The Night Train to Paris

If you're in the book publishing field—which I am—the major event of the year is the annual book fair in Frankfurt, Germany, which always occurs around the middle of October. Since my company pays all of the expenses, I always go to it and bring back at least a dozen book ideas in which our company may be interested.

But this time, as long as I was over there, I also wanted to spend a couple of days in Paris, my favorite city, before coming back.

So, in addition to the lavish room at the Frankfurter Four Seasons, the company had made arrangements for me to have a first class sleeper compartment on the 8 p.m. express international train from Frankfurt to Paris at the end of the fair. I did not like flying on European airlines and much preferred to travel by train.

After settling into the compartment of the international express, I followed my usual routine of walking from one end of the train to another. I have always like walking and do not like being cooped up in a limited space.

I was halfway through one of the second class couchette cars when I came upon a young woman standing in the hallway and looking out the dark window. She was slender and dark-haired and was wearing corduroy trousers and a green jacket. She looked like a very young Juliette Binoche or perhaps even Sophie Marceau, two French actresses I admired. She certainly looked French. "Pardonez-moi," I said as I passed her, and she said "Oui."

I walked back down to the dining car that adjoined the first class sleeping car and ordered a dinner of dover sole, green beans and a fine glass of French wine.

When I finished dinner, I decided to take another walk through the entire length of the train before retiring for the night in the compartment with a book and a bottle of wine that I had bought at the train station.

When I got to the second class couchettes, I found the young woman still leaning on the railing and staring out the darkened window.

"There can't really be anything to see out there," I said, trusting that as an apparent student, she probably spoke English.

"There isn't," she replied. "It really piss me off! I paid for a couchette—there!" She pointed to one of the compartments. "But it is me and five guys—who apparently think I am their fuck for the night!"

I looked over at the compartment. She was right. There were five young men in it. I should explain at this point for those who may not know that a "couchette" is a six-person train compartment where you are permitted to turn the seats and backrests into bunks and lie down with a provided blanket and a pillow, but where you are not supposed to take off your clothes. I could not blame her for not wanting to be the only woman in a couchette full of young and presumably horny men.

"What will you do," I asked, "Stand out here all night?"

"Yes, of course."

I shook my head and walked past her. Then I thought about it: There were two bunks in my sleeper compartment, and upper and a lower, and only one of them was being used. It seemed a shame that she would have to stand up on the ten-hour trip to Paris. I walked back to her. "What's your name?" I asked.

She turned. "Michelle."

"Just like the song."

"Yes."

"Well, listen, Michelle. I have a first class compartment paid for by my company in which there are two beds, and I am only using one of them. I'm sure I'm not supposed to do this, but would you like to have the other one?"

She looked at me suspiciously. "What do I have to do for it?"

"Nothing. It's just going to waste. I was at the book fair, and now I'm on my way back to New York. I'm going to spend a couple of days in Paris."

She thought about it for a minute. "I have a second class ticket, and the sleeper compartments are first class. I'm not supposed to be there."

"I know that, but if we get caught, I'm sure the porter will be open to a bribe."

She smiled "Maybe he's even used to it."

"Maybe."

"Let me get my pack," she said. She opened the door to the compartment and pulled out a forest green knapsack. "Ou son---?" someone asked. "Fuck you," she replied in English.

We managed to get into my compartment without anyone seeing us. "This is wonderful!" she said, spinning around. "I have never been in one of these!"

"And now you are. Would you like a glass of wine?" I asked, reaching for the corkscrew.

"Yes, of course."

I unscrewed the cork, poured the wine, and handed her a glass. "I forgot to ask: Are you hungry? I'll take you back to the dining car and buy you dinner if you want."

"No, I had some cheap food at the train station." She smiled. "But I would have waited if I had known you were going to invite me to dinner."

I laughed. "Your English is very good. Are you a student in Paris?"

"Yes. Sorbonne."

"Wonderful."

"Is this a bathroom?" she asked, indicating a door with a gleam in her eye.

"Yes. It has a shower, sink and toilet."

"Oh my God. Could I take a shower—and wash my underwear?"

"Of course."

"Then that is what I will do." She pulled a pair of blue cotton pajamas from her knapsack and went into the bathroom.

I got my pajamas on while she was there, propped up my pillow and sat down in the bed to read one of the books I had picked up at the fair.

She emerged after awhile in her blue pajamas and appearing squeaky clean, with wet hair. "That was wonderful," she said, "Thank you so much for letting me stay here."

"No problem. I'm glad for the company. Would you like another glass of wine?"

"Of course."

I poured one for her.

"What are you reading?" she asked.

"A book I picked up at the fair. Our company may take on the American publication of it."

"Your business must be very interesting."

"Sometimes it is."

"I hung the clothes I washed on the towel rack. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I'm going to be reading for a couple of hours, so if you want to go to bed, you can. I don't think my light will keep you awake."

"Do you want to see a trick?" she asked.

I put the book down. "I guess so."

"Watch this." She bent over and lithe as she was easily stood on her hands. It apparently did not bother her that this caused her pajama top to fall to her shoulders, revealing her small but lovely breasts. Then she began to climb—on her hands—the slanting wooden ladder that led to the upper bunk. Near the top, she had to curl her legs because of the ceiling. And then she flopped into the bed.

"That's amazing," I said. "Are you a gymnast?"

"I was, in high school. Do you want to see me come down?"

"I guess, but don't hurt yourself."

"Okay." And she came down the same way. "I should get another glass of wine for that," she said.

"You're right." I poured her another glass. Luckily, I still had one more bottle, in a bag by the bed. But I could tell already that she was quite a bit tipsy. Probably not enough to eat.

"I'll bet you can't do it naked," I said, deciding to see just how tipsy she was.

"I'll bet I can." And with that, she unbuttoned her pajama jacket and threw it aside, pushed down her pajama bottoms, and threw them on the upper bunk. She was even prettier than before, with a little brown tuft of hair between her thighs. And she went up the stairs on her hands, stark naked—and flopped on the bed laughing. "You made that bet only because you wanted to see me naked, didn't you?" she asked.

"Of course."

"I should have charged you for it—or at least asked how much the bet was going to be for." She smiled as she leaned over the edge of the bunk. "You are a very wicked man." She looked down at my bunk. "Is that a good book?"

"Yes."

She grasped the edge of the bunk and somehow did a slow naked somersault which landed her neatly on the floor. "Will you read me a story from your book," she asked. "Like my father used to do?"

"If you like."

"Good." She lifted the cover and slipped in naked beside me. There was just barely room for the two of us.

I pretended to read. "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young maiden who was on a night train from Frankfurt to Paris. While standing in the hallway and looking out the window---"

"That is our story!" she said with a laugh.

"Yes, it is." I picked up my glass. "To you...and I."

She picked up her glass. "To you...and me." She drank it down. "And if you wonder what I am doing in your bed naked, I am trying to repay you for inviting me here."

"You don't have to do that."

"I know. That's why I want to do it."

"You WANT to do it?"

"Yes."

"That's a different matter." I put the book down, leaned over and kissed her. She tasted delicious. Then I cupped her breast. Then I lowered my hand along her belly and cupped her maidenhair. Then I slipped my finger inside her. To my surprise, she was wet inside.

"You're wet inside."

"Yes. What does that tell you? I like older men." She reached over and took my penis out of the opening of my pajamas. "It is very pretty," she said, then she bent down and began to suck on it.

That continued for awhile until I was as hard as I was ever going to be. "Get on top of me," I said.

She climbed on top of me and spread her thighs, and I slipped it in her warm and wet pussy...just as the train began to slow up and enter the station at Strausbourg. The window shade was of course up, so the people on the platform had a lovely view of a beautiful young naked French girl having sex with a man who was old enough to be her daddy.

"Oh my God!" she cried, leaping up.

"Pull the shade down!"

She did, and we both laughed. What else could we do?

She got back on the bed. "Since we were interrupted, that means we are going to have to fuck all night," she said, "And by the way, I am on the pill, so you don't have to use anything."

"Thanks goodness for that, because I don't have anything."

I was still hard, so she slipped me inside her and began riding me like a pony, back and forth. It did not take me long to come inside her.

But it was not the only time, and I did not get much sleep that night.

The company I worked for had reserved a suite at the deluxe Hotel Lancaster for three nights, and I saw no reason why I should not invite her to be my companion—to which she readily agreed. So we spent three delirious days—and nights—in Paris.

"I am going to stand up in my classes for the next three days," she said, when we were finally ready to part.

"Why is that?"

She smiled. "I am so sore from fucking that I don't think I can sit down. Plus, the first time for you know what. So I am sure I cannot sit down."

"I'm honored to have been the first—and to have gotten to the bottom of things with you."

She laughed...and so did I.

The End