The Train Journey

The Train Journey

A Casual Affair Short Story

Watching the countryside roll almost sedately by was hardly how Priscilla Hardy had expected to spend her day.

She had received the email from her manager late the previous evening. It told her she had been booked into the General Eastern Hotel but had to use the train because of the air traffic controller's strike.

The email did not tell her that the train journey is hardly the fastest or the most direct. The train did cross some beautiful country, but six hours without a laptop charger or internet access was little more than a prison sentence.

To Priscilla's relief, there was a toilet. However, she preferred not to think about how the toilet discharged its waste.

***********************************

Priscilla, she preferred her family nickname of Prissie, had caught the seven-thirty without realising any of this. The train had been almost empty of passengers, which had not bothered Prissie initially. It made a change to have a seat and a table to herself. Still, as the train rolled on, she discovered no catering beyond the conductor and seriously inadequate trolley service serving coffee, tea, chilled drinks, a few less-than-fresh-looking sandwiches and a basket of fruit.

Prissie had chosen coffee and fruit. She was confident that before the journey's end, her stomach would be growling. A hungry Prissie had a short temper.

At least the train journey meant Prissie had plenty of time to prepare for the meeting.

At least, that was what Prissie had thought. The laptop had given out after two hours; it could have lasted four hours, but Prissie had forgotten to put the laptop on charge the previous evening. After that, she read the papers she had carried for the meeting, but most were on the laptop.

It meant a frustrated and hungry Prissie had looked for someone to talk to with little success. It had not helped that Prissie had been in a bad mood from the moment she had gotten the original email. The razor-sharp tongue that had quelled many an office argument did not encourage total strangers to engage in conversation.

Less than halfway through her journey, she was alone, angry and bored.

***********************************

She was busy scowling out the window when the train stopped again. There had seemed to be a hundred such stops, each only for a few minutes but enough to add to her frustration.

It was only the fifth stop, but Prissie wasn't ready to accept even this truth. The station appeared to be little more than two platforms, a linking bridge and two small, single-storey buildings for passengers to use as shelter. She had not seen anyone who might have been railway staff.

She was so engrossed in grimacing at the deserted platform that she did not realise she had company until he spoke.

"We seem to be the only people in this carriage. Do you mind if I sit down?"

She was about to vent her anger, giving him a real mouthful, but Prissie stopped. He was okay, no, he was better than okay, he was good-looking.

He was almost gorgeous in the middle of a rural, grass-coloured desert. A man this good-looking should not exist in such a rural backwater.

"Be my guest!" Prissie gave him her professional smile, which split her face and showed off her almost perfect teeth. She pointed to the seat opposite and pulled herself away from the window. At last, the journey was picking up.

***********************************

They exchanged names; he made the usual joke about Priscilla Presley but added how good she had been in the Naked Gun movies, which made a change from the just how good was Elvis jokes.

Prissie reckoned she had heard all the jokes about Elvis and some of the worst impressions in history. It did not help that she preferred soft rock to the Vegas shows Elvis had performed most of his career.

The stranger introduced himself as Raymond Southern but preferred to be called Soth, with the th sounding like a v.

It was a good start. Over the next thirty minutes, they exchanged the usual topics.

Work... he was self-employed, something to do with construction. She was in public relations, managing a campaign for a property developer.

Travel... he was going all the way... his words. His tanned face wouldn't give anything away if he understood the innuendo. Prissie said the train journey was her first in ten years.

The journey... he was a regular and used to the train's eccentric timetable and multiple stops. The small town of Ravens Peak did not have anything approaching an airport. So, you either took the train or drove. Prissie went for sympathy because of the traffic controllers' strike and having to endure an unexpected train journey.

She also lied, claiming that she had found it 'therapeutic' and relaxing. There was no point in scaring off a presentable travel companion.

Private life... he was divorced and newly single. She did not quite lie but downgraded Malcolm to the status of a close friend rather than the three-times-a-week overnight guest he'd recently become.

***********************************

Unconsciously, Prissie was clearing the decks for something; she did not know what to happen. She started to flirt. She liked him enough for that, and her hormones and morale needed a boost. A decent amount of innuendo had always made her feel good.

"So, what counts as fun around here?" She asked.

He gave her a look and then a smile that made her feel just a 'little interested'. She began to wonder how far she could take this. "I doubt if we do anything that you don't do in the big city... just that with so few attractions, I expect we do things more often."

"To exhaustion or boredom?" Prissie smiled.

"I'll own up to being exhausted sometimes but never bored." He gave her another smile, and his steel-grey eyes twinkled.

Prissie felt her tummy do a turn. "So, what would you recommended?"

"Never... my tastes are strictly normal, attractive women like you." He said something Prissie had not quite caught as the train rattled along the tracks.

Prissie's tummy gave several more turns, and then she realised that he'd made a joke and laughed politely. He couldn't be perfect, fit and available and personable would have to do. It's a shame he did not have a sense of humour.

"How do you know I am normal?" She teased. She shifted her position, allowing her skirt to inch up. She had that feeling between her legs.

"Just hoping... I'd hate to discover that your tastes did not extend to us poor males."

"I'd hate it if they did not." Prissie lowered her voice an octave. She was starting to fancy this one.

He groaned. "I wish we were almost anywhere other than on a train."

"Why, what can't we do here that we could do elsewhere?" Prissie allowed her skirt to ride a little higher. It was one of the problems with her business skirts; they were tight, hugging to buttocks and thighs. Prissie looked good in them, but when she wanted to show, they were a problem.

Soth looked around the compartment. It was deserted, but with the frequent stops, they couldn't guarantee it would stay that way. Still, nothing ventured. "I hope this doesn't end painfully."

He slid from his seat and onto hers, closer now he could smell her perfume. It was subtle and expensive; he could see how well her makeup had been applied.

"Should I scream?" Prissie joked, turning slightly towards him.

"Please don't." He touched her face with a slightly trembling finger and instantly grew more confident when she did not shy away.

He had big hands, at least Prissie thought so, with long fingers that stroked her face, then ran through her hair, finally caressing the lobe of her ear until she moaned softly. She allowed him to touch her whilst she held back, although she wanted so badly to touch him.

***********************************

The roll of the train across the rails was rhythmical, the sound a constant beat. It was almost hypnotic, giving them a pulse to what was transpiring. Prissie opened her mouth; her tongue wet her lips. She looked at him, sending the unspoken command that she wanted him to kiss her.

He did so tentatively and then more passionately; his hand reached behind her head, literally holding her in place whilst they kissed.

She allowed herself the long-delayed luxury of touching him. She felt his arm through his shirt, feeling the muscles she knew would be there. She had known that he worked out and now had the proof. She touched him, her palm flat against his chest, her fingers spread wide as she traced the contours of his muscles. Prissie unfastened the buttons on his shirt and slipped her hand inside. He had a hairy chest; she loved masculine, confident men, and Soth was one.

"I'd beginning to think that we should be elsewhere." Soth breathed into her ear and then kissed the lode, nipping her, rolling his tongue around her stud earring.

"Don't spoil things by thinking!" Prissie growled. She pulled his hand towards her breasts, smiling when that big paw closed around her boobs.

The carriage door hissed open, and the almost lovers were instantly separated. The conductor came and checked their tickets, glanced at their flushed faces, and moved on.

"We should be elsewhere," Prissie complained. The moment had passed, and she was suddenly worried it might not return. The door hissed again, and a woman with a pushchair and a young child entered. Prissie suppressed the frustration that she was feeling. "Somewhere else." She muttered, moving a little away from him.

Soth had sat back, and now Prissie could see the size of his erection. She gestured with her eyes and smiled.

"I know," Soth complained.

"You should do something about that!" Prissie grinned as an idea started to form. "I need a pee..." She stood up, smoothed down her skirt and gave him what she hoped was a suggestive look. "Why don't you count to twenty?"

"Slowly?"

"Not that slowly." Prissie walked slowly down the aisle, past the mother and child. She

smiled at the child as she passed. She could feel Soth's eyes burning into her back, and she gave her walk an extra swing.

***********************************

The toilet was small and cramped but thankfully clean. There was a metal loo and wash basin and little else. Prissie slid the door sign to engage and waited. It seemed like a very long count to twenty before Soth's urgent voice whispered through the metal door.

"Prissie?"

She opened the door, and Soth squeezed into the space. He closed the door and dropped the engaged sign once more. For a moment, they just stood and looked at each other even though the space was so cramped that each sway of the train sent them into each other.

Standing, Soth stood several inches over her, which did not bother Prissie. She preferred her men to be taller than her. Smirking, Prissie touched his groin, stroking his still erect cock and then cupping his balls. Still looking into his face Prissie deftly unfastened his trousers, pushing them down and feeling in his shorts for his cock.

"Not hard to find!" She chuckled. She wrapped her fingers around his stalk; he was long and thin.

"Hard enough?" Soth grunted. He had his hands on her shoulders, breathing heavily, his face still flushed. He flexed his hips against her gentle wanking.

"Don't you dare..." She scolded. "I don't want to change my skirt because of that happening."

"If I do, then I'll pay the cleaning bill," Soth murmured again, kissing her. Prissie had to tilt her face upwards towards him, and as she did, Soth started to caress her boobs, pressing with an urgency that drove her nipples hard against the fabric of her brassiere. She wanted to be naked with him, but that was impossible.

He pushed her against the sink, and slowly, Prissie found herself lifted against the edge; by now, her skirt was up around her waist. Soth's fingers were pressing against the damp gusset of her panties, rubbing against her slit, gradually pressing the fabric into her now wet sex.

She pushed him away but only long enough to pull her pants to one side, and then

she drew him against her, rubbing his cock against the length of her sex, savouring the feel of that hard organ between her legs and knowing that very soon it would be inside her. Just the thought made her lubricate again.

Soth had been caressing her breasts, kissing her all over her face. Finally, she managed to speak... "Fuck me!" She breathed, knowing that men loved it when she talked dirty.

"Thought that you'd never ask." Soth grinned.

The huge hands claimed her buttocks, lifting her above him and then onto his cock. Prissie helped, steering the organ into her before he sat her down on the edge of the sink. Prissie kept her legs splayed as Soth started to fuck her frantically.

***********************************

It felt so good, so right. Prissie gave herself to the sensations Soth was driving through her body. He was so physical, so unrelenting in his lovemaking.

In comparison, Malcolm was so correct, so pc. He had never done her like this. He never used words like fuck or shag on the occasions that he initiated sex.

Soth had no such concerns. He drove her towards her orgasm; each thrust seemed to fill her, and each entry of her sex made her cry out, his balls slapped against the wet flesh of her buttocks.

She told him that she was starting; she liked to do that, tell her lover that her moment was close. It had once been in case they were about to come. It was Prissie's way of telling them to hold back. She knew she did not need to worry about Soth; she knew he would continue until she was finished.

The orgasm was short but intense. She felt herself gush and knew that her lubricants must be almost running from her body. She did not care. She hugged Soth, pulling her to him so that he could feel her orgasm whilst her body told him to come so that she could feel his climax.

***********************************

Soth left the toilet first, allowing Prissie to tidy herself and wash away the worst evidence. It took her five minutes before she returned to the seat she shared with Soth.

Sitting opposite him, Prissie couldn't help but smirk. "I always wondered whether you could do it in a bathroom, whether it was just a man in a mac fantasy."

"Well, now you know... now we both know." Soth corrected himself.

The rest of the journey passed in that companionable silence that can follow good sex. In the end, Soth left the train a couple of stops before Prissie; there was a moment's hesitation as both wondered if they should kiss or do something. Finally, they did nothing except wave at each other as the train pulled away.

***********************************

Prissie rode the train into the city, called her company to say she would be a half hour late and visited her hotel for a swift shower and change of clothes. After that, she returned to work feeling more energised than in months.

She returned to the hotel to find that a note had been left for her. The mobile number was unknown to her, and there was a simple message: please call me.

The receptionist could offer nothing more than there had been a phone call, and that the caller wouldn't leave his name.

At least, thought Prissie, she knew her mystery caller was a man.

Intrigued, Prissie did as the note requested, counting to twenty whilst the call rang out. Her unwritten rule was to hang up if the call wasn't answered after twenty.

At fifteen, a masculine voice answered. "Soth Southern."

For a moment, Prissie was struck dumb.

The voice repeated the name. "Soth Southern."

"Hi, it is Prissie... from the train." She added stupidly. She was painfully aware of the receptionist discretely trying to eavesdrop.

"Just your voice was enough." Soth's voice purred into Prissie.'

Prissie felt that tummy lurch when she was pleased to hear or see someone. "My number..." She began.

"You left your business card next to your laptop... I liberated one; apologies if that offends you."

"I am not offended; that's what business cards are for... is there a reason for this call, and how did you find my hotel?" The thought dawned on her that her business card did not carry her overnight address.

"Easy; I called your office and said that you'd left some papers after a meeting, that I wanted to return them, and that they could give me your hotel."

Prissie giggled. The receptionist failed to suppress a discrete smile. "That was very sneaky." Prissie whispered.

"I was wondering if you're free for dinner?"

Prissie suppressed a cheer. She had no plans and would have cancelled them if she had.

"I suppose that you already have a table booked." She teased and moved away from the receptionist as the need for intimacy with Soth took over.

"Of course, I hope you like Italian?"

"Italian, what?" Prissie teased, remembering an old and only partially understood joke about Italians being experts at oral sex.

"Let's start with the food... shall we say about eight. I'll call you at reception. The restaurant is only a five-minute walk from where you are staying."

"Eight it is. I should have an appetite by then." She wondered if Soth got the inference behind her remark.

***********************************

The only problem was what to wear. Prissie had not travelled with anything like her best casual or evening clothes. Aside from her business suits, she only had a pair of jeans, matching tops, and a presentable evening dress in midnight blue that Prissie thought matched perfectly with the clear blue of her contact lenses.

It was intended to be a single, perhaps two nights away, and her luggage said so. Prissie showered, regretted not bringing some of her better underwear, chose an almost matching set and finally slipped on the evening dress. She admired herself in the full-length dress mirror.

A woman in her early thirties stared back, slim but not thin, with a heavy layer of mousy blonde hair with golden highlights that was swept back off her face.

She did not look like a woman who concealed or carried her age well. Prissie was thirty-three and looked it.

Still, she was attractive enough to entice interest. The incident with Soth was proof of that. She smiled at the memory, and her body tingled.

***********************************

At seven-fifty, the receptionist rang to tell her that a Mr. Southern was waiting for her in the Brunel Bar. Prissie hesitated; she was ready and had been so for more than half an hour but knew that to arrive early would betray her keenness to meet Soth again.

She dragged her arrival out just long enough to visit the bathroom again, finally check her makeup, smooth down her dress, and, on slightly unsteady legs, went to meet her date.

***********************************

Soth was at the bar, looking towards the entrance, and the moment he saw her approaching, he came to meet her. "Good evening, and at the risk of sounding corny, you look sensational."

Prissie purred even though she knew that he was exaggerating. She looked good but not sensational; even at her best, she had never looked that. Still, every woman enjoyed being flattered, even those who said they did not.

Soth wore a decent pair of slacks and a white cotton shirt with short sleeves. Prissie thought that he was underdressed but kept her thoughts to herself. There was no need to spoil the evening before it started.

It was a date; Prissie had used the term to herself, but as they walked from the hotel, Prissie knew that this was far more than two friends enjoying a meal together. They did not touch or hold hands, and he certainly did not slip his arm around her waist, but they walked together, like a dating couple might, close but not touching. Friends always kept a little more distance between them.

The restaurant was clean and presentable but not as fashionable as the ones Prissie might have used in the capital. It was as much a family restaurant as it was one for couples and would never have done for entertaining Prissie's business clients.