing on the city offered him a ghostly image of himself in the window as the metro carried him past abandoned buildings and businesses closed for the night. His thin, spectral reflection looked exactly how he felt as his heavy, intoxicated thoughts drifted inevitably toward Shan. She was probably asleep by now, but beside whom? “Why’s it matter?” Grady had asked when he’d voiced the same question earlier over another brimming mug of grog. Ian didn’t know why, only that it did.

The metro slowed almost immediately, bringing to Ian’s mind all the starts and stops he had before he finally arrived at his place. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, cursing himself for not taking a cab. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to do so. Ian raised his eyelids, having resolved to end his lonely ride and call a taxi, when a girl wearing a bright red wool peacoat stepped into his car.

Petite and slim, she didn’t look older than twenty-five—not so much a girl but a woman, really. She had her jet black hair cut in an inverted bob. Her features were slightly Asian in nature and she wore no makeup. Despite the vivid, almost vulgar scarlet of her coat, she appeared quite nondescript, and if it had been another time, place or situation, Ian probably wouldn’t have noticed her at all.

He gave her a brief smile that wasn’t—a polite stretch of the lips, if anything—before turning back to the window. The metro lurched again, and it wasn’t until the next stop he realized his reflection had been joined by hers. Every seat except his remained vacant. She’d never sat, and now she watched him.

Ian whipped his head in her direction, half expecting her to avert her eyes now she’d been caught staring. Her gaze refused to break, and she moved backward until her spine rested again the slim silver pole at the front of the car. Now having a head-to-toe view of her small frame, he noticed she wore shiny black ankle boots and her red coat ended mid-thigh. Even though it was twenty degrees outside, her pale legs were completely bare, and her skirt apparently had a hemline so short it couldn’t be detected.

His heart thudded as his stomach gave a twist like it always did right before something vague but important happened.

The metro moved once again, and still they were alone. The girl’s eyes fluttered closed as her naked knees bent slightly inward, granting her the ability to reach down and smooth her hands over her upper legs. She let out a soft, nearly inaudible groan, as if she’d been waiting all day and night for this moment.

Ian’s mouth parted, but his questions—all poorly defined—stuck in his throat as her hands rubbed figure-eights over her thighs, dipping low to the area where her knees pressed together then rising in a loop to the edge of her coat, sneaking an inch higher. A squeaky breath escaped his mouth, as every time the coat’s hem lifted, it only offered more evidence her skirt didn’t exist at all.

Her eyes remained shut as her fingers weaved from the outside then the inside of her legs, nearing dangerously close to her crotch. Ian watched, fascinated and confused, like an adolescent boy who’d just learned the secret of masturbation by complete accident. He wondered if his vision or entire concept of reality betrayed him. After all, the whole day had felt like a heady, slow-moving dream in which he was at the mercy of other’s decisions.

As surreal as she seemed, the girl and her actions were bona fide, surviving his every incredulous self-inflicted pinch. She ignored him completely, looking lost in pleasure and anticipation, and her hands rose higher, dragging the hem of the coat with them and treating Ian to a flash of a shaved cunt. He bit the inside of his instantly dry mouth and again tried to speak, but no sound escaped him except for a faint squawk.

The woman’s fingers drifted to the fat round buttons of her coat, starting at the top and working her way down, freeing every small red disk from its confines like she savored the act. Ian waited several agonizing moments, scarcely breathing until the last of the five buttons were undone. The girl opened her eyes then, barely granting Ian a glance, and watched as she opened her coat slowly, revealing her nude body. Ian stared as if he’d forgotten how to blink.

The metro paused again and Ian half-feared someone would join their car, disrupt the moment. If the woman felt similarly, she didn’t let it show. Instead, she gazed at her large pink nipples, her smallish breasts, the soft swell of her stomach and her bare cunt like she’d never seen such beauty, completely enraptured with herself yet void of arrogance. He could easily sympathize with her fascination.

She waited until the metro resumed its motion before touching her breasts, gently at first, circling them with her fingertips as her nipples rose, begging to be plucked. The girl obliged, rolling the peaks between her thumb and forefinger as she tilted her head back and let out a needy moan. Ian looked on, agape, as spellbound with her as she was. He shifted in his seat, his growing erection and the uncertainty of what to do about it making him considerably uncomfortable.

With one hand still on her breast, the girl felt her way down her body, parting her legs slightly as if anticipating her own touch. She moved a hand between her legs and her fingers made a torturously slow circle over her clit, educing another groan from her.

Ian licked his dry lips and tried to swallow. He was afraid to even move in fear any motion from him would break the spell and send her scurrying away, although she looked anything but ready to leave. Her back arched against the pole as her stance widened and her fingers on her clit moved faster. She continued to knead her breasts—first one than the other, devoting equal time to each—then dropped her hand down to her cunt, spreading herself open, leaving nothing yet everything to the imagination.

One of her fingers dipped into her cunt and she bucked into it, her mouth open in a silent scream of delight. She thrust inside herself again, this time rubbing her clit, and with both hands set a pace designed to please. She gave off a series of whimpers, each one growing in pitch and volume, and Ian moved a furtive hand into his lap to stroke his hard cock through his jeans. He resisted a telling tremble, well aware it wouldn’t take much to set him off.

She continued to lift her gyrating hips toward the harsh florescent lights, the pole nestled between her shoulder blades and her breasts bared to the silvery ceiling. Her face contorted into a look of pure ecstasy, and he could see her juices shimmering on her questing fingers. In a true act of multitasking, she touched her breast with one hand again while rotating her thumb over her clit and pushing two fingers inside.

Ian rubbed up and down his length, the denim still separating from his cock. His breath came in spurts, and he knew he was just moments away from coming himself. He only granted himself the permission to cave into his release when the girl threw back her head and gave a high-pitched shout to the sky, her entire body convulsing.

The metro then shuddered to a stop, and the girl straightened slowly, her face stoic yet satisfied as she buttoned up her coat. She then left without a word or even a single glance in his direction, an indication that what just happened was not intended for his benefit but her own. He watched the girl in the red coat cross the platform, disappearing into the night as a trio of rowdy drunk people stumbled into his car. They sat in front of Ian, unaware of his sticky jeans and all that had just transpired.

It was only until he reached his apartment and stripped off all his clothes that Ian realized it had been nearly a half hour since he thought of Shan. Even though the dark feelings returned to haunt his heart, he decided that was significantly good progress. He tumbled onto the endless mattress, tangling himself in the cool sheets, and immediately drifted off, dreaming of girls in red coats and other well-timed mysteries.

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The IT Girl