The Train

I went out to a DC bar with a new wingman who didn’t have much approach experience. While he wasn’t well-versed in the art of bar pickup, he’d had several sexual partners in the past and wasn’t fearful of stepping out of his comfort zone.

There wasn’t much action at the bar, so we talked about the concepts we’d be applying momentarily. A petite blonde finally sat near us and after a couple minutes I realized that she was alone. For shits and giggles, I told my friend that we were going to run a train on her.

He started a conversation with her and pulled me into it. Over the next twenty minutes, we developed a good cop/bad cop vibe where I was aloof and cutting while he asked personal questions and was polite. They talked for some time until she got a little bored and turned to me. I’d unleash a fury of cockiness and teasing until she’d feign anger and go back to the safety of my friend. Periodically I’d whisper in his ear, “Choo, choo, the train is coming.”

For a while, we both believed it had a good chance of happening, until I noticed that something was wrong with the girl. She seemed slow, more than alcohol alone could explain. We’d say something to her, she’d give us a deer-in-the-headlights look for several long seconds, and then say, “Huh?” The conversation eventually got stale and she started talking to another guy.

A little farther away, we noticed three slightly frumpy girls drinking in a circle. I opened them with, “Hey, what’s up? This is my friend.” I threw him into the mix and stood in the background, partially to see how he’d perform. When I sensed he was running out of gas, I stepped in and continued the conversation. The petite blonde stared at us from the corner of her eye.

The frumpy girls went to a different floor and we resumed talking to the blonde. It was then that I became more bold. I said, “My friend and I are trying to run the train on you tonight.”

“What?” she said.

“My friend and I aren’t trying to miss the train tonight.”

“Oh, well, it shuts down at midnight. You have time.”

“Yeah, I guess. But do you like the train?” I asked.

“Sure I like the train.”

“Because my friend and I really like the train. We like to take the train and we definitely want to take the train tonight.”

“Umm, okay. Yeah, the train is fine.”

My friend was laughing while my respect for womankind continued its freefall descent. We left her again and rejoined the frumpy girls. They were much more receptive than before and I got into a one-on-one conversation with the least frumpy one. She was barely bangable and not as pretty as the blonde.

I made out with the frumpy chick while my friend returned to the blonde. I’d look over periodically, but I could tell that he wasn’t going to close. He was being too nice when she obviously preferred assholes, and unless he started some outrageous cockiness soon, our hope for the train would be lost forever.

Last call arrived. Moves had to be made. Did I want to take home the frumpy dumpy chick, who seemed a little too willing, or did I want to attempt a train on the blonde with my friend? I took a huddle with him and he admitted that he wouldn’t be able to close her on his own.

I ditched the frumpy chick and said to the blonde, “Hey, do you have anything to drink at your place? We’d like to drink some more, but everywhere is closed.”

“I have some wine, but I don’t know if I could fit both of you inside my place.” I wondered if “my place” was a euphemism for her vagina.

“I mean, do you live in a closet? We just want a quick drink, maybe we can chat a bit, and then we’ll leave.”

“Okay, fine, but my place is really, really small.”

The three of us hopped into a cab and rode to her studio apartment, where she poured a box wine that went untouched. My friend sat on the small couch and I sat on her bed. I then went to the kitchen to “look around,” which was a cue for him to make out with her or do something that would get her more into him, since she was more into me. I returned five minutes later and they were talking about music—not a good sign. It was at that moment that I realized the train wasn’t going to happen. The best option was to throw my friend under the bus and make sure I get the notch.

I looked at her and said, “Hey, do you mind if we take a quick nap? My friend is drunk right now and I don’t think it’s safe if we leave right away. He’s my ride home.”

“That’s fine,” she said.

“I call bed!” I yelled. My friend let out a loud sigh and began his nap on the couch while four feet away I started hooking up with the girl. We banged about ten minutes later. Her body was a pleasant surprise, petite but juicy in all the right places.

A minute after ejaculating, I felt a little guilty about my friend. I devised a plan: I’d go to the bathroom to “clean up” and then just camp out there until they banged. Maybe our train dream could still be realized.

I went to the bathroom, flushed the condom down the toilet, and then washed my dick. I stood there naked with my ear to the door and could hear him making a move to the bed. I smiled when I heard smooching sounds. All I had to do was wait a little while longer until he got his. But then suddenly the girl banged on the bathroom door, calling my name and yelling, “This is weird! I feel weird! What’s going on?” The jig was up.

I opened the door and my friend was back on the couch. The girl had on her pajamas. She looked at me and said, “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Of course you’re not,” I said, trying my best to withhold laughter. Then she went to the bathroom to wash her vagina or whatever it is that girls do after sex. My friend looked at me sadly and said, “I missed the train.”

I told him to leave immediately and wait outside for me to join him. He left, and when the girl came out of the bathroom she asked about my missing friend.

“Yeah, we just got into a little fight. Look, I really want to stay, but now he’s trying to claim that he doesn’t remember where his car is parked, so I’ll have to leave with him.”

“What? You have to leave right now?”

“Yeah, this sucks. I’m pretty sure he’s lying and salty about something, but I gotta go. I’m real sorry. But, hey, I’ll call you.”

I put on my clothes, got her number, and met my friend outside in the hallway. He reluctantly gave me a high five.

The above story is excerpted from 30 Bangs, a book that describes thirty instances of when I put my penis inside a vagina. Click here to learn more.

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