Memoirs Of An Invisible Man Read Online Free PDF

extremely uncomfortable. I suppose they did too, although their discomfort had presumably a very different quality. I suppose my mouth must have formed into its own little O of astonishment, or into some other equally ridiculous expression, because Anne looked up at me and then, letting go of my hips, pushed herself up into a sitting position and turned her head to look out the window and see what was going on. She stared at those three stern countenances for a moment and then tilted her head and shook it so that her hair fell across the side of her face, partly obscuring it. Then she turned back towards me.
    I was motionless with confusion and mortification. I thought of bundling myself into my trousers and buttoning myself up right there before them, but that seemed somehow even more silly and humiliating than the existing state of affairs. I wondered if I would feel even more foolish and shamed during the coming moments as my lust collapsed into limp embarrassment. Perhaps I should immediately grab Anne by the hand and drag her to another seat on the other side of the car, where we could collect our wits and clothing. Anne, however, had a different response. With a smile so utterly and mischievously wicked that you would think only a little girl could have produced it, she licked her lips slowly, leaned forward in her seat, and delicately kissed me. The little O’s formed by the ladies’ mouths grew wider as they watched. Anne drew back an inch and licked her lips once more. She kissed me again. Then
she
deliberately formed
her
mouth into a little O and moved it over me.
    Mercifully, there was a metallic clank and a violent lurch, and the train began to haul us out of sight of those three grim ladies. As we drifted out of each other’s lives, the one in the center fixed me with her furious gaze. She set her features in an ominous frown, expertly twisted around one finger a thread from her needlework, and snapped it fiercely off. I felt as if my doom had been decreed by stern, suburban fates. I have no idea what punishment they would have wished for me, but if they could have foreseen the rest of my day, they would surely have been satisfied. I remember wondering if it was possible that one of them knew me. Or perhaps, several weeks or months later, I would turn and find one of them seated next to me at a dinner. I felt a bit sick. Somehow, unwittingly, incredibly, I had become part of a live sex act performed before a hostile, disapproving audience. I felt exposed, anxious, and ashamed.
    But I also felt Anne’s mouth and hands all over my body, her lips and tongue caressing me, and a new swell of bliss mingled easily with my anxiety and shame. I leaned over her again, pushing her back into the seat. I ran my hands over her body, from her hips up over her breasts. I kissed her and as I pushed my tongue into her mouth, I pushed my thumb into her. She writhed on the seat and seized me with her hand.
    This time the interruption was the door at the end of the car sliding open with a crash and flooding us with the metallic noise of wheels and rails. I raised myself and peered over the back of the seat. The conductor, a ponderous 250-pound man in a vast black uniform, was working his way down the aisle in a dignified ambling gait. This was even more unsettling than the last interruption: for one thing there was no pane of glass to make us seem like an official exhibit in a terrarium; for another, we had some warning, some time to hide. Frantically we pulled ourselves together as best we could. No time to fasten our clothing, but we pulled it as much as possible across the naked limbs and members and mounds of flesh. Then I pulled the
New York Times
up and spread it out over our bodies from our knees to our shoulders, like a gigantic child’s bib. I reached over, retrieved my pad of paper from the floor, and balanced it on my lap. As the conductor arrived, I resumed my lecture on supply and demand.
    “When you superimpose the