There’s a place down the block. Railroad tracks run alongside the road on an elevated platform. The street slopes down a hill and just before the drop off is a long pedestrian tunnel under the railway. The tunnel is cast in an almost medically white light by the hum of a large halogen bulb that snaps on at 6:45. The tunnel is cleaned regularly and often has a lemony citrus smell from the bleach.

Now, it smells of sex. I can catch the almost sharp tang of my wet exposed pussy and the salty metallic smell of the first man’s cum. He was aiming for my face but only managed to shoot his spray across my neck to drip under my choker.

It has been about once a month that I’ve been coming to the tunnel or the park beyond it. Today is the second time this month. Somehow one of them got my number. I suspect it’s been scribbled on a bathroom stall somewhere, “for a good time call Gen.” They called. They said they heard I was up for anything, a sex freak, insatiable. I don’t know why that always hooks them so hard, “insatiable”. The caller told me he knew how to deal with a girl like me. Meet him at the tunnel and I’d leave satisfied. So I came.

There were three of them. Younger than me but not by that much. They looked anxious, like surely this can’t be real. I think they suspected that my freely available sex must be some kind of trap. I reached them and immediately lowered to my knees in front of the most nervous one, taking some pleasure in his panicked blush.

“Isn’t this what you want?” I asked sliding my purple nails over the texture of his light blue denim.

He nodded and blushed harder.

I slid down the zipper and fished my fingers through the hole and past the soft cotton of his boxers to free his growing uncut cock. I find the variety of weird little cocks fun, all alike and yet all weird in their own way. I pulled the foreskin back with my fingers and stuck out my tongue, running it under the sensitive head, he flinched away.

These boys must’ve thought they were big men, calling up the town slut to use her and show her how sexually proficient they are. But me? I’ve been with dozens of men, and a dozen of those right here in this tunnel. I pressed my lips to the penis tip of the nervous red faced boy. He looked away down the tunnel, trying to hide his surprise by keeping panicked watch. A total newbie.

I pushed my tongue further down the shaft and my lips touched the base of his stiff penis. I felt a jerk as he came immediately into my mouth. I pulled away. A bit of his watery cum glistening on my lip in the bright sterile light.

From my knees I said, “just demonstrating the offerings. Any other takers?”

There were takers. They wanted me. They wanted me bad. I was a fantasy: a girl who does anything you want anywhere you want. Not just their fantasy, mine as well. I could feel myself dripping wet from the degradation, eager to be used, desperate to be wanted.

I slipped my hand under my skirt band. I wasn’t wearing underwear. I knew why I came here, underwear would only get in the way. My fingers slid eaisily into myself.

The second boy was more bold, “take your shirt off!”

I didn’t like his tone. “Make me,” I teased sticking out my cummy tongue.

That spurred him to action. He grabbed my shirt and pulled upwards untucking it before it caught on my back and his strength lifted me to my feet. I felt that energy flush through my body. Heat and life warming me up. “Yes, use me,” I thought, “lift me up like an object, Your toy.”

He fumbled a bit with the buttons but that could be forgiven. The roughness of his fingers digging against my sternum and pressing the linen against my skin felt electric. Finally, the shirt fell away and one of the boys laughed in surprise. Of course I wasn’t wearing a bra. I knew my pert breasts were one of the things guys liked best about my body.

His hand cupped each breast as his other hand pushed its way inside my skirt. I felt nails dig into my skin. Hot breath on my neck as he leaned in to kiss it. I felt suction, the warm wet pull of a hickey kiss, meant to leave a mark. He finished by licking slowly up the side of my neck to behind my ear.

“She’ll let us do anything?” One of the boys wondered as their leader pushed his fingers inside of me. He mixed rubbing and thrusting as he nibbled on my ear his hand still tight on my breast. His body pushed against me my other breast compressing against his chest. He worked out I thought. I wondered if I might see him at the gym.

He pulled back to get a better angle on my pussy, moving his tight grip from my breast to my shoulder. His fingers were stroking me eagerly, slowly sliding quicker as I started to drip.

He leaned in to kiss my neck again but stopped short. I felt his hand tense on my bare shoulder then felt myself lowering as he pressed me down to my knees.

I’d been wearing my hair in two medium length braids, since men seemed to love using the “handles”. This guy was no exception, he grabbed my hair and pulled me roughly onto his cock as I did my best to help keep my teeth clear of his soft and vulnerable skin. I liked that secret thought, liked that we were strangers, that he was trusting me not to bite, and that I could if I wanted to.

As I blew him, I picked up where he left off, fingering myself in a gentle thrum timed to my head movements. As I sped up on him I rubbed myself faster letting my fingers graze, then rub, then slip in at random. Working myself up.

“Are you getting off on being our free use toy?”

I pulled his dick from my mouth and nodded up at him.

“Boys, look at this total slut, her fingers are dripping wet!”

He was right, my fingers were pushing in and out through my slick pussy making a soft squelch. I kept going smiling coyly.

“Lick off your fingers,” he said.

I stopped thrusting and brought them to my mouth licking my tongue along my forefinger.

“No. Put them all the way in. Taste yourself.” He commanded.

I tasted my sweet sharp pussy juice.

“Good. Now don’t touch yourself again until I say so. You are here for our pleasure and don’t you forget it.”

My mind steamed up at the restriction. My fingers ached to keep rubbing circles over my pussy lips. I really hoped they would fuck me before we were through. The call had come at the perfect time. I’d been missing this, missing feeling something, missing feeling warm, and sexy, and wanted.

I returned to taking his cock in my mouth hoping to finish the little tyrant and try my luck with the straggler. I find the silent types can sometimes bring the kind of eager force I was looking for.

Before I could get him all the way off my self appointed master said, “that’s enough.”

He dragged me up, my skirt nearly tripping me over.

“We need somewhere flat,” he said to the air, maybe to his lackeys.

“Merry-go-round?” I offered, “in the park.”

He led me there by the wrist, as if this wasn’t my show and he just the lucky audience.

Soon enough we were on the cold green metal and I had kicked my skirt all the way off onto the ground. “At last,” I thought as he took his position.

He wasn’t the best I’d had but he must’ve been with a few girls and he navigated well enough. Unfortunately, my little show before must have been too successful. It was just minutes before I could see him red in the face, reaching his limit. He didn’t ask where, just pulled out and let it spray across my stomach and breasts.

Luckily, the third friend had been waiting. He tapped in, literally high-fiving his friend like some kind of wrestling tag team. I didn’t appreciate the reminder of our age difference.

He unbuttoned his pants and shuffled on top of me. Groping my breast while carefully avoiding the largest globs of his friend’s cum. The first boy I had teased was back from his post-nut stupor. He was watching intently and stroking from the side of the merry-go-round. The boy on top of me started rubbing against the outside of my pussy. His tip against my lips. Slowly warming up, pushing, but not entering.

As the metal creaked below us and the inexperienced boy tried to find his way into me, finally tentatively thrusting in, I found myself drifting again. I was looking down at the filthy whore, shirt unbuttoned and skirt off, getting poor intercourse from a college boy 10 years her junior. As I felt my perspective drift farther I wasn’t even seeing the same playground.

It was day. A kids playground again, in a different neighborhood. Two shy kids in the sandbox building indistinct villages of wet lumpy grey sand. Green eyes was crowning the king in his lopsided castle and little brown hair, she was telling him of the dragons to come, telling him of the lady nights who readied their weapons to defeat it. If only it was all that easy. Some dragons live in places no sword can reach.

I thought for a moment of my looming debts, empty bank accounts, the days I couldn’t even get out of bed, and the hollow place that had taken hold in my heart one day uninvited. That string of thinking led me back to the only thing that had made that pressure on top of me lift, the thing that had freed me from that trapped feeling.

“Can you do it better? I shouldn’t have time to think. Maybe try keeping a rhythm.”

That angered him. I was hopeful his aggression would translate into raw effort; that might get me there.

“I’ll fuck you until you can’t speak. Until you can’t think.” He grunted already out of breath.

“Please do big boy,” I teased bratily.

He held onto the metal bars as I lifted my hips into his increasing aggressive and desperate thrusts. I felt him rub inside of me hitting deep against resistance, putting warm pressure on places that sent jolts up my lower back and down through my shaking thighs.

I was proud of him, he kept going, and going, and going. Oh to be young again. He was clinging to the edge of his stamina and panting like a dog but he kept up the pace. I matched him as best I could and the sensation grew, each thrust registering more and more until each push seemed to wash my vision out in pleasure. I let it. I closed my eyes and rode the waves.

When at last I opened them again I was back in the dark, the glow of the white halogen bleeding out of the tunnel and mixing with yellow street lamps high above the park walkways. The boys had been laughing bantering and crowing over their prize but they had stopped suddenly.

Highlighted in one of the yellowy circles of light stood a boy, or maybe a man, a boyish man, holding a bag from the gas station corner store. At first he was a shadow with two round mirrors for eyes, glasses catching the lights. Then he resolved into a person, with real soft green eyes. Eyes and a face. A face I recognized from long gone sandbox days, after school club days, and end of summer humid heat insect humming backwoods first kiss days.

I flushed, red hot with remembered summer heat, suddenly naked in a way I hadn’t been before. I grabbed for my clothing. I couldn’t speak, adrenaline had cut through the post orgasm glow to a single clear directive to flee, to run, to hide.

I covered myself, poorly, and, fumbling, pulled my skirt back on. The man finally regained the ability to speak and muttered, half consciously, Genevieve?” He reddened at the realization and at having said it out loud. He turned away and in that moment I ran: my beat up sneakers snapping against the pavement in a dead sprint, hot lava and ice water flowing through my veins but never mixing.

That night, safe in my apartment, my heart wouldn’t slow. It kept up its frantic arpeggio until I managed to drink myself to sleep with three tall boys and two shots of whisky. As I was fading to sleep I could hear it bang bang banging away and under that drum beat I saw again my childhood friend, saw him again seeing me, and I saw judgement in his eyes, and for the only time that night I felt shame.