2 Station
Sloane invites Adam to a party in Manhattan. This is a two-part story. The other half is written by Jordan Lubov. You will find a Medium link below with her version of it.
Station to Station by Jordan Lubov
February 11, 1989
"No fucking way," he said, plopping onto the couch.
"Adam, seriously, get dressed," she replied, tossing him a fresh shirt.
"Sloane, I'm not going."
"Yes, you are. You're totally fucking going. I got off work tonight because of this."
"You never work Friday nights," he popped, crossing his arms. The shirt was still sitting in his lap.
"I'm not going to this party alone," she argued.
"You're going to have to because I have never missed an episode of Twilight Zone, and you can bet I'm not about to start now."
"God, you're so stupid!" Sloane yelled.
They stopped when they heard a bump from the floor.
"What's the problem up there!?" The muffled, faceless voice was oblivious to the situation. Sloane wanted Adam to go out tonight.
"Mawwm!" Adam yelled back.
"Is that Sloane up there?" the faceless voice called.
"Yeah, Mom!"
"Keep that door open, honey!"
"She knows you're twenty-two, right?" Sloane wickedly smiled.
"You know how religious she is," Adam mouthed back. "I'm surprised she missed Mass today."
"You guys want I should make ya something to eat?"
"Yeah, Ma!"
"No, ma'am! I'm taking Adam out for pizza," Sloane slapped back, giving Adam a scalding glare.
His eyes went wide. The voice from downstairs went quiet. Then, there were footsteps up the stairs and a hand on the door.
"Hi, Sloane," the old housecoat with thick glasses said. She still had blackish-reddish dye stuck under her hairline and in a plastic bag. She held the remnants of a cigarette in her lips. When she leaned in to hug Sloane, she growled a cough. "Hey, baby. How's your father?"
"Better than ever. Still with the gout, but Adam's made it this far, Mrs. Wiggins."
"Terry, baby. We're all grownups now."
"Yes, Mrs. Terry." Sloane smiled and hugged her back.
"Get a fresh shirt on and comb ya hair, honey," Terry said, waving at her son.
"Okay, Ma."
"We'll be back late, Mrs. Terry. I'm taking him to a movie, too."
"I'm just glad someone is giving him the time o'day, honey," she said, squeezing Sloane's cheek.
Adam slipped his shirt off and checked his pits.
"Shower," Sloane said.
He waited until the shower was warm enough to jump in, but he had to do so before the water turned to lava. If he weren't careful, those old pipes would burn his buns.
Why didn't she call me?
Adam got in the shower and soaped up, remembering the first time he bumped into Shelley. They’d exchanged numbers quickly. Finding a girl who read Fantastic Four was unheard of.
Shit. Finding a girl who liked comic books was bonkers.
He scrubbed his hair and hummed the Spider-man and His Amazing Friends theme song. He grabbed the rag off the hook and soaped it up, remembering the dimples in her cheek. He washed his underarms and neck, thinking about how she laughed at him when he said she looked like Gwen Stacy.
“How do I look like Gwen Stacy?”
“I don't know!” he yelled.
“Call it like it is, Tiger, I'm obviously Sue Storm.”
He got down to his hips and ass with the rag, making sure he scrubbed his privates and paused.
"Tiger," he whispered. She called me Tiger, he thought, rubbing himself.
It must have been a few days since she'd made any effort because it took a few moments to think about how much he wanted to dive the Brooklyn Bridge into her.
He finished into the drain when the knock disturbed his afterglow.
"Adam, have you got any Batman comics?"
"For fuck’s sake!"
Adam slammed the door shut, much to Terry's dismay. Both were bundled up and prepared for the night's icy slick.
"Batman? Are you fuckin' kidding me right now?"
"I think Batman is cool."
"I think Batman is cool," he mimicked. "Read the room, genius. Where are we?"
"Brooklyn," Sloane responded.
"New York City, baby! We got 'em all." Adam raised his arms wide.
"Maybe not all. Remember the Hulk TV show? He traveled the whole country, didn't he?" Sloane pointed up.
"We got the most!" he replied, swinging his arms like a batter at home plate. "Captain America lived in Leaman Place, fer Chrissakes! Spiderman, Iron Man, and The Hulk were definitely born here. Where does Batman live?"
"Gotham City?"
"Where the fuck is Gotham City? Some made up shit," Adam laughed. "New York is Make Mine Marvel town, baby," he said, grabbing her shoulders and squeezing her in a hug.
Who would have thought in a city as big as New York with hundreds, if not thousands, of Friday night house parties on the Upper West Side, Adam, Sloane, and Shelley would be at the same one? He figured, with his luck, maybe he would have been at the party two—no, two hundred—apartments down and maybe six vertically. He watched her as she nursed a beer and wondered how many she’d had. She spotted him. SHIT.
"Oh my god, it's that bitch from the comic bookstore that totally never called you back," Sloane said, standing between his eyesight and Shelley's. He was happy with the brick wall. What did she care? She still thought Bon Jovi was her boyfriend.
"What are the odds?" Adam asked.
"18 million to 1."
"There's 18 million people in this shithole?"
"Safety in numbers?" Sloane grinned, shrugging.
"But how here, of all places? And why tonight?"
"We know every single person in this room."
"I don't know any of these people. You know them!" Adam barked back.
"But you're having fun, right?"
"I would have been, after five cups of whatever this is, and then that happened," he said, pointing at Shelley, who was holding hands with whoever that was.
Sloane leaned into his eyeline again as the music changed to an old Bowie song.
"Let's dance," she smiled.
"I can't dance!"
"Neither can Bowie!" she barked, grabbing his hand and yanking him to the makeshift dance floor.
Shelley watched from the sidelines, looking at her beau every few minutes with wanting eyes. Not the lustful eyes Adam wanted. She wanted to dance but knew her man wouldn't, so she drank. She was no longer nursing her drink like a baby; she was thirsty. That kind of drinking led to temerarious thoughts and ill-advised actions.
Adam watched the room spinning as he bounced to the pop songs blasting. He would never admit to the fun he had with his newfound keg strength, and Sloane was having a blast.
A few hours passed, a few quarts drunk, and a few sips spilled, but the party was still active up into the post-midnight hours. Adam was exhausted from all the cups he'd lifted, and Sloane had danced to all the dance mix songs they played.
By now, the booze was playin'. The room was spinning. The hips were grinding. The lighting was hypnotizing. Flesh was on display. They’d lost their jackets long ago. With the beer and the bodies, the room was heating up. Sloane was in a low-cut top, and her bra kept slipping out. She was becoming less of “one of the guys” and more of “the girl next door.” Little by little, Sue Storm was disappearing from his mind.
"I want to go!" Sloane said.
"Are you sure? I think Bill said they were bringing weed back," he said, waving towards the door.
"Maybe next time."
"Next time? Tonight is a one-off. Limited edition, baby!" Adam posed like a superhero.
"Super Nerd, take me home."
Adam was a zombie walking back to the subway. They had to brace their hands and lean on one another.
"You fucking fell asleep!" she yelled.
"You fucking fell asleep," he popped like a tart about to burn, fumbling around for his glasses. He remembered getting there and sitting down. He remembered the McDonald's cling on the wall across from them. He did not remember falling asleep.
He had his hands in his pockets, wondering if the heater was on in that thing, and then realized the fucking door was wide open. All was quiet in the cave, but the lights were bright enough to read.
"Relax," he said, looking into his palms and trying to decide if he'd relaxed yet. "It's just going to sit here for like fifteen minutes and then go back out. We don't have to do anything."
Adam worried that Sloane looked like she was losing her chill. Adam usually bit his nails and asked too many questions when the answers were obvious.
"Shit, it's colder than a witch's titty in here," he said, finding comfort in his collar. She laughed and moved over, parting her legs around his.
"Well, I know how I can warm you up."
She wrecked into his mouth like a drunk driver, swerving her teeth and tongue around the hood of his lips like a head-on collision. His arms went around her like a car slamming a light post, but his eyes slowly closed after the initial shock.
They investigated each other to see what all the commotion was about, but it was just a wreck, and no one was around to rubberneck.
He grabbed her neck and pulled her close, and she gasped when his cold hand gripped her breast. He held on tight. She smiled over the kisses and breathed heavily into his mouth as her nipple went hard under his chilly hands.
Adam was getting hard to handle, and she could feel the emergence of a new character on the scene. She welcomed it by smothering it back, making it more popular and big-headed.
Sloane was ready for an over-the-pants, hands-stuff release. With the way Adam was working her breasts and the zipper on her clit, she was ready. Adam was just along for the ride but happy to be a saddle.
He stretched her low-cut top even more and made way for her nipples under her bra. He was making sure she stayed covered, but just enough. He wanted to see what he could see, but the exhibition made him nervous. He knew they were alone, but the Ronald McDonald poster caught his eye. He knew she felt differently about it because she was way more eager. He loved feeling her mound on his erection. His jeans were getting tighter, but she pulled away quickly enough to free him.
“Your tits are fuckin’ perfect, Sloane," he said mid-lick.
“So nice of you to notice.” She tugged his cock in front of the empty train and Ronald McDonald.
Tugging away at Adam, she turned and watched for onlookers. She looked back at his rod, watching as the skin stretched and pulled tight. His eyes moved to her forehead, and then she looked down, which made his cock bounce.
He looked into Sloane's eyes, biting his bottom lip and grinning. The thrill and delight in his face only made her pussy wetter.
Adam’s eyes were fixed on her’s like a mouse about to be struck by a viper. She owned him now. He could tell.
He grabbed at her, but she recoiled because his hand shocked her. Knowing it was his hands, she instinctively drove back into him. When he reached inside, she began mashing down on his finger. He loved looking into her eyes, her biting lips, her hair brushing his face. He’d only been with one girl, who was up on Long Island. She was a trip, but never the girl next door. Sloane was on another level. He knew it came with a commitment, which only strengthened his fingers. That and, of course, the grip on his cock.
Adam wasn’t cold anymore. The back of his neck was sweating. She moved quickly off his fingers and onto his lap. He didn’t remember tearing her pantyhose. She must have done it. He was unlocking the door to her body and walking inside like he owned the place. The eye contact made him believe this was no rental. The subway seat took quite the pounding. He was sticking to the plastic, which was the most uncomfortable feeling with the chill, but her eyes gave him the inspiration he needed. He wanted her to come so much.
The shape of her ass was firm, round, it was baroque in jeans. He remembered a time last summer when she complained about her pants being too tight, and he’d said to her, “Some guy will want to bounce a quarter off that sometime.” He had no idea that that guy would be him–ever.
It was hard to hear the scratches. Scratches? Shuffles, maybe. “OH SHIT! There’s a guy in here, and he hasn’t even noticed us.”
He continued to hump but covered her gently, quickly, and quietly to pretend as if they were only cuddling for protection from the cold. The old maintenance man picked up the trash, collected the riff-raff, and filled his trusty dustpan. Adam felt his erection growing more potent with the thought of being seen by someone other than the McDonald’s poster, so he kept going.
She was humming, not moaning. She was goose bumping and humming. Adam lost himself in the sensation. He didn’t even notice he was making noise.
“Fuck, Sloane, I’m gonna come.”
She quaked when she heard his low growl. He knew she came hard, and he didn’t even try to pull out.
“Uh-huh,” she moaned in response.
The sweeping man kept sweeping as the two completely different characters became a couple. The cool chick and the nerdy guy were no longer just neighbors.
They sat in their filth. No, scratch that.
Adam and Sloane sat somewhere between lust and love for a few moments, catching their breath. It felt good, safe, and right. From then on, holding her was all he wanted to do. He thought she felt the same way.
When the train started to rock, so did they. Adam fidgeted in his seat, which he felt he had become quite attached to, and they both got a little more dressed.
A couple of drag queens came in. The two stood dolled up in their high heels. They came over and sat right across from them. When they heard the deep voice, the acrid smell of smoke came.
“You’ve got a run in your pantyhose, darlin’.”
Adam smiled widely.
“Oh, don’t embarrass the poor girl. It’s a sign of a good time.”
They made their way home holding hands. No words needed to be said. There is no need for the age-old “Are you gonna call me tomorrow?”
He knew where she would be. Right next door. Right in his window. Right in his bed.
Half awake, half asleep, he leaned forward. He rubbed his eyes and spun over the side of the bed. He stood up and went to one of his comic boxes. He opened it and thumbed through the plastic bags. The title was barely visible until he slid his fingers in. He pulled out Batman number 232 and smiled. “She likes Batman, huh?”