TurboTrain

Back in the early 1970s, Amtrak had exactly two TurboTrain sets in operation between Boston and New York. If you wanted to catch one of them on for a trip, you could call in the morning and find out when they were scheduled to operate. They had gas-turbines engines, not the diesels or electrics commonly used by the company.

They were fun to ride because they had an air of futurism, a feeling that "someday all passengers trains will be like this." When I first rode them in 1973 they had already been around for five years, longer than Amtrak itself had existed. Originally they had been assigned to the short-lived Penn Central Railroad. At the creation of the new passenger corporation, they were among the few units of modern equipment the fledging entity owned.

The coaches had low-slung bodies very different from the conventional trains of the period. For the passengers, the best amenities were raised observation domes at either end of the consist. The operating crew was in the front dome with only a Plexiglas window separating them from the riding public. I don't know whether or not they were bothered by all of those people looking over their shoulders. I do know that these were the only dome cars to ever operate on the Northeast Corridor.

One day in the late spring of 1974 I was riding up to Boston with my friend Mark and a girl named Sharon Kimmel, who was the girlfriend of another guy I knew. All four of us had graduated from the same high school the year before, but only Sharon's boyfriend, who was named Jeffrey, had chosen to attend Boston University.

I had known both Mark and Jeffrey since junior high school. Jeff had seemed like a rather nerdy guy in the early years that I had known him. Now, however, he was getting laid on a semi-regular basis which increased his status in my eyes considerably.

On this Monday afternoon, Sharon was coming up for a few days to visit him. They had started their affair in high school, and they had decided to continue even though they were now living in different cities. Mark and I were basically going to Boston for our version of spring break.

At one point, we were riding backwards in the rear dome portion of the train. Sharon was a short, dark-haired girl and she was wearing blue jeans. At that moment she was in the far seat beyond Mark, and I was across the aisle. She must have been feeling frisky because at one point she sat on Mark's lap for no reason I could discern. I don't know if he took it in stride or not, but a few minutes later she moved across the aisle to sit in my lap.

I was a virgin at that point who had never so much as kissed a girl. Sharon's tight little buttocks against my crotch gave me an instant, and huge, erection. It was so pleasant that I forgot to be embarrassed about it.

She must have noticed it, because she began a subtle sliding motion against me, going side-to-side and then front-to-back. Mark, meanwhile, seemed oblivious and the three of us kept up some conversation I was barely listening to. I gently put my hands on her waist and held her.

After a few more moments, she looked back at me with an appraising glance. I have no idea what my own expression was, but I caught her look. She leaned back and whispered, "Come with me."

Where were going was the coach directly in front of us. We had to go down a short staircase, and then we entered a car that was no more than one-third full. I followed Sharon to the last row in the back. The seats in that car were also facing backwards, and there were no other passengers within six rows of where we were sitting.

Without saying anything, she gestured for me to sit in the window seat. Then she got on my lap again. This time she was much more forthright in the way she was grinding the seat of her jeans into the crotch of my own pants. Her hands were on the seatback in front of her so that she could brace herself.

For a brief moment, I looked out of the far side windows and saw boats in their marinas. We were somewhere between New Haven and Old Saybrook, and the tracks ran close to Long Island Sound. Then a freight train came blasting down on the opposite side. After that, I lost myself in the rolling motions of her pert behind against my stiff cock inside my own pants.

It didn't take long, but I suddenly thought, this chick is going to make me come. In another few moments, I felt the tension build up and I ejaculated. For the last few seconds, I raised my hips off the seat and did my own frantic gyrations against her. My hands gripped her waist as I moved her around on me.

The climax felt intense, but I kept my voice down and softly grunted a few times as my cock pulsed. I could feel the semen spurting out of me into my underpants. Then I fell back and relaxed.

As soon as I did, Sharon got off of me and placed herself in the adjacent seat. I looked over at her but she didn't look back or say anything. Back in high school, I had hardly noticed her. However, at that moment in the train, she looked fine to me. But I had never really spoken to her before, and I didn't know what to say to her now.

Then suddenly she got up and headed back to the rear dome car. I looked down to see if my cum was seeping into my jeans yet. I didn't see any, so I immediately got up too and followed her. She had already transversed most of the length of the car and was nearly to the staircase at that point.

Back in the dome, she returned to the same seat on Mark's far side. He didn't ask us where we had been, and we all started up some conversation that I again barely participated in.

For a short while, I was having all sorts of unrealistic fantasies about her. This chick obviously digs me. I wonder what kind of things she has in store for me in Boston? The logistical problems didn't strike me immediately. For one thing, she was going to be staying in the apartment that Jeffrey was sharing with another B.U. student. For another, Mark and I were going to be staying in one of the dorms a few blocks away on the far side of Kenmore Square. With four guys in that room, there didn't seem to be much opportunity for privacy.

Nevertheless, I knew Sharon had brought me to orgasm with her swiveling rear end, and I assumed that she not so secretly had the hots for me. I was going to be up there for four days; surely something could be worked out. Maybe I'd finally get my cherry busted by a girl who was already banging someone I knew.

I wondered why she just didn't sit in the empty seat next to me and hold my hand or something. Oh, she's being clever; she can't let Mark see what is going on. I didn't think he'd blab to Jeffrey about it, but I could understand her caution.

However, the more time that went by without any acknowledgment from her, the more my expectations sank. Meanwhile, my underpants were sticky with my own semen, and a small amount did come through my jeans. I pulled my shirttails out to cover it, and it had dried more than two hours later when we disembarked at Back Bay Station. We walked over to Copley Square to catch the Green Line. There was still no hint from Sharon that I was anything except the merest acquaintance.

Going to Jeffrey's apartment was really a let-down. He was bopping around in a T-shirt and blue underpants; he and Sharon hugged and kissed. After about a half-hour, it was time for Mark and me to get some dinner and then go over to the dorm.

Mark had been my closest friend since junior high school, and I considered telling him about the incident with Sharon. I held off on that; I still had the faintest hope that Sharon would come looking for me in the next twenty-four hours and propose -- well, something.

Actually, I never saw her again. Her long-distance relationship with Jeffrey ended over that summer. She certainly never came looking for me. I saw very little of Jeffrey either after that, and I lost all contact with him the following year.

Amtrak eventually bought more Turboliners of a different design and used then for many years in New York State. The two originals were unreliable fuel hogs and were retired in 1976.

Decades later I found Sharon on Facebook, the place where all of the forgotten eventually reappear. Of course, at sixty-four, like I was, she definitely was in late middle-age. It seemed that she had a husband and two grown children by then. I briefly wondered what it would be like to send a message. "Hi, Sharon. Remember on the train to Boston that day in '74 when I busted a nut against your sweet little rotating ass? That was the first time I ejaculated with the help of someone else's body."

The romance of it all. So Sharon the mama here, and maybe a granny too, had once been a sort of tease. Arguably, she had come through for me, but there was no follow-up beyond that. It was interesting to speculate if she could even recall the incident. Of course, I was never going to send such a message, even if I remembered it well.

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