Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and big gay men. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “big gay men” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see big gay men come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “big gay men, big gay men, fuck, big gay men!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “big gay men” release.