A Fantasy Realized

I have always had a difficult time sleeping in moving vehicles, and I knew from previous experiences that this train trip would be no different. So about 11:30PM, while almost everyone in my car was either asleep or preparing to sleep, I decided to gather my things and go to the Snack Car to pass the night, where I could spread out at one of the tables and have more room to write, read, or whatever I felt like doing.

I picked my way through the Observation Deck crowd, attempting to not step on the people already spread out on the seats or the floor, and descended to the Snack Car. I ordered a chicken sandwich and a drink, and just as I received my order, a group of people vacated one of the tables a little beyond the base of the narrow staircase. Taking their spot, I brought out one of my books and continued reading.

The food counter closed at midnight, and not fifteen minutes later, I was the only customer remaining as the clerk washed the tables one final time. But soon, even he was gone, leaving me downstairs by myself as the train rumbled through the night.

Despite my fatigue, I alternated between watching the scant lights of the moonless night, reading one of my books, and writing down the various story ideas floating in my head. The sandwich long gone, I was nursing the dregs of my drink about 1:45AM when I heard someone descending the narrow staircase.

At last, she stepped into view.

I highly doubt she was even five feet tall, although she appeared to be perhaps twenty years old. She wore well-worn sandals, a very faded black denim jacket, heavily-ripped dark blue jeans, and a black faded pocked t-shirt with an image of a skull crying blood. Her hair was dyed a bright purple, reminiscent of an anime schoolgirl. She had black nails and blood red lipstick which had clearly faded during the day. And, reminiscent of Jane Child, she had a thin chain connecting her nosering to an earring.

I believe that she did not see me at first. She looked toward the counter, and seemed glad to find it closed at this late, late hour. With an audible sigh of relief, she turned to look about the Snack Car, and then saw me looking at her. She froze for a moment, then apparently felt that I was no threat to her. She approached. "May I?" she asked with a sweet, melodic voice belying her most unusual dress. I simply gestured to the empty bench seat across from me, and she slid into place.

"I take it you can't sleep either?" she asked.

"I never could sleep easily on moving vehicles," I told her. "So I decided I'd come down here to read and write. Typically, I'm the only one here until the Snack Car staff returns a little before 6:00AM."

"You've traveled by train before?" she asked.

"A few times," I replied. "I used to work summers in New Mexico for several years, and I typically go back and forth by train, so I now have somewhat of a routine."

She nodded her understanding and looked at my open notebook. "What's that?"

I considered for a moment whether I should tell the truth or opt for a white lie, but something told me that she would understand the truth. "I write erotica," I answered a little hesitantly, despite my instincts. "I've had a few ideas in my head that I've been putting onto paper, more-or-less in outline format for now."

She smiled, although I could sense the fatigue behind her eyes. "In that case, I guess you may not be too shocked by this..." she began, then hesitated as the train slowed.

We both looked out the window. The train came to nearly a full stop, then was buffeted by the displaced air as a lengthy freight train sped past us in the opposite direction as we watched and listened carefully. Perhaps twenty seconds later, the freight train having safely passed, our train slowly accelerated once more toward my desert destination.

"When I can't sleep," she finally said, "I find that if I cum once or twice, I can usually fall asleep shortly afterward."

"I've heard of that before," I admitted. "That's not particularly unusual."

"Perhaps," she said with a slight blush, "but I could really stand to masturbate now."

"I see." I turned that over in my mind for a few seconds. "Would you prefer that I leave for a while?" I offered.

"That's okay," she replied, shaking her head. "I somewhat like an audience, something I discovered in the dorms. Besides, perhaps this could generate some more story ideas for you."

I had to smile at that. "Sure. I'll keep a lookout for you in case someone comes down the stairs. I'll clear my throat if someone's coming."

"Okay." She turned in her seat and leaned back against the window, then decided to slip off the denim jacket. In doing so, I realized the extent to which the t-shirt was full of holes, including a significant rip along the seam at her right armpit. Clearly, I was intrigued by all this: For someone wearing clothing in such poor condition yet such brightly-dyed hair and with such a generally polite attitude, she was an enigma to me.

At that thought, "The Principles of Lust" was burned in my mind.

She settled back against the window again, closed her eyes, and started her performance by cupping her smallish breasts, squeezing gently. I leaned back myself, watching closely, my ears quickly attuned to the sound of her slow breaths through her slightly-parted lips.

I would have loved to have been able to peer into her mind, to know what she was thinking as she played with her breasts before me, a complete stranger. Did she imagine that a boyfriend or a secret crush was sitting in my place, watching her? Was she visualizing a peeping tom in a nearby building using binoculars to enjoy her performance as she sat before the window of her dorm room? Was she simply a big fan of exhibitionism in general?

She spent a long, long time simply toying with her breasts. On occasion, her eyes would flutter to a half-open stance, and she would look coyly at me for a few seconds, smiling, before those eyelids fell completely closed once again.

The train slowed, but did not stop. The enigma's left hand continued to fondle her chest as her right hand slipped down her torso, disappearing from my view due to the table. Her lips were parted, her breathing soft yet quickening, her tongue darting out to caress her painted lips.

I just barely heard the sound of her zipper being lowered, and knew what would come next. From the motion of her right arm, I could tell that her hand was dipping inside her jeans. She moaned softly, likely a signal that her hand was directly touching her womanly charms.

As time passed, the period between exhalations decreased. From the subtle movements of her right arm, I knew that she was stroking herself. Her breasts rose and fell a little faster as her left hand continued to manipulate her feminine swells. Soft whimpers and moans occasionally accompanied her breaths.

I could not believe my luck. How many times does the typical guy fantasize about a young woman masturbating in front of him? Yet, here was the fantasy scenario, playing out in front of me... with the threat of discovery by the train crew or the other passengers. The threat was what made this particular scenario so powerful.

Her body rocked against the movement of her hands. I knew she was approaching the orgasm she needed in order to sleep. Her sounds of self-fulfillment were a little louder, but still quiet enough so that no one upstairs would hear her. My own arousal was quite noticeable, yet I squelched it, focusing instead upon the fantasy being enacted before me.

Her mouth suddenly opened wide. Her heavy breaths were louder now and growing in volume. Her left hand rose to stroke her neck, then rose further still to caress her face. Her torso continued to rock against her hand. I could very easily imagine that she had three of her own fingers plunging repeatedly into her hot, wet womanhood, with her thumb strumming her clitoris like a taut guitar string.

Her eyes opened wide for a moment, yet she clearly could not see anything through the haze of self-pleasure. Her jaw trembled visibly as her body suddenly went rigid against the actions of her right hand. In another context, her facial expression would be considered one of great pain. All breathing suddenly ceased, her head rolling toward me with those unseeing eyes boring into me.

She breathed again, loud and hard, her eyes clamped shut. Her body bucked hard repeatedly, causing her bench to creak a few times in protest. Inadvertently, she banged her head against the window, but I highly doubt that she consciously noticed that impact.

Her right hand continued its work even long after she had calmed from her sexual bliss. In time, her eyes opened again, and from the shy smile upon her lips, I knew that this time, she could truly, consciously see me. Slowly, her right hand came into view again, the skin covered with her own passion. She licked the thumb clean, then offered her hand to me.

It was an honor to clean her with my tongue. Her passion had a tangy yet sweet taste, a taste I wished I could sample firsthand instead of from her hand.

Her hand cleaned at last, the enigma finally stood. She turned toward me, blew me a kiss, and headed to the tiny lavatory at the end of the Snack Car.

I was still contemplating the fantasy I had just seen enacted before me when she returned. She handed me a rather damp thong the same color as her hair. Before I could react, she kissed my cheek, bade me good night, then disappeared upstairs, leaving me dumbfounded.

I never did see her again, unfortunately, but once I returned home, I washed the thong with the rest of my laundry, then mounted it on the wall above my bed, somewhat as a "trophy" of a fantasy realized.