Carrie's Caboose

There it was, shamelessly hanging out for the whole world to see. Like a big, denim-clad moon, just waiting for some enterprising astronaut to rocket aboard. Carrie bent fully over, kneeling in the vinyl seat and leaning out the passenger car window. Her ass swayed in counterbalance to her waving arm as she shouted goodbyes to her friends on the train platform. Her tight jeans struggled like hell to contain her flesh, but were losing the battle. The slot-machine cherries on her cotton bikini panties rode up and cheekily peeked out over the braided belt held captive in denim loops. It wasn’t any Gap ad, that’s for sure. The train pulled out of Jasper with a sudden lurch, sending Carrie’s wide rump into a thunderous collision with the back of the seat. The tired vinyl was helpless against the assault, and conceded defeat as though it were a bowl of bread dough some burly, indifferent woman had pounded her fist into.

Riding back and forth between the Rockies and the coast, Mark had seen plenty of goodbyes at the Jasper train station. Young college students working for next year’s tuition, taking leave of their summer friends. Gaggles of Japanese tourists and their cameras, busily gathering last-minute gifts and saying sayonara to the snow-capped mountains. And yes, girls like Carrie, travelling alone, oblivious to their own charms, oblivious to his stares. Mark was staring at Carrie, studying her from his seat across the aisle, amused by the way her bottom shook as she leaned out the window. A damn lively ass, that was. And as Carrie swung her copper-blonde head inside, still smiling, she didn’t even notice how the man across the aisle was admiring it.

He knew this route all too well. Pulling out of Jasper in the middle of the early autumn afternoon, they’d be down through Blue River this evening, across the dusty plateaus of the Cariboo under the cover of night, and into Vancouver early the next morning. People often asked him why he didn’t just fly, or at least drive, if he felt he had to keep an eye on his stores himself. But it was hard to argue with how he shipped hefty boxes of merchandise between his Lower Mainland warehouse and his Rocky Mountain tourist traps for the cost of one round-trip train ticket. You couldn’t get it there any faster or cheaper by truck or plane. Besides, Mark always said, I like the train. You meet the nicest people, and you sure can’t beat the scenery.

Carrie wriggled into her seat, stuffing a knapsack that rivaled only her jeans for straining against its contents, on the floor underneath. A tattered novel appeared from somewhere, and just as magically, some trendy bottled iced coffee and a little bar of chocolate. Mark laughed to himself, appreciating a well-fed ass and imagining it was just as sweet as that chocolate. Intrigued, now, to find out, and calculating just how he would manage it.

The train conductor appeared, moseying down the aisle, punching holes in tickets and leaving a thin trail of confetti in his wake. He smiled at seeing a regular passenger, and tipped his hat at Mark.

“Hey Carl, good to see you,” said Mark as he handed him his ticket. “Got a full load today?”

“Not too bad, not too bad,” grinned the conductor. “Should be a nice clear ride back tonight.”

The train churned through the Rockies, its cars linked sinuously, their progress over the tracks noted by the incessant rhythm of its wheels hitting coupling after coupling. You think that a train’s rhythm is jerkier, like the way small children pretend to move like trains, shuffling their feet left-right-left-right across the carpet without lifting them up to take steps. It’s not like that, though. A train’s motion is elliptical, forward moving, overlapping oval orbits. It’s more like riding a horse, the way it moves; fluid, punctuated with that little bass note of the couplings, like an afterthought. If you’re not convinced, watch a woman with large breasts on the train, especially if you’re so lucky that she has a really low-cut blouse on. Those breasts move like waves on the ocean, swelling and moving forward, swelling and moving forward again. The fabric of her blouse ripples away from the proud peaks of her nipples, flowing like swaths of seaweed caught in the middle by dark, wet rocks. Train travel is seriously underrated.

Mark, however, has known about this for a long time, and that’s probably a big reason why seeing a little extra flesh excites him. You can keep your bony Botox bitches, he thinks. Much more fun watching tits jiggling like Jell-O or a scrumptious round ass looking for an escape out of its fabric prison. And no better place than a train to take in the view.

Carrie turned her pages methodically, her finger curling at the top corner and then sliding down the edge until it reached each page’s midpoint, then carefully peeling it back to reveal the next one. She didn’t look up, yet Mark could tell she must be in an interesting section of the story. Her eyes followed each line of text without looking at anything else around her, and her chest heaved in a shallow tempo. The movement of her breasts reminded him of a train trip earlier in the summer. He closed his eyes and pictured that unusually ample Asian girl with the pear-shaped rear, crying out first in fear, and then in joyous release as he reamed her ass out with merciless strokes, clutching a silken skein of her inky hair in his hand. Her ivory bottom had quivered, like Carrie’s breasts now were, every time it met his belly. Christ, it made him hard to think of it.

Looking at Carrie again, his cock stirred even more. He could imagine her now – those strawberry waves tangled in his fist, the expression of shock on her face, the protest, mixed with desire. Her full lips making the shape of his name, gasping for breath. Mark concentrated and exhaled in a focused stream through his teeth, willing his erection to subside for the time being.

Time for a drink – or at least, a little subterfuge. Mark moved out of his seat and headed up a few cars to find the snack car. The train moved through the Selkirk range now, nothing but endless forests and sparkling rivers rushing alongside the tracks. The Japanese tourists who swarmed these trains like bees in the summertime all fought for window space for their camcorders. Mark shook his head as he moved past them. When he reached the counter, he picked up a cardboard carrying tray and loaded it with a few cans of Coke, a tired sandwich of ham and wilted lettuce (which he had absolutely no intention of eating), and a nice fat bar of dark chocolate.

When he re-entered the passenger car, Carrie had put her book aside and was staring idly out the window, her luscious bosom shuddering slightly with the train movement. Mark walked down the aisle holding the cardboard tray in both hands, and with a practiced stumble, sent the precariously perched chocolate flying down to Carrie’s feet. The missile startled her out of her conifer-induced trance.

“Oh, I think you dropped this,” she said helpfully, bending over in her seat to pick up the foil-wrapped bar. Mark licked his lips as he watched her breasts nearly spill out of her t-shirt, and had to check himself as her face turned up towards his, handing him the chocolate. Her eyebrows were surprisingly dark for her fair hair, and gave her grey eyes an unexpected intensity.

“Sorry about that,” Mark replied. “Did I at least hit you with something you might like? It could have been this ham sandwich.” He picked up the plastic-wrapped triangle, projecting an air of resigned disgust.

Carrie laughed. Amused, but not stupid. “I might not have forgiven that. Mmm, was that dark chocolate? Maybe I shouldn’t have given it back so fast.” Okay, she thought, he’s kind of hot. Not exactly subtle, but hot.

Mark searched her expression. She’s friendly, he realized, but no sucker. Still, it’s worth a shot. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t share it with you now, knowing that. How could I eat this in front of you and watch you sulk?”

Carrie smiled and stuck out her lower lip, dazzling Mark with a tantalizing pout. Her smoky eyes pooled in mock sadness. It was his turn to laugh. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, tossing her hair with a nonchalant smile. “Sure.”

They spent the next several hours talking together, enjoying the postcard-like view, discussing their travel and their work, and how they had spent their summers so far. Carrie had little coyness in her, but even so found herself flattered by the attention of this self-assured man with the easy grin.

“So who were the people you were waving to, back there in Jasper?” he asked.

“Oh, just some friends from college. Some of them are working at a rafting company for the summer.”

“You like that white water? I bet you’re an adventurous girl.”

Carrie refused to take the bait. “I never rafted before, but I don’t shy away from new experiences. It’s a blast. Sure beats the hell out of folding t-shirts in some tourist trap.” She smirked playfully, knowing now that Mark had just delivered more t-shirts and trinkets to one of his hotel boutiques.

He raised his eyebrows, acknowledging her friendly dig. “Touché,” he laughed, teasing her with a lengthy stare that penetrated her core. Carrie knew she was probably talking rather more than she should, but his eyes and his smile just seemed to pull strings of words out of her. He certainly wasn’t anything like the beer-soaked guys whose tried charming her out of her panties after pub night at the college, in the cigarette-holed back seats of their ancient Volkswagen buses. Okay, she figured, so he probably does want to get in my panties. But so what? Would that be so bad? She felt keenly aware of her curves, and attracted to the heavy bulge in his trousers. Not bad at all, she decided.

Mark loved this part of the dance. Carrie’s wit parried delightfully against his verbal thrusts. He liked that she really was bright and lovely – after all, there wasn’t much challenge going after someone who would just as easily lay down for some dropout gas jockey. The thrill, when all was said and done, was not just getting your rocks off, but exploring the outer edges of that sexual envelope with someone who had as much between her ears as she did between her legs.

Mark let his hand drop to Carrie’s knee, the gesture unaffected and real. “You don’t get this view on the ride east,” he said. “It’s dark and light at different times. The sunsets on the return trip are ten times prettier, and of course you get to watch the night sky well away from the cities.”

“Kind of hard to see the stars from the train though,” remarked Carrie, tilting her head, questioning Mark.

“You haven’t been to the observation car then? You’re kidding.”

Carrie looked puzzled. “I didn’t know about an observation car. I guess I really didn’t think about it before.”

“There’s one on this train, about half a dozen cars up, I think. The roof is all clear glass, and the seats are higher up than they are in a regular car, so you can see above the other train cars. Really, Carrie, it isn’t a train trip out of the Rockies unless you’ve watched all the stars across the Cariboo.”

His hand not only drifted to her leg once more, but this time energetically squeezed it. Such soft, pliable flesh. It was all he could do to keep his hand from reaching around to grab her plump ass. Patience, patience. All in due course.

Carrie smiled demurely and paused to enjoy the feeling of her heart thumping in her chest. His hand felt good, there. “I’d hate to say I didn’t get my money’s worth,” she laughed. “I suppose I’ll have to go take a gander at some point tonight when it gets dark.”

“You definitely have to. I promise you won’t ever forget the experience.”

The train moved through the mountains and high valleys in the east of the province, plunging into tunnels and out again under the waning daylight, until finally when it emerged from one tunnel it was as dark outside as it had been inside. The forested hillsides were only decipherable from the endless cloak of night sky by their lack of stars. So far from the lights of any city, the sky glittered with silvery-white pinpricks, suggesting a world of blinding light behind the dark velvet blackness. The gibbous moon huddled suspiciously over one ridge, like a nosy old woman peeking out from behind the curtains at her neighbours. Carrie and Mark sat much more closely now, sharing smiles and chocolate. When Mark’s hand moved to Carrie’s thigh, she placed her hand on top of his, as if unsure, stopping the ascent. She didn’t move him off her leg, though.

“What a clear night,” sighed Carrie, pointing out the window. “I see the Big Dipper there. And there’s that giant W – somebody told me once what that was but I forget.”

“You haven’t read all your classics, then. That’s Cassiopeia, the Queen of Ethiopia. Doomed forever to be chained to her chair in the heavens.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carrie’s sideway glance was skeptical.

“Does the idea of being tied down bother you? Or excite you? Yeah, that must be it.” He nodded cheekily, testing her.

“Yeah, right,” Carrie sniffed sarcastically. “Every woman has a rape fantasy, and we all want to be tied up.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Then maybe this would be a good time for us to find the observation car. We can see the rest of the constellations and I’ll be able to tell you how Cassiopeia got into such a – helpless – position.”

Helpless, my ass, thought Carrie. What the hell. Let’s see how much fun we can have.

They moved out of their seats and up the narrow aisle of the car, passing through to the next one, and the next. The metal platforms between each carriage shifted laterally beneath their feet as they walked from car to car. Mark opened the door at the end of one car and let Carrie pass through onto the grated bridge. As she reached for the door handle to the next compartment, the metal floor shifted slightly, but suddenly, and she fought for her footing. Mark caught her arm and spun her body towards his, as the rushing wind outside the accordion-like walls roared in their ears. Carrie’s long dark lashes framed the wide whites of her eyes as she felt her body being pulled close. One hand tightened on her wrist while the other pressed into the small of her back, holding her firmly against his pelvis. The growing hardness against her soft stomach was unmistakable.

“Careful, Carrie,” he spoke into her ear, leaning down so that his lips grazed her lobe. “The platform is very unstable. You don’t want to lose your balance.”

Carrie stared at him, feeling his hand pressing into her back. The heel dug in there while his fingers reached all the way down to the top of her buttocks. If the train passage wasn’t making her dizzy, the pressure of his hand there surely was. His face was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. Mark’s eyes drilled into hers; she was locked into them. Her eyelids fell like velvet curtains, certain that in the next moment he would kiss her – and wanting him to. She relaxed in his grip, expectant, only to feel his hand let her wrist go and one of his fingers pull a stray strawberry lock away from her face. She opened her eyes to see him smiling at her, his pupils dark and fully dilated.

“You really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you,” he said to her gently. “Come, let’s go.” As he pulled a flabbergasted Carrie to the side and opened the next door for her, the sudden rush of light illuminated the tightened nipples under her shirt. Carrie walked into the next car shivering and feeling utterly naked. Mark felt his testicles twitch and growled inwardly, keeping one hand on her while they walked forward. A few more cars up, and they found the clear-domed observation car.

It was unlit, and had few occupants; most people had already had their fill of endless dark valleys and twinkling stars. Three teenagers were trying to light a hash pipe in one corner. Mark and Carrie moved into a row of seats near the back as the boys worked on the pipe. From the front entrance, the conductor suddenly appeared.

“What did I tell you guys not half an hour ago? None of that on my train. Get out of here right now before I toss you off.”

The boys shuffled out past the tall black man. “Don’t make me do this again,” he warned them gruffly. Turning to Mark and Carrie, the only others in the car, he spoke apologetically. “I hope they weren’t too much of a disturbance. Just let me know if you need my help.”

“Thanks, Carl,” Mark replied. “I appreciate it.”

Carl walked through the rest of the car and disappeared through the rear entrance.

“You know him?” asked Carrie.

“Not really. He always seems to be working when I go back and forth to Jasper. A good guy.”

He put his arm around her and pulled her into the crook of his shoulder. Carrie exhaled, snuggling in a little. “You were going to tell me a story, Mark.”

“I was, wasn’t I,” he replied. “Let’s see, where were we?”

“The big W there,” said Carrie. “Cassie-something-or-other.”

“Ah, yes, Cassiopeia. Well, there she is, seated on her chair. She was a Queen, and Cepheus – that’s him right there – was her King.” Mark traced out the shapes through the glass roof of the car while stroking Carrie’s arm. “She got herself in a bit of trouble, bad girl,” he laughed.

“We’re all bad girls. What was her crime?” joked Carrie.

Mark’s guise was all mock-seriousness, perfectly didactic. “Cassiopeia was terribly vain, and decided she was more beautiful than even the sea nymphs. The nymphs caught wind of this and complained to Poseidon – he’s the sea-lord, you understand – to do something about it. After all, a mortal woman couldn’t be more beautiful than a sea nymph, right?”

“Right, sure, whatever,” laughed Carrie.

“So Poseidon sent Cetus, a great whale – that’s him right there, with that great big old head of his and the tail – to ravage the shores of Ethiopia. Cassiopeia was understandably annoyed and begged Zeus – the head honcho – to do something about this whale wrecking everything.”

“Kind of a ‘my-god-is-bigger-than-your-god’ thing,” she chuckled, searching out the form of the whale in the sky. Mark’s hand had drifted to Carrie’s hip, and was stroking it there. She cuddled in closer. His arms were strong, and he smelled woodsy and clean.

“Yup, exactly. But there’s always a cost, right? Zeus told Cepheus and Cassiopeia that to get Poseidon to back off, they’d have to sacrifice their daughter, Andromeda – she’s hanging out over there, way past the Milky Way. They tied her to the cliffs so that Cetus could come and eat her up.” Mark shifted his body over to look at Carrie more directly, then took her hand and pointed out the constellation.

“All these women getting tied up. I see a pattern here,” chided Carrie, rolling her eyes.

“Well, that’s why women need heroes, to get them out of fixes,” teased Mark, curling his fingers around Carrie’s. “Luckily, we have Perseus, right there. He came to Andromeda’s rescue, defeated the whale, and they took off together. The nymphs were still pissed, though, so Cassiopeia was tied to a chair and stuck up in the sky for the rest of time.”

“Hmph. Is there a moral to this story?” asked Carrie, looking straight at Mark. Her pillowy lower lip glistened in the moonlight. “Don’t mess with sea nymphs?”

“Well,” mused Mark. His finger traced the curve of Carrie’s cheek. “How about, ‘If you do mess with sea nymphs, make sure you have a hero close by’?” He gazed deep into her grey eyes, and before she could answer, crushed her lips with his own. Carrie’s body shuddered as she felt his hand cradling her head, his fingers clawing through her hair. He pulled her head back by her pale ginger waves, and dove into her exposed throat. She whimpered, letting him take it. His hand moved up her body, touching her breasts for the very first time. He cupped one firmly, letting his thumb flick over the hardening nipple. Carrie’s hand gravitated to his chest; her fingernails digging hungrily like a kitten’s kneading claws.