Amusing Train Ride

I think that the scent of her hair caused me to first notice her. It had a clean, crisp, tang like the bright sunlight glittering after an early spring ice storm. She was young, very young, not yet twenty, maybe not even eighteen. I caught myself gazing at her where she sat beside me facing the empty seats across the aisle, her knees demurely together. Each time that I found that my eyes wandered back to her, I made an effort to look away. But I found my gaze fixed on her over my newspaper, past her to the countryside whipping by, the winter grays about to give way to the lush foliage foretold by the green haze that is each season's buds of promise to become billions of leaves in a verdant quilt spread over the now naked backbone of the earth.

My thoughts wandered to my daughter who would be just a bit older than this slip of femininity nestled so snuggly against my hip and arm. If she had survived that is, for I long ago had accepted that of which everyone had tried to convince me. My little girl was gone. She simply vanished. One moment she was last seen turning onto the path that was a shortcut through the park and the next she was gone. Even her foot prints stopped in the middle of a sandy place near the creek. Some said that she had been carried off. Others opted that she had wandered off into the woodlands and had became lost. And still others had even darker theories. I shivered involuntarily and forced these memories back into the recesses of my mind where they would stay until fatigue or boredom allowed them to once again rise and lurk as shadows just below a murky surface.

She must have felt my slight quake, because she was saying something to me. I turned toward her and nearly was lost into eyes of the bluest of blue. She repeated her request and I managed to catch "blanket?" as I drifted back to reality.

"I beg your pardon, miss?" I managed to stammer out as my voice began to roll out of my throat before my thoughts became fully engaged.

"You were shivering just now, sir. With night coming on, perhaps the porter might bring us blankets. This early in the spring the setting of the sun can bring a chill over the land and the trains are not always warm enough for comfort."

"Yes. Why yes, of course." Where upon I turned to summon the porter. He was a strapping heavy black man, a bit past his prime with a thick gray mustache and sideburns the color and texture of steel wool. Everyone called him George because he hailed from Georgia although his given name was Floyd. In his youth he had been a prizefighter but now he was inclined to be stout. A man who took his job seriously and performed flawlessly as if he intuitively could anticipate each passenger's needs before the traveler himself. In fact, as I turned to request the blankets, I saw George heading toward us with blankets over one arm and pillows under the other.

"I would imagine that Mr. Richard and..." he began, but the young lady sitting next to me finished the sentence for him by saying, "and Mr. Richard's niece, George. You may call me Miss Slayer. May I add that it is a pleasure to finally meet you as my thoughtful uncle has mentioned you on numerous occasions, always to your credit of course."

George was professional and astute if not formally educated and so he contained his surprise except for the barely noticeable widening of his eyes. "Yes Ma'am, Miss Slayer, I am honored and have always found Mr. Richard to be most kindest of gentlemen." He smoothly replied as he placed the blankets and the pillows on the seat opposite us.

"Mr. Richard, shall you be taking your dinner in the dinning car before you retire to your compartment this evening? For if that is your intention, I should remind you that the car will close at 9 o'clock."

I dismissed him with "Very good, George, thank you."

When he had gone, I spread my blanket over my legs and lap. As I did this mundane task, my mind was trying to put some meaning to what had just happened...but I realized that I hadn't a clue as to what had taken place...only that the event carried some odd significance. Finally I glanced toward my young fellow traveler and cleared my throat to speak. But no sound could I make. I again swallowed to prepare to speak when I felt a delicate hand in my lap, palm open on my leg high on my inner thigh.

I must have failed miserably trying to conceal my shock. She tittered and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "You really don't know me do you?" I was about to say something like, "My dear child..." but all rational phrases seemed to evaporate in my brain and exit through my ears as steam from a whistle when I felt her hand locate my penis which was growing rapidly to its larger turgid state. She slid her hand down to the end and gripped the head, her fingers not quite meeting.

"Oh My God!" I heard her hiss between her teeth. "You are so...big!" I could feel her fingernails dig into my hardening flesh through my pants...almost painful, but not quite. I experienced a thrill along my dick, through my asshole, and up my spine. I sucked in a breath and she giggled. A delightful sound.

"Ms Slayer," I stammered. "I assure you that I have never met you before and although you seem a delightful young, ah, woman, your current behavior is quite unexpected. While I might anticipate such actions from a female person of a more rebellious class, you are obviously not accustomed to the hardships and deprivation that one associates with the less genteel..." It was at that point that she leaned a little toward me and prevented my speaking another word by sealing my lips with a kiss. Not only a kiss, but struggle as I might, I was helpless to pull back or turn away. Then I felt her tongue begin to slip through my lips and after lingering against my teeth, flow over and into my mouth, searching for my tongue. I met her and gently pushed back. I recall how delicious and soft her lips were.

I became aware that she was stroking and kneading my cock through the wool of my suit. By now I was at a rampant state, almost painful as the stiffness struggled to rise but was confined and bound by my garments to point toward my feet. In an effort to prevent her from acerbating my discomfort, I reached down my body to grasp and remove her hand from the task that it was so effectively performing. As soon as my hand touched hers, she flipped her hand over gripped my hand in hers, pulling it to rest low between her thighs and beneath her panties. When I felt the silkiness of the hair, I was lost for a moment. Her mound was covered, but her thighs were smooth and what down that was there had been neatly trimmed. This was not the coarse growth of a mature woman, but the thin strands of budding youth that carried the promise of a spring flower. She opened her knees just a bit, hardly enough to allow my fingers any access as she placed her delicate hand over mine and guided my reluctant digits to be coaxed further until I felt her feminine lips begin to separate under the pressure of my finger as it was forced by hers. I noticed her wetness immediately after my middle finger slid along between her inner lips and I marveled at how adroitly she pulled my hand back toward her navel. Back only to hesitate when the ball of my index finger touched that tiny caped protrusion that women have that so reminds me of the hidden charms of some orchids. She was holding my wrist in her dainty hand as she turned her sweet face to mine. Her thoughts were as clear as if she had spoken. I complied by letting my fingers go and as if they had a mind wholly of their own, the index finger settled into the groove made between the outer lip and the center (now swollen) hooded structure while my middle finger took up its position opposite that sensitive structure. Wetness bathed my middle finger almost immediately and in copious amounts. She sucked in a deep and shuddering breath, the air whistling through those full lips and brilliant white teeth. The very tip of her tongue pressed slightly between the top an bottom.

Now the game became one of responding to her signals through from her though her hand on my wrist. I consider myself an adequate horseman and have learned long ago to ride using only my body and knees to communicate to the animal, thus freeing my hands to other tasks such as shooting or roping. Such was her skill with her hand on mine. It was as if she had in some way connected to me so seamlessly that where one of us began and the other ended was blurred. She seemed to enter my very mind and I had to but willingly surrender myself to her needs and lust.

I felt my fingers moving ever so softly around and over the little elongated member, never actually touching the part unprotected tip, but riding over and sliding the sheath up and back, up and back...her breath quickened. I glanced at her face. Her cheeks were growing red, yet along her jaw from her ear to her chin and across her creamy forehead, her skin remained pale. Her thin nostrils flared and closed as her breathing grew more rapid and shallow. A pale sheen formed on her upper lip and over her brow, a few wayward strands of blond hair were plastered to her temples. Her eyelids seemed to have a bluish cast as they fluttered and opened to reveal only a sliver of white, the iris rolled nearly toward her eyebrows. She clenched her teeth and slowly her lips pulled back exposing her teeth...as straight and white as any ever seen on a magazine cover.

I smelled a familiar sent...not of sweat nor even of the sea, but of feminine innocence. A musky sweetness headier than any perfume; a dulcet tanginess that issues not from the primary organs of reproduction, but from a much more subtle set of glands spread over the skin. Like the sweetness in the air following a rain carries the certainty of reproduction, these pheromones can drive one mad with a passion to fulfill one's creative destiny. I breathed in this heady mix that spoke of virginity begging to be offered upon the creative alter of sacrifice. This was a force of nature. A force as mighty as the power of the tides and as sweet as a stamen.

She began to make little noises in her throat that spoke more of doves than horses. I felt the largest muscles in her legs begin to tense and tremble, her back arched and she pushed her shoulders against the seatback. She relaxed and moved both my ring finger and my middle finger into her vagina. My index finger was soaked with the flood issuing from her vagina. I slid it down and around between her legs as she raised those beautiful knees nearly to her tiny breasts and braced her feet against the opposite seat. I felt the softness of her anus, wet and inviting, but though I circled around that opening with the tip of my finger, I hesitated to penetrate, yet.

Her thighs were now quivering with such violence the seat was shaking. She pushed my fingers into her wetness and forced them out with the muscles inside...again and again. She did this until she was bucking against my palm. The muscles in her legs continued but settled into a rhythm, still shivering. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at me without focusing as she snaked her free hand around to grasp the back of my neck and pulled my lips to hers, kissing me repeatedly, forcing her tongue between my lips, sucking my tongue into her mouth. Suddenly she stiffened and then, just as suddenly collapsed...large tears brimming under those blue-white lids and filling the gap, quietly over flowing her bottom lids, splashing down from those bottomless blue eyes. Her head again resting on my shoulder.

"What? What?" I whispered confused.

She sniffed and looked up at me from where she was slumped down into her seat snuggled against my side. "Nevermind," she said. "I sometimes just get all so...emotional when I feel this good! And thank you," she whispered," you are really good! You know just what to do to let a girl feel like a woman."

"Now I'm sure that you aren't satisfied by that and I'm no teaser. We will do somethin' about your condition, but I need a little rest." Then she said something that puzzled me. She said, "Now you think about what all of that meant." And went promptly to sleep, her head against my shoulder, both of her hands clasping my hand.

I again watched the shadows grow longer as the sun followed the train, my mind a logjam of facts, stray bits and pieces of emotions, the sparks flashing from the occasional collisions of random ideas. My slight discomfort in my groin dissipated slowly, the pressure and pain unwinding to be sopped up into my stomach, buttocks, and thighs. The ache and tenseness left my back, but I could not relax. The light from the windows dimmed as the day faded and the interior lights flickered on casting their orange glow onto the polished wooden panels of the car. I must have dozed, because I awoke with a start and for a moment struggled to recall what my circumstances were. I glanced to my side. She was gone.

My neck was stiff, but my cock was limp. I stretched and twisted, feeling a "pop" as the muscles relaxed and I relief flowed through my sore shoulders. I leaned forward slightly and brought my hand up to my forehead. As I did, I smelled my fingers...her scent lingered. Not at all unpleasant, but musky and thick as a remnant of rich wine or clam sauce might remind one of a heavy meal. As memories of her came flooding back to me, I was aware of a stirring in my trousers and my undergarments began to bind and constrict. I decided to explore and see if my tiny, youthful, and aggressive companion was about. Besides, my bladder was signaling with a certain urgency a more basic function of my stiffened anatomy.

Glancing at my watch, I also realized that if I hoped to dine that night, I had to make haste. I stowed through the swaying car and unfortunately found the water closet at its end occupied. I was about to open the door leading to the platforms outside between the cars when I felt my coat tail pull. Thinking that I had snagged it on some part of the train, I turned to see in the dimness a thin, pale hand reaching through the crack in the partially opened door of the toilet. I let her draw me in and pushed the door shut behind us, giving the lock a twist.