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I tapped a woman on the shoulder. She was standing next to me on the Yonge Subway platform. She turned and looked straight into my eyes. She was a player and understood the rules of the game.

Months before, Toronto had joined the dozens of other cities participating in Sex-Train – a game taking spirited subway travelers by storm.

The rules were simple. Sex-Train had been devised by a group of 100 individuals from all parts of the world, strung together by an e-mail CHAT called NO RULES.

The object of the game is to have sex as often and creatively as your genitalia will allow for, on the subway. The game was invented in response to a statement made by one of the NO RULES members. One day, while the group searched for a game idea to market to its members, a poet laureate from Chicago’s east side, mentioned how horny she always became on his city’s subway. Because of that, she developed a game, in which she tried to outdo her previous day’s number of orgasms she achieved while riding to work.

Upon hearing this, the well-oiled and integrated team began to spin its e-minds. Idea after idea emanated from the circle. Within an hour the template for the group’s newest game – Sex-Train – was developed.

From the mind of a sweet Jewish woman living in the Bronx a string of thoughts filled the screen. “Membership, or the right to play, is only determined once the group of 100 is satisfied that he/she is sincere about the game and is a descent human being. This is a quick process, however intense and includes references (no shit!).

The game is only played on the subway and surrounding platforms. The subway is perfect for their exercise in sexual daring because all of us who ride the train, see other regulars, sometimes for years on end, and never, ever take the chance to speak. Sex-Train, allows you…. no encourages you and others to do the opposite.

Here is how it works. Chose a member of any sex who you see on a regular basis standing, waiting for the subway. Make some sort of contact with her/she so that it’s clear for a few days that you are easing into his/her space. Basically, it’s understood by the both of you…..

On day two or three (depending on your success which you can determine through his/her movement back toward you) stand close to her, and laugh loud enough so that she can hear your response to the cartoon page in your local newspaper. At this point, look at one another and one of you should say, “Sex-Train”. If the other responds, “Train-Sex”, the game is on and the players have been found. (It doesn’t have to be a laugh. You can yawn dramatically, shake your newspaper, pick your ear…. whatever Escort bayan notifies her of your intention to play with her).

Through this process, you have discovered a partner who will join you on your daily trips to work (and/or back), and participate with you in masturbation, fingering, blowing, and sucking – whatever the atmosphere will call for.

Once you have spoken, it is imperative that both members submit information to NO RULES such as your license number, and two very serious references (sounds easy. It’s not. Thing about it. If you were a player, whom would you consider as your reference. Your priest?)

NO RULES THEN works its magic, don’t ask how, but ultimately says yay or nay to the players. The group has been wrong, and allowed a few hoodlums as team members, but generally they have built the playership into a solid group of people. (There are picnics not to be missed). The hoodlums were asked to leave, of which they did.

At the top of the game, every player sent $100 to central (The treasurer of NO RULES) either in cash, cheque or VISA. The more teams, the more money in the pot. The team with the most points takes 90% of their cities pot, and 10% goes to administration for NO RULES. There are about 10 fulltimers, who make anywhere from $35,000 to $250,000 a year.

Now the fun begins. The couple’s objective is to make one another cum. Here is the scoring. If they self-masturbate, and both cum, they receive 100 points. If one team member cums, they get 50 points. (Individual achievements are documented as well, with a run off at the end of every five years. The winner, wins an island. No guff). If no one cums, 0 points.

If one of the pair masturbates the other to orgasm, the team receives 200 points. If they masturbate one-another together they receive 300 points. If fellacio/cunnilingus to orgasm takes place on a trip to work or home (one cannot stay on longer than their stop), the team gets 400 points. If they make love – yes, it is done everyday on the trains, trust me – then the team gets a very creamy 500 points, orgasm or not.

There are ways of gathering bonus points such as; multiple-orgasms can boost your points by 25 points. Anal sex is a whopping 600 points, however has been achieved only a few times since Sex-Train was launched. A threesome, will receive 1000 points if fucking and blowing takes place simultaneously, orgasm or not.

Trust is key to Sex-Train. The members submit their points on an honour basis. From time to time, NO RULES will send out supervisors to various cities to confirm that all teams are being honest, but as the game catches on this Bayan escort has become more and more difficult because of the expense.

At the end of every month, winners are chosen from every city where Sex-Train is played. If, for example 250 teams play on the New York lines, they will be competing against one another. It’s obvious that only metropolitan cities will allow for Sex-Train to be played, as smaller cities and towns will not likely have a subway line.

The game starts on the first of every month and ends on the last day of the month. Points are tabulated on the second of every month, and prizes are distributed on the third of every month. One can have more than one team member. Teams can be composed of as many players as you would like, however remember, a team of two splits the treasure chest in half, where as a team of five….well, you do the math.


The doors of the southbound train opened and we stepped into the car where morning rush-hour crowds stood robotically, holding onto bars desperately, squishing into seats attempting to find a hiding spot. Dalia and I found our perfect place, smack in the middle of the multitudes, wedged up against a hard steel pole. The crowd allowed us the privacy we required.

For those of you who are purveyors of life, you’ll know that, that morning the subway travelers, like every other morning, rarely spoke to one-another, seldom looked into one another’s eyes. They made every effort to not recognize the existence of anyone else on the train. There was an Israel-Palestinian component to it. Being packed so tightly together creates a frigid atmosphere, wrapped in terror and smothered in fear.

I had contacted Dalia 10 days before and last night NO RULES gave us the go-ahead. I held my overcoat in front of my suit pants partially to hide my engorged penis and as a prop for our first subway encounter.

Dalia is stunning. She is Moroccan. Her hair is as silky long as any Asian women I have ever met and her eyes are enormous, and black and moist with sexuality. Like most Moroccans, her nose is bumpy, but because of her puffy lips and exquisite eyes, it appears to be very symmetric – similar to what’s her name, in The Sea of Joy. Very sexy.

Dalia oozes fuck. Mmmmh. Damn! She stands about 5’5 and confidant; an awareness of what her gorgeous, full breasts can demand and receive from men. From bottom to top, Dalia is sculptured, wholesome and cast in absolute beauty and seduction.

Neither of us, knew what was to come next. We settled into our positions, as the doors closed and the Yonge line began to travel south, next stop Escort Shepherd Avenue. The train’s lights flickered on and off as we gained speed entering a winding, narrowing section of the tracks.

She whispered, “hi” into my ear and I blushed. Dalia looked up at me bidding my face to come closer to hers. The lights went off for a few seconds. She kissed me. Oh god. I was becoming so excited, oblivious at the obliviousness around me.

I touched her tongue to mine. The lights came back on and we instinctively separated. The travelers were weary. We hadn’t needed to separate. I was beginning to understand Sex-Train.

I thought that it was logical to go for the 100 points, on opening day – masturbating ourselves. Safe, simple, satisfying. Dalia thought otherwise. She was a winner, a competitor and it was right then and there that I knew, eventually we would be North American champions (which is determined every second year. Every first year determines country champions. Then the continent plays off.)

She began to slowly shrink in front of me, kneeling, her head coming closer and closer to my waist. I was dumbfounded with the realization that I was involved in this bizarre activity, yet felt stronger and infinitely more alive than the mope-heads surrounding me.

Music played out from dozens of headphones around us, as young people MP3-bombed their ears, senses, brains with Hendrix, Madonna, Story on Tapes, Santana, Macy Gray. The cars seemed to bounce on and off the tracks, while the chains, which held them together, jangled.

Dalai’s hands reached under my overcoat and unzipped my pants. My cock was hard, and flung forward as she released it. Her mouth covered it and sucked it. I had never felt so high. I was flying. I looked to the roof the subway, and all around, opening and closing my eyes, ensconced in the most emancipated sexual-moment of my life.

Her very apt lips sucked on my cock, with mighty propulsion instigated by this wild, passionate woman. Dalia. Like those who mentor the world on the art of blowjobs, she sucked my cock, simultaneously, poetically stroking me with her coiffed, hand-creamed hand.

And the subway traveled on.

I came. Man, I thought I was going to die with joy. I came. Spurt. Filled her Dalia’s magnificent mouth. My eyes were tightly shut and my lips pursed like an idealist fighting torture. The trained slowed, and Dalia put my cock back into its home and stood up. I dabbed the little bit of my cum from her chin and she kissed me again. This time her tongue was covered with my cum and she fed it to me, joyfully and playfully.

I gagged and swallowed. Mmh, Salty!

The doors opened and more people piled in, jamming the car so that we were tightly woven into a protective mass of robotic-indignant-indifference – except for Dalia and I.

And that was only Stop 1. 10 more to go. Interested?

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