It was late October when he first noticed her. There was something about her grey-blue eyes and blond hair with gentle curls that haunted him.
Pete Hutchinson was an I.T. Specialist on the graveyard shift for a law firm in Manhattan. There weren't that many New Jersey Transit Trains coming and going at the hours he traveled. He guessed she must also have a midnight-shift job and that's why he saw her so often.
The first time he'd seen her, she'd been a couple of seats down facing the opposite direction. They'd played a game of eye tag as he liked to call it. He'd look at her, they'd catch eyes, 'tag you're it' and he'd look away. Lather, rinse, repeat. When the train had pulled into Penn Station, she'd melted his heart with a shy smile as she left the train.
They weren't always on the same car, but he would see her through the windows one or two cars down...and they shared the same stop, Rahway. There was usually a man with her when she got on the train, but he couldn't figure out their relationship. They never kissed, and barely even spoke. He had an imposing, angry presence that made Pete nervous just from looking at him.
Pete grew bold one evening, walking through the train until he found her. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his courage and sat down in the seat next to her.
She looked up and noticed him, then blushed and looked back down again.
"Hello," he said.
"No English," she said in a thick accent.
He tried a couple of times, but her English was incredibly limited. Through international fumbling sign language he was able to communicate to her that he did something with computers. She unbuttoned her coat enough to show him a polyester blue uniform dress and made washing motions, letting him know she had a cleaning job. That exhausted their ability to communicate and they sat there for several minutes in awkward silence.
Pete eventually pulled out his iPod and was about to listen to it when he got an idea. Taking one earbud and offering it to her, she smiled and accepted it. He started playing the music and they spent the rest of the ride in listening to tunes. She observed her reactions to the songs and made a mental note of the ones she seemed to like the most.
As the train pulled into the station, they looked at each other regretfully.
"Pete," he said, indicating himself.
"Ludmila," she said, smiling. Then a fearful look crossed her features. She looked outside to the platform fearfully then grabbed her things, pushing past him. "Good bye." She rushed off the train, holding up a warning finger not to follow her. She dashed down the platform and was soon out of sight.
That morning, Pete watched the 7:09 outbound train leave and sat patiently in the station waiting for her to appear. As the time for the 7:45 run approached he grew nervous, not wanting to wait another half hour to get home. He looked up with relief as he saw her approaching. He started to walk toward her, but she caught his eye and shook her head almost imperceptibly, indicating the large man walking near her. Pete looked away from her and kept walking past. Once clear, he stepped quickly into a car on the train and watched through the windows where he could go unnoticed.
The large man escorted Ludmila to a car and glared her ominously until the doors closed. Pete waited until the train had pulled out of the station then walked between the cars to reach her. Once again, he sat beside her without asking. She looked up at him with sad, exhausted eyes, but seemed to welcome his presence.
"Music?" she said, awkwardly, pointing to her ear. Pete pulled out his iPod and they listened once again. She smiled as he cued up a song she had liked. Soon, he saw her eyes drifting closed. Slowly, she slid against his shoulder and his heart raced at the feel of her head resting there. He didn't move a muscle for the next half hour, not until the Linden stop, just before theirs. He gently nudged her with his shoulder and she opened her eyes, sitting upright abruptly. He pointed to the signs outside the window and she quickly got her bearings. She took out the ear bud and handed it to him sadly.
"Thank you," she said as he walked to the other end of the car.
Once again, he tried to be circumspect as the doors opened at their station. On the platform, he stepped to the side to watch as she was met by the man he always saw with her. When Ludmila got near him, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. Pete watched with concern as the man kept his hand there, gripped around her as they walked toward a car in the parking lot. As she got into the car, she cast one backward glance and again shook her head 'no' toward him and he stepped out of sight.
His mind was burning with questions. Who were these men? What were they doing with her? Yet he couldn't ask her anything, not with the complete language barrier between them. He resolved to do all he could to change that.
That night, he again found his way to her and sat beside her.
"Music?" she said, warmly.
"No," he replied. "Words."
"Words?" She looked confused.
"Seat," he said, pointing to the padded cushion across from them. "Window," he tapped on the glass. "Coat," he pulled on his jacket.
She looked at him in surprise. A curious joy shone in her eyes as she recognized what he was doing. With no hesitation, she dove right in.
"Seat. Weendow. Coat," she said, indicating each item.
The rest of the trip was an English lesson. As they neared Penn Station, she said thank you and moved away from him.
Over the next few weeks they developed a regular routine. He would board, she would wait, the train would pull out, he would find her.
"Hello, it is good to see you," she said, formally. It was mid-November and her English was coming along surprisingly well.
"Very good, Milyushka," said Pete. He'd been doing research of his own and had found her Russian nickname. Her blush was all the response he needed to know she didn't mind him calling her that.
"What we learn today?" she asked.
"Today, we talk. We'll learn that way."
"Oh good," she said, grinning. "I like talk. I like talk with you."
They had adjusted the seats so they could face each other. The attraction between them was palpable, though neither of them had acted on it yet.
"What we talk about?" she asked.
He reached forward and took both of her hands in his, looking sincerely into her eyes. "Ludmila, who are these men? Who are the men who meet you at the stations?"
She blanched, pulling her hands back from his and placing them firmly in her lap.
"Those men. In New York, he is with job. The man at Rahway he is…how you say?" She held her hands to her head, pointing her fingers outward.
"The devil?" said Pete.
"Yes! The Devil. He is devil. You…you should never go by them. Stay away. For many reasons. I ask you this strong like."
"Alright," said Pete.
"I mean this Petrov," she entreated. "Bad, bad men."
"I understand," said Pete. "Let's just talk now. Where are you from? Where in Russia?"
"I lived in small town, outside city of Ukhta," said Ludmila.
"What brought you here?" asked Pete.
Ludmila looked off into the distance, not meeting his eyes. It was clear this was a very uncomfortable subject for her.
"I was in University," she said flatly. "I was uh… tell stories with words."
"A writer?" prompted Pete.
"Yes. A writer. I was good. Perhaps no Dostoyevsky, but they say I do good. My father, work in petrol fields. He have accident. My mother, she drive too…uh…strong, fast to get to hospital. They die in rooms next to each other."
She shrugged, trying to make it seem casual.
"I have younger brother. Michael. Misha. I leave university. Get job. Money not so good. This…this thing in America comes. I take it. Misha is in school you sleep at."
"boarding school?" prompted Pete.
"Boarding school, yes," said Ludmila. "I pay for that. Is good."
It didn't seem like it was all good to Pete. Tears brimmed in her eyes, but still she looked out the window impassively. She steeled herself, dabbing her eyes with her sleeve.
"Now you, Pete," she said smiling. "Where you from?"
"Missoula, Montana. In the West," said Pete.
"Oh, West? Cowboys, Indians, bang-bang?" she asked.
"Well, more cowboys than here…but not like in the movies."
"What about mother, father?"
"Both still alive. Retired to Arizona."
"Tired?" asked Ludmila. "Like, sleepy?"
"No," said Pete, "Not tired. Retired. Quit working. Pensioned."
Their lessons continued in the more conversational mode from then on. She would ask questions and learn the words as he corrected her, or explained the words she didn't know.
The attraction between them continued growing as well. There was casual intimacy between them and they were always touching as they sat together. It was Ludmila who initiated their first romantic contact on the homeward bound trip one morning.
"I learn new word today," she said, as he sat next to her when the train was clear of Manhattan.
"What's that?" he asked.
She moved very close to him, leaning in to kiss him tenderly.
"Kiss," she said as their lips parted. "This is kiss, yes?"
"Yes," he said, his head buzzing. "This is kiss."
Several minutes later, as their tongues met, he explained, "That is a French Kiss."
"We say same thing," said Ludmila, laughing.
That evening, as they met up on the inbound trip, each of them ached to touch.
"I am, how you say, can't think anything but you?" she said, after they kissed passionately.
"Yes, I am obsessed by you," she said.
"With you. I am obsessed with you, too," he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her once more.
Two days later, she was wearing a woolen coat. As usual, there were few people aboard. She looked around to be sure no one was near and pulled his hand inside the lining.
"How do you say this?" she asked.
"Breast," he whispered.
"Breast. Is called anything else? The men who work on buildings, they say something else. They whistle, they say "nice… teets?"
"Yeah," he said laughing. "There's a lot of words. Tits, boobs, knockers, it goes on and on."
"American men, they are no different than Russian. Find million names for favorite thing. Now, wait."
She looked around once more, then reached up and unzipped her cleaning uniform. She was wearing a surprisingly sexy front-clasp bra. She undid it, letting her lovely breasts fall free. Taking his hand again, she put it on her bare breast.
"Breast," she said. "I like breast."
He smiled wryly, "So do I."
"No, I like word, silly," she said. "What is this? This part?"
She removed his hand, and rubbed her finger around the darker area.
"Areola," said Pete, watching in fascination while also glancing around nervously.
"Areola," she repeated.
"And this," he said, taking her nipple in his fingers. "Is the nipple."
"Neeple," she said, sighing as he pinched her softly. "I see you know about neeple."
Their anatomy lesson was unfortunately limited as more people filtered onto the train as they got closer to Manhattan. It drove Pete crazy, knowing what was underneath as she zipped up her uniform without bothering to re-clasp her bra.
The next morning, she removed her coat and placed it over her lap.
"Pussy?" she repeated, having guided his hand there beneath her blue polyester dress.
"Yes, or vagina, cunt…that one's pretty rude, I don't usually say that," he said, "There's lots more for this as well."
"I like pussy, is good," she said.
"There's more," he whispered, maneuvering his hand. "Labia."
"Labia," she moaned softly as he moved his fingers to illustrate.
"Clitoris, or clit," he whispered in her ear.
"Clit," she gasped as he began rubbing gentle circles with his fingers, not stopping for several minutes.
"G-spot," he whispered as he moved his fingers inside, keeping his thumb on the magic button.
It was not long until her body shuddered, she buried her face against his shoulder and squealed as quietly as she could.
"That was? What called?" she asked, once she was able to talk.
"Orgasm," he said, "Or cumming."
"Coming? Like, are you coming on the train?" she asked.
"Yes, you say it the same."
"I like cumming on train," she sighed.
It was a few days before they could continue her anatomy lessons, but a slow Monday night found her hand beneath his coat.
"Cock, or Penis," he groaned as she grasped him firmly.
"I say cock. Better word," she said assertively.
"Those would balls, or testicles," he gasped.
"Balls. Cock. Good," she said, starting to stroke his shaft. "How you say, when you do this to yourself?"
"Oh my god," he groaned. "That would be called jacking off, or jerking off, or masturbating."
"Good. I jack you off now, my American Petrov."
She worked him as quickly as she could beneath his coat. "You tell me when, yes?" she said, as his breathing quickened.
"Now," he groaned as he felt himself reaching the edge.
She dove beneath the coat and took him in her mouth as he erupted with the pent up reservoir he'd been mostly saving ever since meeting her. He shot forth into her warm mouth a couple of times before having his joy cut short by the door opening at the end of the car and the conductor approaching. He sat helplessly as Ludmila finished draining him, doing his best to keep some sort of normal expression on his face. The conductor, Bob, was there more often than not on this run. He was generally humorless and Pete worried at what would happen. Bob took in the situation in a glance, but his expression barely changed. He took their tickets from the back of the seat, clipped them, and moved on.
"Nothing I haven't seen," he said nonchalantly as he exited to the next car.
Ludmila emerged, redfaced from both embarrassment and from being in the rather steamy confines.
"That was close," he said.
"What is word for this?" she asked, holding up two fingers which she'd used to wipe away the last of his copious explosion.
"Cum," he said, rebuttoning things below the coat.
"This cum also. Hmm. I like make you cum. You cum very much. Been long time, no?" She licked off her fingers seductively then kissed him softly.
That morning was busy on the train so they could only talk, but that night Pete got an even greater surprise. As the train left the station, he made his usual journey to find her, but didn't make it to her seat. As he passed the restroom, a hand snaked out and dragged him in.
Slamming the door, Ludmila attacked him with a stunning ferocity. She kissed him deeply as her fingers rapidly worked the buttons on his shirt and soon his pants as well. She tried kneeling down to take him into her mouth, but the room was too cramped. She reached down and pulled her dress off, revealing no panties and a bra which she quickly shed. Pete gazed at her naked body in awe.
"You are so beautiful," he said.
"Thank you," she said, blushing. "But hurry, we must not be long."
They found the counter was the perfect height. He lifted her up and positioned himself, ready to enter her.
"Wait," she said, "What is called, this thing we do? I must know words, first."
"Umm, making love, is the romantic way to say it. 'Fucking' is the more…um, strong way of saying it," he said.
"I like strong. Fucking. Fucking me, Pete."
It didn't seem in order to correct her language at this moment. Pete pushed himself in, and she gave a cry as he pushed all the way into her already moist opening.
"Are you alright?" he asked, tenderly.
"Yes," she said, taking his face in her hands and kissing him eagerly. "Just so good. So very, very good. Now fucking me. We are fucking, yes?"
"Yes," he said beginning to thrust inside her. "We are fucking."
There was a desperation about Ludmila's lovemaking; a hunger. She kissed Pete with a longing he hadn't seen in their stolen moments on the train car. With each kiss, it was as though she was trying to devour him, with each thrust she was sucking him further into her. At the same time, she was trying to give herself entirely over to him, pushing down on his cock, wrapping herself around him with her legs. Keeping his face in her hands, she stared into his eyes intently.
"I need this, my Pete. I need you so. I don't have the words in English to tell you how much…" and then she spilled over into Russian. He had no idea what she said, but it certainly was passionate she kept eye contact with him for the next few minutes, urging him in her native language to take her, while also throwing out the word fucking every once in a while.
"Oh!" she screamed as her climax caught her by surprise. "Yes Pete, yes!"
Now she did stop looking at him, closing her eyes and throwing back her head in ecstasy as the orgasm possessed her. Her own rapture pushed Pete into his own and he groaned with delight as his own release began.
"Yes, Pete," she whispered into his ear, clasping him to her desperately. "Cum to me. Cumming in pussy. Please, please give me you."
The surprises didn't end there, however. As Pete filled her, the emotional gates burst inside of Ludmila and she began to weep. He held her there, buried inside of her as she wept for several minutes.
"What's wrong, Milyushka? Please tell me."
"Oh, so much, Pete," she whispered, "But not this. This good. This I cry for. It has been so long since I knew good. I am good with you. Now we must go, before trouble."
Pete buttoned up quickly and slipped out of the restroom, giving Ludmila room to get fully dressed. She came out a short while later and walked toward him with a smug expression on her face. Sitting beside him, she took his hand in hers, interlocking their fingers. She leaned against his shoulder and that sat that way, in silence, for several minutes.
Pete's wheels were spinning. His life consisted of almost twenty-three mundane hours a day mixed with two half-hours of beauty each way on the train.
If what he was about to say hadn't been true before this evening, it certainly was now. "Ludmila, I love you," he said.
She looked up into his eyes with surprise. Her expression reflected countless, conflicted emotions. The spark in her eyes seemed to return his sentiment, but something was stopping her from saying any sort of reply.
"Pete, you must listen," she said, seriously. "People in love, stupid things they do. A stupid thing would be to try and see me outside of train. Do not do this."
"But…" Pete started, but she interrupted him sternly.
"Promise me," she said, firmly. "Promise we keep this here."
"If you say so," said Pete, reluctantly.
She left his side earlier than usual that trip. The turmoil Pete was feeling was hard to describe.
The next morning, she looked more tired and sad than usual, but she also seemed to welcome his presence more than ever when he sat down beside her.
"I am obsessed with you even more," she whispered into his ear just before she fell asleep.
Two days later, in the bathroom, it was basic and primal. Pete pushed her against the wall, her dress lifted. Fucking her from behind, he came in less than a minute. She insisted he return to his seat without doing more.
"Not now," she whispered as she helped button his pants. "Wait little while. I have surprise. She opened the door of the restroom and pointed to a seat facing in the opposite direction. "You sit there."
He went and sat, curious about what was to follow.
Soon, he felt her lips against his ear as she whispered. "I like it, the cum. It makes things sleepery. You stay here."
She walked down to a seat on the other side of the aisle, facing him. Again, with the intense gaze into his eyes, she put her hand beneath the concealing coat she draped across her lap. It drove him even more crazy to know what she was doing and not being able to touch her. She had a very good poker face, which made it extremely erotic when he saw the shift in her eyes as she climaxed. She returned to his side and draped her legs across his, running her fingers through his hair for the rest of the trip.