Cross Country

You see me in the lounge car. You know the book i'm reading. We talk, and end up having a couple of beers. Then you want to go back to your seat and check on your stuff. You ask if i'd like to come. So, we stagger back - not from the beers, but from the rocking motion of the train.

The seat next to you, on the aisle, is empty - there's hardly anyone on this train. And you've sat in the last seat back in this car, kind of out of the light from the windows. I take that empty seat next to you.

You're feeling pretty flushed. You've been on this train for two days on this cross-country ride, and you're getting restless sitting, and sleeping, in this cramped seat - and quite achy. It's put you in a fitful and capricious state. Then add these beers. You're travel-weary from this seat, but it's more. It's become a larger ache, something that is a bit more than physical. You need to DO something!

I can see that you are perturbed in some way, as though you feel vaguely itchy and can't figure out how to scratch.

"Are you sore?" i ask, looking over your shoulders and neck. It is a nice dress you're wearing, kind of a sun dress thing. The color goes nice with your red hair, and i like how it exposes the creamy skin of your shoulders. There are some freckles there, i notice. They look rather yummy . . .

You close your eyes and rest your head back. Your mouth comes open; you take a breath. "Yes. Yes, i am sore." you say quietly, knowing it means more than your neck.

"Well, let me help. Here . . ." you hear me say. And you feel my hand slide over your shoulder lightly and reach up under your hair. You lay back into my hand as you feel my fingers start to massage at the base of your scalp. My fingers feel strong, and intuitive, and they work a steady slow rhythm.

It feels good to have a man's hand on you. it feels like he is sucking the tension right out of you. You've been holding a lot of tension in, you now realize, and just this man's small but strong touch reminds you of how much unease there is . . . and of a larger disquiet in your body . . . but how good it feels to give in, and let it go.

You feel like you'd like to have your whole body in this man's hand, to roll wantonly in it and have him knead and stroke and squeeze the tension out, to use both his strong hands to touch you all over and suck that vague restlessness right out of your aching body. You wish i would use my hands on you daringly and help release you from this ache.

I see that this is what you need. Your mouth is open slightly in a tempting way. You aren't aware of this, but are just responding naturally to your exhaustion, to my attempt to ease it from you.

It is a lovely sight. You look very feminine, very female; Your mouth looks ripe and passionate. Alive with sensual gifts.

Your skin is blushing. On your cheeks, your shoulders, and in the center of your chest, where it travels down and disappears beneath the top of your dress. There, underneath, i see the outline of your breasts, alive and moving as you breathe.

"S'feel alright?" i ask quietly.

You swallow, licking your lips, then a tiny noise comes out of your throat in the affirmative. Your eyes are still closed and so you don't see my smile.

You are becoming turned on. You feel my fingers rub at the skin behind your ears in an intimate way and aren't bothered in the least. You feel me massage lower on your neck and your shoulders, my fingers slipping beneath the straps of your dress to find the muscles there. You vaguely sense me pushing those straps to the edge where they hang on barely. You feel exposed and it feels good. You wish they'd fall over the sides of your shoulders and then . . . then maybe your dress would slide down some. You're not wearing a bra, and wouldn't it be nice if a little bit of your breasts were exposed? You'd like for me to see how soft and shapely - and naked - they are. The thought of me watching you is sending a thrill through you, me watching you with your eyes closed.

And i am watching you, observing you. I can just barely make out the skin where your breasts begin to swell down beneath the hem of your dress. They look to be a beautiful shape and size, skin light as cream, freckled, smooth and supple to the touch, looking succulently pungent in taste for a hungry mouth. Desire is building in me! I want to reach over with my left hand and pull your dress down and see what color your nipples are! I can see their bare outline when you breathe, but i can't tell exactly how erect they are, or if they are light pink or dark as rose. Imagining large dark nipples, and wide dark rouge areoles upon the light cream of your skin is making a dense heat pulse inside me, in the center of my chest and burning down into a place somewhere behind my now rigid throbbing cock, some molten core where all of my blood seems to be gathering in a snarling rage!

Something is happening! It is getting too hot, too sore! My hand suddenly feels too hot for you to take - it's going to give you a burning headache! Your whole body is suffering now. It is hard to breathe, you are breathing too fast . . . What is that? That sound! That rushing, roaring sound . . . that pounding, that throbbing . . . that feeling . . . that racing, driving, propelling sensation!

It is the train. The power there! Engines grinding and forcing . . . No. It isn't. It's your body, the pounding heat in your body. Oh my God, you feel on fire!

What are you doing there? Your knees. They are moving. They are moving apart from one another. Your legs are deliberately straying apart, and your dress is sliding up . . . your hands are pulling your dress up and back across your lap! I see your knees. I see the beginnings of your thighs . . . silky light flesh, but flushed with pink. Your whole body looks flushed and burning, looks aroused. I watch as you inch your dress up . . . a little more . . . a little more . . . a little more . . .

You feel a shock which makes your body go rigid for a moment. Underneath you had been wishing for a touch of a man's hand on your exposed thigh but the sudden electricity was still too much of a surprise. You forcefully stifle a loud moan that wanted to erupt and then the shock fades as a raw low sound issues from you. Oh, this hand is hot, yet cool . . . and the one behind your neck is cool now too. Sudden chemistry. The lower one is stroking the top of your thigh, fingers tracing over the side around onto your sensitive inner flesh. Oh, this is what you need . . . You feel me slowly, oh-so-lightly caress that tender skin, down to your knee, spending a little time tracing the inside area there and it tickles you, making you bite your lip.

I see you respond to my touch; i see you begin to squirm, i see your pelvis humping forward just slightly in your seat - i can smell you. Rich, ripe scent of woman, sending hot messages to my body. I grip your thigh suddenly, close, and high up your leg, high under your dress. Or. . . you think . . . what is exposed to me? What can i see? How high have you hiked your dress? Still your head is lolled back, your eyes shut, as my hand is finding the need between your legs . . .

I stroke and reach up high around the inside of your thigh, cupping and embracing, stroking and stoking a bodily arousal in you. Your legs are wide spread and you know i must be observing so much of your privacy. You remember putting on dark maroon colored panties made from a silky shiny material. Am i gazing at them, soaked with wetness, you wonder?

My fingers trace lightly very close, the skin near where your legs come together and your body moves in response. The backs of those fingers stray across the gap, and my knuckles touch lightly the soft flesh inside your right thigh, the one closest to the outside of the train, which continues to roar forward unmindful of us. No one is near us as we go on unnoticed.

As my lower hand feels upon your exposed right leg my other hand is tracing and touching new areas upon your shoulders, your temples, your cheek, in your hair, and brushing finger tips across the upper swells of the wanton lust of your breasts. While down below i am glimpsing the all-but-hidden dark red slice of fabric in the small area at the meeting of your thighs. When your body moves i see it emerge from below the lower hem of your hiked-up dress, then retreat back just barely hidden as your body pulls back . . .

Fuck this.

I reach under your left leg and pull it up over my lap so that your legs are spread open totally. You know . . . you can feel that there is nothing protecting the view of your privacy and i am looking at your completely exposed crotch. To add, you feel your dress being pulled up even more! I can see everything. Sexy, erotic panties, deep burgundy red, especially the damp front of them. They are small, but it is impossible to tell if they are a g-string from this view. They come down in a low V in front and some of your pubic hair is poking out on top. It is a lighter hue than your shiny panties.

You don't know what i'm doing, where i'm looking, what i'm thinking. You feel more exposed than if you were simply naked. Someone is lifting your dress and peeking at you. Oh, it is so naughty! . . .

OH! You just felt me pluck at your hairs. It makes your body jerk. Oh, what a sight you must be, your legs spread all apart, with one all the way over and across my lap, writhing and humping at the air. And now you feel me tug . . . tug deliberately and steadily at the pubic hair poking out from your panties. It must be just two fingers pinching and gripping that hair because . . . because you can feel a couple of my other fingers slipping stealthfully beneath the elastic in the material at the top of your underwear . . . just forcing their way through the small forest of hair into the humid warmth so close to your roused, anxious pussy. They don't go far, however, just a ways in and start scratching lightly, teasingly.

You unconsciously begin shifting your body. It is asking for me to go further, to slide a finger or two further down, where it gets hotter and wetter, and more bare, where there is a swollen parting of flesh, hungry ready wanton opening lips of roaring blood and red desire and need! . . .

You feel me come so close, fingers parting to squeeze the front of your mound like fleshy pliars, pinching and squeezing the upper flesh of your slit. But, oh, you want them inside. INSIDE! Please . . . Your left hand strays onto my trousers, into my lap just beneath your outstretched leg and you find immediately the hardness of my cock stretching-out down beneath my pantleg. It is radiating a searing heat and you are impulsed to pull your hand away as if burned. But then you lay it back along the length and wrap your palm around it. You feel it swell in your grip anew, you feel my hand behind your back, you feel many dextrous probing and pinching closer in the privacy of your panties, your feel my body come nearer, my hot breath upon your cheek, in your ear. "Meredith," you hear me say close and breathy, "Come with me to my private cabin."

A moment . . . two . . . three . . .

You open your eyes, glazed, delirious, confused . . . turn and look at me. "Cabin?" you weakly manage to utter.

"Yes." I whisper. "Come with me."

. . . . . . . . . . to be continued.