PSALMS OF DEPRIVATION

Eight: "SPILLED MILF"

I would often see her at the train station in the morning. We both caught the eight-thirty Regional Rail line; however we barely spoke to one another, minus a cordial exchange of smiles and good mornings. For months we'd been taking the train together, but I never really paid much attention to her until the springtime rolled around. She started wearing these tight business skirts and black high-heeled pumps. She went from a familiar face to a piece of ass. All winter long she wore this long, fur coat that kept her physique a secret. I had no idea that all that wagon and good leg was hibernating under there.

You could tell she was a little older, definitely in her forties at least. But she was holding up quite well. Her sex appeal mirrored that of an attractive teacher. Which made sense that I responded in a way that mirrored a horndog, high-school adolescent; despite pushing thirty, myself.

It wasn't just her body that garnered my attention. It was the whole package. As sultry as her skirts made her ass look, she was dressed business casually. I assumed she had a pretty decent job. Also, her hair and make-up were always neatly done. She wore just enough make-up to accentuate her beauty, while still being natural enough to see that she was legitimately beautiful. She always smelled good too. Oftentimes I'd smell her perfume before she even got to the station. I started looking forward to seeing her in the morning. It was an extra incentive to help wake myself up. She was like a cup of coffee in that way, only much hotter.

As I mentioned earlier the two of us rarely conversed. But all that changed one morning when there was an announcement saying the train would be late.

I lit up a cigarette to help pass the time and saw that some of the smoke had traveled in her direction. She immediately turned around and looked at me. She started walking towards where I was sitting. I don't know why but I felt like she was coming over to ask me to put it out; that the smell was bothering her or something.

"Do you think I could buy one of them off of you?" she asked. It was the most she had ever spoken to me at one time. I was surprised because she didn't look like the smoking type. She seemed to have too much class. She began digging through her purse looking for change.

"You don't have to pay me, it's cool. Here," I replied.

"You sure?" She flashed a mouth full of pearly whites and stared at me with these big brown eyes.

"Yeah, you're good. I got a whole pack here."

I handed her the cigarette, pulled out my lighter and offered to light it for her.

"Oh, wow! You're such a gentleman," she replied as she began taking puffs.

As it so often does the cigarette ledway to us engaging in conversation. She told me that her name was Michelle.

"You know, I've always wanted to talk to you. Every morning my husband drops me off and he'll say, 'There goes your boyfriend over there.' That's his way of being a smart-ass," she told me.

"Why does he say that?"

"That's just him being jealous. I mentioned that I thought you were cutie one time and he never let it go. We talk about you all the time, actually. I've always been curious to ask what you do. You seem like an artist, or a musician or something."

"Is it that obvious?" I never liked the idea of being a walking cliché.

"No! It's a good thing. You have a cool look. You come off very interesting. I'm sorry. I don't even know why I'm bringing this up."

"Don't apologize. I'm taking all of this information as one big compliment."

The two of us shared a laugh.