Brief Encounters

My fiancé dozed next to me.  Having long given up the fight against sleep, he rested peacefully.  The thought of the family I was soon to meet (and the inevitable ways in which I would disappoint) kept me awake and irritable.  The stories he had regaled me with – crusty Canadian do-gooders blazing a path in the wilderness, salt-of-the-earth, pioneer ancestors defying the cold, the mountains, and God himself – had me longing for a train wreck. 

Many hours in, the train stopped in a no-name town.  I noticed him instantly.  He noticed my notice, changing directions to head directly for the seat across from me.  It was an otherwise empty train car.  Pulse quickening from excitement or fear, I felt my heart skip a beat as he approached.  He smiled softly at me, slinging his bag into the overhead compartment and deftly maneuvering past my outstretched legs. 

He sat down, his knees brushing mine.  It was impossible not to notice him.  I was awestruck, positively breathless for the first time in my life.  Not a particularly good looking man but he exuded the commanding charm of a bandit king or desert sheik, swamping me in waves and waves of testosterone.  Suddenly – absurdly – I was grateful I had insisted on dressing up.  I stared, my eyes drawn to his.  Obviously pleased with my reaction, his roguish smile widened. 

A long, thorough stripping ensued.  The blazer, the blouse, even the plain white bra, all fell victim to his questing eyes.  It should have felt crass, abusive.  Instead something inside me, restless and discontent, responded.  Rather than do anything sensible I brought my eyes shyly to his, starving for something I had no words for.  My inexperience must have shown on my face.  An innocent crying out for ravishment, I was delicious, irresistible temptation. 

His mere presence hinted at possibilities I could not yet conceive of.  I drank him in.  Then his smile turned feral, a predatory gleam in his eyes.  Unlike me, he had known I was ripe for the taking.  Though he chuckled mischievously, it did not mask the sense of danger I felt around such blatant masculine interest.

I was flustered beyond belief, uncomfortable in my own skin, hot and bothered by a stranger on a train.  One who had done nothing more than sit across from me.  Time, then, to retreat, to drop my eyes modestly, to ignore the ache between my legs urging me onwards.  I wanted to fuck this man; the dizzy song in my blood was lust.  I did not know what to do. 

I bit my lower lip to keep from moaning.  Wriggling in my seat, I looked down only to be confronted with the sight of his unmistakable arousal.  My skin flushed hotter when he caught me staring.  I burned with want and shame, a tingling, disturbing sensation unfurling within me as his hand moved to the zipper of his jeans.

What a glorious sight, his callused hand reaching into his jeans, pulling the foreskin taut.  I stopped breathing altogether.  He smiled at my discomfort.  There it was again, undeniable.  Shaking with wanting, the inexplicable need to drop to my knees and take him into my mouth flooded me.  Licking, trembling fire waltzed across my skin.  I distantly wondered at the wanton that had taken over my body but I lost even that thought when he brought his fingers up to his mouth, never taking his eyes from mine, and licked them.

I closed my eyes.  Without thinking, my fumbling hands flew to the buttons on my blouse.  His breathing grew heavier.  The sound temporarily stopped me.  I was afraid to go another step further without a signal.  Peeking out, I saw him stroking his cock, the head peeking out beneath the foreskin, desire etched into the curve of his jaw and the darkening of his gold-flecked eyes.

Flicking open the clasp of my bra, I brought to fingers to my mouth and wet them in imitation of his earlier action.  Shaking in earnest, fine tremors running down the length of me, I touched my damp fingers to my pebbled nipples.  He inhaled sharply, quickening his stroke.  I heard myself moaning softly, hands cupping and caressing my breasts.  I found myself bucking, panties nearly soaked through, as the scent of my arousal filled the train car.  Who was this person?

Giving myself time to change my mind, I moved my hand lower, dancing lightly across my stomach, past my navel, to the top of my skirt.  Emboldened, I shifted, hiking up my skirt, hinting at further access.  I dipped a finger past the hemline into my underwear, his fervent stare a dare.  With my other hand, I touched myself through my panties, my hand whispering across my clit.  I could almost feel the effort it took to slow down his strokes, to pace them to mine, his body reverberating with excitement.  But he did.  That made me bolder still, shameless.

Lifting myself off the seat, I eased my panties down to my ankles, opening my legs wide.  He licked his lips, that wild grin in place.  It was gone in the next instant when I held myself open and slipped a finger inside my pussy.  The feel of his eyes on me had me even more eager and I slid another finger inside, thrusting my hips against my fingers, grinding them deeper.  My pleasure was heightened by his; the smell of sex, his and mine, escalated my desire.

I was shocked at the extent of my need, of the insane urge to cross the distance between us and ride him, his throbbing cock in my pussy and his lips devouring mine, by the compulsion to fuck him, something hard and fast, with teeth and nails and bruises, this need to make myself come for him, to drive him over the edge until he pushed my legs open wider and shoved himself inside me, his hands pinning mine over my head until he came inside me and on me, using his hands and cock to keep me coming past the limit of all decency, until the next orgasm was as much pain as pleasure.  I wanted him to pull me onto his lap, my wetness pulsing around his cock, his hands hard in my hair and lips gentle at my throat.  I wanted him to push me up against the window and take me from behind, my face pressed to the seat, hungry hands gripping my ass. 

Instead I thrust harder against my hand, my moans low but frequent, aware and excited by the thought of who was sleeping next to me.  With the other hand I rubbed my clit.  Across from me, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.  He stroked himself furiously, his eyes mirroring my thoughts.  I began to convulse as waves of euphoria rushed over me, made all the sweeter by for being forbidden.  My climax triggered his.  I opened my eyes in time to watch him come with a hoarse, muffled shudder, drops of semen warming my knee. 

The primitive gleam of satisfaction danced in his eyes.  Another soft chuckle as he leaned his head back against the seat, exhaling.  It was unnerving to find such synchronicity with a stranger. 

Having dozed off, I awoke to his hand upon my shoulder, a light squeeze of camaraderie and debauchery.  'Pardon me,' he said, his voice dark chocolate decadence, as he slipped back into his seat.  Ducking my head, I could not help but smile at the gleam in his eyes.  Following his example, I hurried to the bathroom to wash the sex from my skin.  My fiancé was awake when I came back, his sleep-softened features made repulsive by the memory of what had just transpired.  He blew me a kiss and settled into sleep.

‘What was that?  You know each other?’  I could hear the rage rising in his voice.  If only he knew.

‘No, we were getting to know each other while you slept.  Tell me more about your grandparents…’

Later still, he maneuvered his suitcase down from the overhead bin.  His fingers fleetingly touched my hair, lingered on my shoulder a touch too long.  I nodded my head in acknowledgement but did not look up.  Inhaling deeply at his passing, the scent of his skin teased my senses with the reminder (the curve of his jaw, the red-gold stubble lining his face, the gold-green gleam of his eyes, his slightly crooked front teeth, the angry, dark, throbbing vein of his cock held before me, the scar on his right hand on the underside of his wrist that looked like a cigarette burn in the shape of a star). 

'Have a safe trip,' he said, taking the hand I extended for a handshake and dropping an open-mouthed kiss on my palm.  With a grin and a wink, he walked towards the door, leaving my life with the same élan he came into it with.

James noticed.  'What a jackass.  The car was empty, why'd he have to sit here?'  I ignored him, settling deeper into the seat.  Two more hours to go.

The glint of his wedding band caught my eye only as he got off the train. 

I suspect he will always be my favorite.  You never forget your first time.

wrod count: 1,551