Benefits of a Phobia

This story was inspired by a reader (female) who told me that she has long had a secret fantasy which involves her meeting a potential lover whilst travelling by train.

The idea immediately appealed to me - and as I was for some reason also immediately reminded of the book written by Erica de Jong ('Fear of Flying') in which she coined the concept of what she called "the zipless fuck" - I was prompted to once again give free rein to my always over-active imagination!

*

Chapter 1

Even as a boy, unlike any others I knew, I was absolutely terrified of aircraft. Maybe what had something to do with it was the fact that we lived just a few kilometres from an international airport, and although not under the regular flight-path, when the weather conditions required it, the inbound jets would come screaming just a few metres above our roof-top.

My father, bless him, did his best to help me overcome what he saw as a totally irrational fear, taking me out to the airport a couple of times, in a frustrated attempt to convince me that airplanes were fun and that such a place was exciting, not one to be fearful of. But my resulting screams and uncontrollable panic-stricken tantrums forced him to accept that his son was, at least in this way, totally different to all other small boys.

My fear - no let's be honest about it - my phobia, didn't really affect the next decade or two of my life and it was only when, in my mid twenties, I set up my own business that I realised that sooner or later I might just have to rely on some form of air transport.

I was sensible enough to recognise the problems my phobia might cause me so sought out the advice of a psychologist who specialised in treating people with a variety of such ailments; spiders, snakes, crowds, etc. - in fact I discovered that a whole range of things do leave many of us cringing in some far corner, rather than face the prospect of actually having to confront them.

Over the next several months he took me slowly through a programme of Behavioural Conditioning Therapy and had me sign up for a course conducted by the local major airline which was specifically designed for potential passengers such as myself. All these things worked, to some extent, and although I never truly lost the sense of fear and panic, I did learn ways of controlling it sufficiently to enable me to take the occasional, usually long-haul flight.

But when, some years later, a profitable business opportunity arose in a major city well over a thousand kilometres away, I had to seriously address the prospect of having to make regular trips there. At first I used the tricks I had learned, and coped with the individual flights there and back - but I felt sure that just the idea that I might have to do that every week or ten days for the foreseeable future, would put just too great a strain on my nerves - so I began to investigate all possible alternatives.

I could of course drive - but that would not only waste an entire day, but also leave me tired and strained on my arrival.

It was when I checked out what rail services still existed that I got a real surprise. There was a daylight service, but that had much the same disadvantages that driving myself entailed. But there was also an overnight version, which, at least in the First Class section, provided not only a full dining car service, but also what appeared to be very comfortable sleeper accommodation.

The more I thought about the idea - the idea of being able to join the train at around 9 o'clock, then enjoy a meal with maybe a glass of half decent wine, before toddling off to read myself to sleep in my own little cubby hole, only to wake for an admittedly tightly cramped shower, then tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs, and arriving at my destination in a totally refreshed and invigorated state of mind - seemed just too good to be true.

But, strange to say - especially in these days of seemingly ever declining standards of service - it wasn't!

In fact the standard of everything; the transport itself, its punctual reliability, the style and comfort of the accommodation, the quality of the food - and even the wine; of which they seemed to have a remarkably fine, if somewhat but quite understandably, limited variety - was truly excellent. But the thing that impressed me even more than all of those important factors, was the quality of the staff who, I was in time to discover, seemed to be permanently seeking new ways of pleasing those of us who were seen as being their regular patrons.

I was so delighted with this alternative mode of transport that it gave me the confidence to seek ways of expanding what I had originally thought would be no more than an adjunct to my main business, and began making the trip on a quite regular basis.

That, coupled with the relatively generous tips I left for the staff, soon had me regarded as one of their more favoured passengers. I knew all their regulars by name, and whenever they saw that I was travelling they not only made sure that a sleeping berth closest to the dining car was reserved for me, they also always endeavoured to ensure I could dine alone.

I much preferred to do so for two reasons; firstly the thought that I could otherwise end up incarcerated for an hour or so with some terrible bore, and secondly, it gave me the chance to either catch-up on my reading of some important business documents - or, if my journey was a less stressful one, a crime, or perhaps travel book.

To allow for the space the galley area required, the dining car was divided into two groups of tables; down one side of the carriage the tables seated six, down the other, they were just for two - and it was one of those, one third of the way down from the galley, that was always reserved in my name.

I had been making the journeys to and fro, quite uneventfully, for six months or more - before circumstances set about completely changing my life…

Chapter 2

Even as I made my way along the platform to board the train, I realised it was to be much more crowded than usual, and George - that trip's First Class supervisor - apologised as soon as he saw me.

'Busy night tonight Mr Driscoll, it's the football final tomorrow, so we've got a full load - even in First Class I'm afraid.'

'Well it's good to know that everyone will be earning their wages George. Can't have the railways going broke now, can we!' I responded with a friendly grin.

'Suppose not sir, but I'm afraid it means you'll have to share your table tonight. But -' he added hastily - 'I've tried to make sure you'll not be bothered too much. I've hand-picked your dining companion, and I think the two of you will get along just fine, sir.' he said with a positively twinkling-eyed grin.

His look, and the comment he'd added, made me curious as to just who it was I would be dining with - but as seating was available from the moment the train began to move, I didn't have to wait too long to find out exactly what the implication was.

I had only been seated for perhaps three or four minutes before I saw George open the compartment door from the sleeping-car section, to allow another passenger through from it - a woman - and as he turned to lead her down to her allotted table, he caught my eye and gave me another of those almost boldly mischievous grins.

She was undoubtedly attractive - if in a quite severe way - her appearance being that then favoured by many of the more senior female corporate leaders. Her hair bobbed to just below ear-length then coloured silver-blonde. Her obviously expensively tailored black business suit not softened by any adornment, the only relief being the dark burgundy silk shirt beneath it. A colour that I noticed was reflected, if just a few shades lighter, by both her lipstick and her professionally applied nail varnish. Her legs were encased in the very sheerest of black nylon, and on her feet she wore moderately high-heeled, highly glossy court shoes. Other than tiny, almost unnoticeable diamonds in her ears, a single, larger stone on one finger of her right hand and a watch around her left wrist, she was, like her suit, lacking any of the usual display of jewellery that so many women seemed to favour.

The only thing that seemed to contrast with her overall appearance was the book she held in her left hand, a paper-back, presumably carried for much the same reason that many of us do when journeying by public transport - as the final line of protection from a totally boring fellow traveller.

'Miss Carmichael - Mr Driscoll.' George said as I stood to extend a hand in greeting to the woman who was so obviously to be my dining companion.

She took it, nodded slightly, then seated herself - not uttering any sort of reply to my couple of friendly words as she put the book down alongside her place setting.

It was a book I realised I immediately recognised - I had only read it myself just a week or two earlier. It was the latest of Harry Hanlon's crime thrillers, and in my opinion as someone who has read everything he has written, one of his very best.

The woman, Miss Carmichael, stared out of the window for the next few minutes, and I used that time to appear to be scanning the menu - though of course as a result my regular trips, just my first glance told me which of the dozen or so variations they would be serving us that night. 'If you are not a regular traveller on this train, Miss Carmichael, I could recommend either the veal, or the salmon mousse - depending on your preferences.' I finally ventured to say.

At least that comment did make her look at me - and I got my first proper look at her eyes, and they were truly extraordinary. Their overall colour was a pale shade of amethyst, but with flecks of a much darker, almost violet hue flashing from somewhere deep within them. They were quite the most astonishing eyes I had ever seen, and I could imagine that gazing into them for any length of time could produce an almost hypnotic state.

'Thank you - Mr Driscoll was it?'

'Yes, that's right - but I prefer to be called Gavin. And now that we have broken the ice, may I ask if you have started the book yet? I only finished it a week or two ago and must say I think it's probably one of Hanlon's finest.' I added hopefully.

Well it may have been no more than a lucky break - or perhaps the gods had already conspired to have George seat us together - but it immediately became clear that Karen - she almost immediately told me that was her name - was another crime books aficionado.

So we actually spent the next hour or so, not only eating and drinking the bottle of wine I chose for us, but discussing various authors, their best plot-lines, their varying crime solving methodologies, and even how we would ourselves set about solving some real life crimes.

In the course of that she told me that she was Patent Attorney, which - as my business was in providing marketing consultancy for small to medium sized engineering companies in launching what they hoped would prove to be break-through products - gave us yet another area of similar interests to talk about.

So much so that we were both still in full flight when I realised that we were the only two diners left in the car, and that George was hovering in the background, obviously waiting for the moment when he could allow his staff to start on the business of preparing the tables for the following morning's breakfast.

'I think we might be about to overstay our welcome.' I said quietly, using my head to indicate the staff waiting behind the door at the far end of the carriage. 'Now I don't know about you, but I've enjoyed this conversation so much - I wonder if you would like to continue it while sharing a nightcap with me?'

Karen paused, perhaps thinking about the possible implications of accepting such an offer - those amazing eyes staring thoughtfully, directly into my own. 'Don't you think that even the Club Lounge will be rather full of enthusiastically boisterous football fans?' she replied a few moments later.

'Oh of course, I'd quite forgotten them!' I exclaimed, then added. 'Well, I do always carry a rather fine brandy with me - purely for medicinal purposes, you understand.' I added with a grin. 'If you'd care to, I'd be most happy to share a glass of that with you.'

It took her even longer to answer that suggestion of course - and I was both surprised, and delighted, to hear her say. 'That might be very nice Gavin, thank you - yes, I'll happily share a glass.'

With that, we stood, then made our way down the carriage towards the now broadly smiling George.

'Tea at the usual time Mr Driscoll?' he asked as I drew level with him.

'Yes please George - and thank you for your choice of dining companions, you were quite right, she has been quite exceptional company.' I told him sotto voce.

'Well you never know, she might still prove to be even more so!' the old rascal whispered even more quietly back to me.

Chapter 3

Now I think I should explain here - for the benefit of readers in any other countries - that, unlike those in most other advanced economies, our rail network had not been upgraded to lines that provide a seamless, smoothly gliding train ride. Ours remains still with the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries' technology. So as the rails still include the regular expansion joints, the traveller does so to a never-ending background sound - and the associated rhythm - of a series of 'clickety-clack, clickety-clack, clickety-clack' - as each carriage jounces over those gaps in the track-way. Then, adding to these are the still frequent points that connect with now probably rarely used sidings, and branch and spur-lines, each of which rock the whole train length of carriages as they clatter over them.

All of which means that a railway traveller must accustom themselves to not only a constant vibration, but a shuddering that is also every now and then interspersed with unexpected bounces and jerkily swaying motions. So regular travellers learn that, like any ocean-going person, they must quickly get themselves - not a pair of 'sea-legs' - but in this case, 'rail-legs'.

So Karen and I made our slightly tottering way towards the sleeping car, she - having quite high heels - having just that much more difficulty than I. But I must say that even watching her unsteady progress ahead of me was in itself actually a very real pleasure, the tightness of her pencil slim skirt clearly outlining the firmly rounded shape of her bottom as it adjusted to the movements of her body's swaying progress.

But we made it without being thrown around too much, and once inside my cabin I produced the bottle of brandy and the cut-glass tumbler I always carried with it.

'I presume that rather like a boy scout you come prepared, with two of those.' she said, indicating the glass.

'No Karen, just the one. I'll make do with a glass from wash-stand.' I said, and for a moment thought that my reply might have actually caused her to blush, but then perhaps it was just either the rather higher temperature in the cabin or its rather different lighting that seemed to give her complexion a more rosy tinge.

From what she said as I shut the door behind us I gathered it might have been the temperature. 'It's rather too warm in here, I think I'll have to take this jacket off.' she said, unbuttoning and slipping it off so I could hang it on the hook behind the cabin door.

'And I'll do likewise, they don't seem to have allowed for the extra heat that the full load of passengers is producing.' I commented, as I hung mine next to hers.

Now anyone who has travelled on such trains will know that each cabin has two bunks, one slung above the other - and although in my cabin the top bunk had of course been neatly stowed away - the lower bunk has to be fitted low enough to accommodate the pair of them. So, when using the bunk as something to sit on, although not too uncomfortable, one's knees are drawn rather higher than they would be in any normal chair.

So when she sat I was treated to the opportunity to see a good deal more of nylon sheathed legs than I would normally have been - and extraordinarily fine legs they were! Long, their thighs - at least the lower sections of them - firm and smoothly rounded, a shape that was of course very much enhanced by the sheer black nylon that encased them. But what both intrigued, and I admit, excited me, was that from what I could see of them - just a hint of what might be a lacy, encircling welt - I found myself immediately wondering if she might actually be wearing not pantyhose, but stockings!

Now like most men, I admit to having a 'thing' about stockinged legs - especially the particularly shapely ones, and especially when the stockings are both genuine nylon, and of the very finest sheerness. And I also admit to having absolutely no idea what it is about stockings that actually does that - just that it does!

So the sight of Karen's definitely fine legs, in such finely sheer black nylon, was itself arousing - that they might be stockings not pantyhose was just the icing on that particularly arousing cake.

I handed her the glass of brandy, and as there was of course nowhere else to do so, turned and sat myself down alongside her - and, raising my glass, I said. 'Well, here's to a continuation of what has been a most enjoyable conversation.'

She lifted hers, and with what appeared to be a positively sparkling flash in those quite astonishing eyes, replied. 'And of course one of the very great pleasures of such conversations is that one never knows exactly where or what they might lead to.'

I grinned, perhaps a touch too wolfishly, and just before taking my first sip of the brandy, added. 'Well, given the delightful nature of the present company, I can think of very many excitingly fascinating byways we might just find ourselves venturing into.'

As she lifted her glass to her lips I couldn't help my eyes drifting down over the shapely outline of her; of the way the fine, burgundy silk shirt clung to the prominent shape of her breasts, of the apparent tautness of her stomach - but especially to the shape of her thighs that were being outlined by the tightness of her pencil slim skirt.

But once down there they were yet again drawn even more magnetically to the length of thigh that appeared from below its hem; and right then, given the partially relaxed way she was sitting, focussing directly on the shadowy space between them. Although only a very narrow space, the fact that it was flanked by each of her pair of sexily alluring thighs, made it a space so tempting I could feel my fingers positively itching to slip themselves down into it - to be able to experience the nylon-smooth and flesh-warm feeling of having those pressing against them.

Whereas I had taken just a relatively small sip of my brandy, Karen downed hers in one leisurely swallow, then bent to place the empty glass on the floor beside her - and in doing so gave me my first glimpse of just a little of what ample charms she had concealed beneath her shirt, of the lush, creamy swell of her breasts.

'That is indeed a very fine brandy Gavin, and I look forward to having a second a little later - but right now I think we can stop acting like two nervously shy adolescents.' was all she said, but it was more than enough to trigger my immediate response. I too downed the rest of my glass, stood to move both across to the wash-stand, then turned out the main cabin light - leaving just the one reading light above the upper bunk on - then bent to pull her to her feet.

We kissed; at first still a little tentatively, but then having found the other's lips and mouth not only willing but encouragingly open, with gradually increasing intensity. And although it had to be through the fabric of her skirt, my hands eagerly held - gripped perhaps rather too enthusiastically - the taut firmness of her bottom, squeezing each delightfully rounded cheek as I pulled her even more tightly against myself - against the rapidly hardening length of my cock.