The whistle blew again and they had to end their embrace. She kissed him one last time on the lips and tried to smile as she let him go. He backed away, waving, then turned and jogged to jump onto the train as it began to steam away. An older couple just near them had gone through the same wistful routine. The old man broke from his loved one too, and ran to leap onto the train, but he had left it a moment too late, and even as he tried to muster a sprint, the carriage door moved just ahead of him. He ran faster than he thought possible, but he was losing ground, and as he frantically tried to catch any handhold he ran over a dozing dog, fell onto a most unfortunately-placed oil slick and slid sideways under the train, the wheels running over and through him, mangling his flesh and bones, rendering him an unsalvageable mess and, to cap it all off, drawing from his sagging rear a huge, noxious grunt and, the subsequent silence suggested, a thick final turd to complete the morbid humiliation.
Sarah was into bearded hipsters (or bearded non-hipsters at a push). Carly loved athletic guys, being into fitness herself. Rose liked men with a bit of a paunch ; she found washboard stomachs positively off-putting. But Kelly was somewhat harder to please, finding that the only thing that really soaked her knickers was the sight of a Victorian strongman, and only if he had the classic moustache and was lifting old-fashioned barbells.
“Everything’s just ‘me, me, me’ nowadays, isn’t it?” tutted Auntie Glenda grumpily. Emma murmured in vague agreement, but she knew that Glenda was being unduly bitter. Things had been pretty fucking ‘me, me, me’ in her day too, especially that time when a six foot eight adult film star had arrived at her local pub and all the women had run toward him and screamed to be the one he picked to take away. Glenda had been the winner – of that little contest and, later, his colossal wand of hot meat pressing outward against the walls of her flanginal socket.