Matchmaker 02: February

"I'd love to hear a secret."

"Having someone waiting on you all the time means there's someone around all the time. Because there's someone around all the time, you never have any privacy. Because you never have any privacy, you can't do what you want. I can't drive myself anyplace and I can't do anything that will 'embarrass the family.' It sucks, and these past three days have shown me just how much it sucks."

"Serge isn't around all the time."

"No?" I asked. "I have a challenge for you. Some night, go into the kitchen, open the refrigerator, try to make yourself a sandwich, and see if someone doesn't show up to offer to help."

She smiled. "A small price to pay for not having to cook, clean, do laundry, and all the other stuff."

"Higher than you think," I muttered as our sandwiches arrived.

The sandwich was a mess with its contents falling out on the plate. With some careful juggling I got to my mouth and took a bite. The flavors and textures were amazing. I moaned as I leaned back in my chair.

"You okay?" she asked, grinning around a mouthful of sandwich.

The other thing I liked about Deanna was she would actually eat. Many of the meals I once ate I now realized were more about presentation than flavor. Having a small piece of meat with two green bean and carrot slices artfully arranged across the top with a drizzle of sauce waving across the plate looked nice, but it did nothing for the flavor. But even that was too much for some of my dates, and they would select a salad. The food was good, but every day I realized more and more there was a world of flavor I'd been missing.

"Amazing," I mumbled as I chewed.

She nodded in agreement.

We finished our simple dinner and began to explore Bourbon Street. We stopped at a couple of bars and I couldn't stop smiling. They were loud, boisterous, places, full of happy people having a good time. I kept my drinking to a minimum as I had to find our way back to the railcar, but I had to try a Hurricane, sharing it with Deanna so it wouldn't knock me on my ass.

It was getting late and we were slowly making our way back toward Union Station. I'd had a fantastic time, and I didn't want the evening to end. I stopped at a window, pulling Deanna to a stop beside me.

"What do you think?" I asked, pointing at a sign in the window. "Should we try it?"

I was looking at the sign in Voodoo's window, a sign that proudly proclaimed it was the home of the Five Shot Challenge.

"What's the Five Shot Challenge?" Deanna asked.

"I have no idea. Want to find out?"

She hesitated. "I don't know. Five shots of what?"

I tugged on her arm, leading her in. "I don't know. Let's find out." I led her into the bar. Like the other bars we'd been in, this one was rocking with Reggie music this time, colored lights, and sweaty dancers getting down on a small dance floor.

"We want to take the Five Shot Challenge!" I called to be heard over the music. "What is it?"

The bartender smiled. "Just what it says. Five shots. The challenge is to finish them."

I slapped my hand on the bar. "We'll take that challenge. Set 'em up!"

The bartender, a bear of a man with an unruly beard, clanged a bell behind the bar. A cheer rose through the bar and people began to crowd around, cheering us on.

Deanna grinned at me. "Suddenly this doesn't seem like such a good idea."

The man sat two shots on the bar and handed over two small plastic buckets. "The Cement Mixer," he said.

Accepting the buckets, their purpose clear, caused me to question the wisdom of accepting the challenge. I picked the glass up. It was the least appetizing looking drink I'd ever seen, the beverage sporting a thick, slightly lumpy texture. The barf bucket worried me even more.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Bailey's Irish Cream and lime juice."

I snickered as Deanna made a soft gagging sound as she looked away. I picked up my glass and held it up to her. She picked hers up, we touched glasses, and I tossed it back. It was disgusting and I growled as I tried to keep it down. After a moment I realized I wasn't actually going to puke and slammed the glass on the bar. I looked over to Deanna. She was standing there, her face twisted in horror, her eyes and mouth clamped tightly shut. I knew just how she felt. The taste wasn't great, but the texture! I imagined it was what consistency of spoiled milk would be like, and the thought of it made me want to wretch.

After a moment she shuddered, her hands going out in front of her like she was trying to ward off evil. "That was foul!" she gasped. "I hope that was the worst of them."

We were still recovering from the first shot when two more appeared. It was an oily concoction that was a color of red never seen in nature. We stared at the glasses before we looked at each other and burst into giggles.

"What the fuck is that?" The absolute horror in her voice made my giggles even worse.

"Hot Cheetos Vodka."

"What?" I asked. I obviously hadn't heard him correctly.

The bartender placed a decanter on the bar. Inside were bright red Cheetos with a sliver of liquid still in the bottom.

"That's disgusting!" Deanna cried. "I swear to God, that looks like guts!"

I got control of my laughter long enough to slam the shot back. I banged the glass on the bar, grabbed the edge, and held my head between my extended arms as I rocked slowly, waiting for my head to explode. After a moment the tears in my eyes began to dry and I looked up.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck all your relatives, and fuck every child you may have," I snarled, my voice broken and scratchy sounding, causing the bartender to laugh. "Whooo!" I cried, giving my head a hard shake.

As the crowd roared in approval, Deanna laughed at me. I flicked my finger, indicating she should drink up. She looked at me, her eyes pleading as she shook her head slowly, but I smiled and pointed at the glass. She picked it up, tossed it back, and then stood stiff, every muscle of her body taut, her face twisted in agony as she bared her teeth before grabbing the back of her head and rocking forward and back. I knew exactly what she was going through.

After thirty seconds, she growled loudly as a tremor passed over her from her head to her knees. "You... bastard," she snarled at me, but she was smiling.

They say men in combat bonded in a way that couldn't be duplicated. I disagreed. Deanna and I were bonding right now. Two down, three to go, but that had to be the worst one.

Two more shots were placed in front of us. "No fucking way," Deanna muttered.

"What the hell is that?" I demanded, looking into the glass.

"The Tapeworm," the barman said with an evil grin. "Vodka, Tabasco, black pepper, and a squirt of mayonnaise."

"I'm out," Deanna said.

"Oh no you're not," I growled, grabbed the drink, and tossed it back.

Like the Cement Mixer, the taste wasn't horrid, but the feel of the mayo sliding down my throat in a lump was almost my undoing. If that was what women felt when I came in their mouth, they were far tougher than I was. I gagged, grabbed the bucket and placed my face in it, but I managed to hold it together.

"Fuck me!" I snarled, shaking my head, trying desperately to forget the sensation of the mayonnaise.

Deanna picked up her drink and hammered it back. She stood still for a moment before she smacked her lips and set the glass on the bar. "That wasn't so bad."

Her calm proclamation caused an approving cheer to ripple through the bar and my estimation of her went up. Either that or she was getting hammered.

I pointed at the bar. Only two to go. "Let's go," I said, but my voice wasn't working right.

"Smoker's Cough," the bartender said. "Mayo and Jägermeister."

"What is it with you and the fucking mayonnaise?" Deanna demanded loudly.

Deanna went first, perhaps feeling brave after her last drink. She downed it and again stood stiff, her face twisting as she slowly looked away with her lips crushed shut. She gasped. "You are an absolute ball bag," she snarled at the bartender.

I was terrified. She'd shrugged off the one that had almost done me in, and with this one, she'd obviously been in distress. I took three quick puffs of air to build courage and tossed it back. It had all the same sensations of the previous drink, but worse. There was no way I was going to puke in front of her, so I turned away, growling loudly as I pounded my fist on the bar, hoping the sting would distract me from my misery.

"Who's fucking idea was this?" I sneered when my stomach began to settle.

Deanna laughed. "Yours! Barkeep! Last two!" she cheered, pointing at the bar. I couldn't decide if I wanted to hit her or kiss her.

The last two drinks appeared, and they were the worst. "Infected Whitehead. Vodka, Bloody Mary mix, and Cottage Cheese."

I felt my stomach roll over, and even Deanna looked green. The more I thought about it the worse it got, so I grabbed the glass and threw it back. It was all I could do, and I mean, all I could do to not puke it back up. I stood for a long time with my head hanging in the bucket. The flavor was vile, the texture was worse, and I retched three times before my stomach settled.

When my head appeared from the bucket Deanna looked at me and smiled, pushing the drink away. "You win."

"Oh... you bitch," I muttered.

We each drank a beer, laughing almost continuously over what we'd been through. My beer was on the house for completing the challenge and not puking, but the tab was still over a hundred dollars. I handed over two bills before we walked out of the bar. I was feeling my drinks, but I couldn't remember having a better time.

When we reached the railcar, we climbed aboard. "You were a naughty boy tonight," Deanna purred, standing close, "making me drink those nasty shots. I'm sending you to my room."

I pulled her in closer, enjoying the feel of her body against mine. This was the first time I'd touched her this way. "Maybe you'd rather come to my room?"

She opened her lips slightly. "We'd certainly have more privacy."

I slowly took her lips and she melted into me. "Are you sure about this?" I whispered as our lips parted.

"Very."

She wasn't slurring or stumbling, so I assumed she knew what she was saying. I pulled her more firmly into me and kissed her fully before leading her to the back of the car.

I swam up out of sleep as the railcar rocked and clattered along the rails. Ryker was asleep behind me, his arm resting comfortably on my shoulder. I was a slightly chilled, so I turned, causing him to snuffle before rolling to his back, allowing me to cuddle closer for warmth. I sighed in contentment and smiled to myself as his arm encircled my back and held me close.

The soft sounds and gentle motions began to lull me back to sleep. I sighed again, remembering the past week. We'd gotten off to a rocky start, but he'd recovered nicely, though he still occasionally did or said something that reminded me he came from an entirely different world. While he might be a little out of touch with reality, he wasn't a bad guy. Watching him discover new things, things I took for granted, was fun and interesting. The other thing that was fun was what he did to me at night.

He'd taken me to his bed for the first time after our five-shot challenge, and I hadn't returned to my berth since. He might be four years younger than me, but he had vastly more experience between the sheets, so much so I wondered if one of the classes he took at his fancy university was how to please a woman.

We'd avoided the Five-Shot Challenge on our second night in New Orleans, but we'd had just as much fun. We'd had a dinner of amazing creole food and had gone dancing until we'd stumbled outside, panting and damp with sweat. Our arms interlaced with me leaning into his side, and we'd returned to the railcar where we worked up another sweat.

We'd left the bedroom only a couple of times as the City of New Orleans made its way north to Memphis. Fucking on a moving train had been intensely exciting, and we'd destroyed each other twice between New Orleans and Memphis. Our car had been decoupled and we'd spent a day and a night in Memphis where we'd explored Beal Street and enjoyed Memphis style bar-b-cue before returning to our car.

I smiled in memory. Before we left New Orleans, our car was serviced. We could hear the soft mutterings of men speaking outside the car as they went about their jobs, loading additional fresh food and refilling the water and fuel tanks that served our two cars. Nobody could see in, but knowing men were mere feet from us, totally unaware of what we were doing as we grunted and sweated in passion, had worked us into a frenzy, so much so I'd had to kiss him as I came to stop myself from crying out.

Now we were due in Chicago in a few hours. We were scheduled to spend two days there before we began the long haul to Los Angeles on the Southwest Chief. I liked how the trains had names. It was so much more romantic than Flight 469 or whatever.

The train would make several stops for passengers to load and unload on the trip, but we weren't decoupling at any of the stops. For almost three days, it would be just me, Ryker, Serge and his staff. I smiled, my eyes growing heavier with sleep. With nothing else to do, Ryker and I might spend the entire time in bed fucking ourselves to nirvana.

I jerked awake as the car shuddered. I'd traveled on the train enough now to recognize when we were preparing to pull into a station. The car shuddered again and rocked heavily, the steel wheels squealing loudly as we changed from one track to another.

"We here?" Ryker muttered, his voice thick with sleep.

"I think so," I said, raising up and carefully using two fingers to open a peephole in the blinds covering the windows. The last thing I wanted to do was flash some family waiting to board the train if we were pulling into the station. I peeked through the tiny gap. We were definitely in a large city, and there were tracks and cars all around as we crept through the yard. "Yeah. We're here."

He groaned and stretched. "So what are we doing today?" he asked as I settled against his side. "Are we going out, or staying in?"

I hummed in thought. It was a tough choice. Until I'd caught the airplane to New York, I'd never been out of New Mexico. I loved seeing the sights, but having Ryker working me over in the bedroom was a strong temptation as well. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as the car thumped and banged again. "Go out, but let's come back early. I'd like to see the Sears Tower."

He nodded and stretched again. "I like your plan. Why don't you get a shower and I'll let Serge know we're up."

I showered, occasionally holding onto a wall as the car bumped and rattled to a stop. I stepped out, and Ryker was standing there with a warmed towel he'd taken from the heated closet. He was as hard as the tracks the car rode on, and as he pulled me close to him, he wrapped me in the luxuriously warm, soft towel before he took my lips in a long, sensuous, kiss.

"Nice," I murmured as our lips slowly parted.

If he kept kissing me like that, his hard cock pressing into my stomach, I was going to join him in the shower. So far the only place we'd fucked was in the bed, but that was going to change before the trip was over.

"Breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes," he rumbled.

I reached between us and softly caressed his manhood. "Too bad."

He smiled down at me. "If you wanted that, you should have said something before I called Serge."

I kissed him softly. "Later."

I stepped out of the bathroom so he could shower. I opened my closet and pulled out a pair of jeans, a white, long sleeve, scoop neck blouse, and then selected a dark blue, long sleeve, button front shirt to put over it for warmth. The railcar was comfortably warm, but Chicago in February was probably colder than a Polar Bear's ice hole, as my dad would say.

Over the past week and a half, all my clothes had been washed and pressed. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like the whites were whiter and the colors brighter than they'd been before. I was slipping into my boots when Ryker appeared. I smiled. He was still sporting an impressive erection. I'd had a preference for slightly older man, but that was before I met Ryker. He was a walking hard on, and I couldn't get the damn thing to go down. Two minutes after coming, if I was interested in going again, he could deliver. I looked away, my smile growing slightly. The advantages of youth.

I stood and looked at my ass in the mirror. I might be almost thirty, but I still had it, if I did say so myself. Ryker still had the hard body, enthusiasm, and energy of youth, and he also had some serious bedroom skills. Even better, he wasn't as immature as some his age.

"Sexy," Ryker muttered as he began to dress.

I still had a hard time believing he didn't own any jeans, but he dressed down his slacks, pairing them with various shirts and sport coats. It was a look that worked for him and aged him a few years. Not that his youthfulness bothered me, especially now that I'd gotten to know him better. It also didn't hurt I'd noticed a few envious glances from other women as he and I explored, especially after we started sleeping together. That made me feel good about myself. Nobody had never been jealous of me before.

When we appeared from the back of the car, breakfast was on the table. Eggs, bacon, link sausage, bagels with fresh preserves, fresh cut fruit, coffee and juice, all served from silver onto china. It was far more food than Ryker and I could possibly eat, but I felt better about it when I found out the staff often picked over the leftovers, filling in with freshly cooked food when necessary.

When I started on the trip, Serge had served us, but Ryker had chased him off the second day, and now we served ourselves.

"I was thinking," Ryker began. "How far is Albuquerque from Santa Fe?"

"About an hour, why?"

"The train has a scheduled stop in Albuquerque. How'd you like to stop at your house?"

"Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason. I'd like to see your car, maybe see where you live and work."

"Don't we have a schedule to keep?"

"Not really," he said, popping a bit of sausage into his mouth. "We can extend the trip if we want, or take a day out somewhere else. We're on regular Amtrak routes, so it doesn't matter what locomotive pulls us."

I shook my head. "No, we can't extend the trip. I need to get back to work. Dad's going to be covered up."

He nodded. "Okay, then we can take a day out of the trip here, L.A. or San Francisco to make it up. Personally, I don't care if we even stop in L.A."

"Why's that?"

"I've been there often enough. TSL unloads a lot of freight at the port there."

I chewed slowly as I thought. Our itinerary was for us to spend two days here in Chicago, then take a straight shot to L.A. on the Southwest Chief. We'd spend two days in Los Angeles before hooking onto the Coast Starlight for a day's ride to San Francisco. We'd spend another two days in San Francisco before we attached to the California Zephyr for a hard charge all the way back across the country to Chicago. After an overnight there, we'd be hooked to the Lake Shore Limited for a meandering trip back to New York City. There was time in the schedule for a stop in Albuquerque if he wanted to, and it secretly pleased me that he wanted to see where I lived and worked.

"Sure, why not. We'll take the day out of the trip in Los Angeles." Of all the places we were going, L.A. would be the easiest for me to get to on my own if I wanted to visit again.