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Here is an interestingg story.  Not too sexy,, but different


From: simon@rheged.dircon.co.uk(Simon Brooke)

           
   OK, experimental first post to Rec.arts.erotica. You may find this a
   little tame and icky-sweet. If you want to follow up, please mail me
   as none of the alt.sex.* hierarchy gets through some site further up
   the line. The keyword 'series' is used with some caution: this *is* a
   series, but I'll only post more if the reception is favourable.
                
   Copyright (c) Simon Brooke, 1994; permission to distribute on the
   Usenet group Rec.arts.erotica and to store in related arhives freely
   given, but don't publish it on paper for profit.

Tense changes are deliberate.

 None of what follows is true and the names have been changed anyway.
_______________________________________________________


   --: THE TRAIN :--
         by
       Simon Brooke


   Books that they give you to read for English are always boring. Elaine
   had expected better of this one, but it all seemed to be about boring
   people having long boring conversations; she couldn't see why there
   had been so much fuss about it. Parents were like that. Honestly!
   she'd ploughed her way half way through it, and no-one had done     
   anything in the least bit interesting yet. All they did was talk.   
   
   Elaine put the book down and looked out of the window. There was     
   nothing to see. Lights of streets, lights of houses... She looked down
   the carriage. A couple of old dears -- God knows where they'd been. A
   bunch of squaddies with too much drink in them. Not that they were
   very interesting, she didn't much go for short hair. Actually, they 
   were a bit scary, so big, so rowdy. She plaited a corner of her hair,
   moodily, staring out of the window. Why did it have to take so long?
   
   Those squaddies must have done it. What would they be like? God!
   Gross! She can imagine it... in the back of some tatty van, half    
   drunk, smelling of stale beer, rough, crude, laughing raucously,
   pounding, forcing, bruising, one after the other, then wandering away
   without a word to her... No! No! Not her... To the girl they've
   shagged (yes, shagged, that would be their word), wandering away to   
   tell their mates what a slag she was. Oh God. Elaine is blushing     
   fiercely. She feels sick. No! Not her! Not them! She'll never, ever...
   What would they be like? God!
   
   The train was slowing -- a station... Wigan, would this be? or   
   Warrington? "Your attention ..ease ... roaching Warr ... ank Quay."
   Warrington. Why did they put loudspeakers into the trains, if they
   were going to be that bad? Tannoy. If you said 'Tannoy' through a     
   annoy it would come out 'annoy', which is about right... Oh, well,  
   only two more hours. Platform sliding past. More lights. A clock: 
   twenty past eleven. God. Mummy would be so cross! Hiss of brakes.  
   Squeak. Jerk. Slam and bang of bags coming down off the racks. The   
   squaddies are going! Thank God! Elaine feels herself start to breathe
   again, deep, gasping. She hadn't realised she'd been... Thank God.

   Feet tramp past. Empty eyes pass across her as if she was just part of
   the furnishing. Twitter: the old dears are going too. Hiss. Clump.
   Slam. Silence. Doors closed, all gone, jerk, moving again. A big     
   chemical plant, sliding past.
   
   Rumble and noise; cars slide past, backwards, on the motorway. Elaine
   stares out of the window, and breathes deeply. A deep flush washes    
   over her face. She crosses her legs tightly. She's sticky, wet...
   Ready? She flushes again. God! She couldn't... She'll never, ever...
   But what is it like? The girls who've done it -- at least, the girls
   who say they've done it -- all pretend to be so blase about it. But...
   But... She couldn't! What IS it like?
   
   Elaine picks up the book again. This bloody silly woman brooding over
   pheasants eggs! And this is supposed to be a dirty book! They must
   have cut the good bits out before they gave it to us... Still, it's
   that or the corn laws, or watching cars in the rain. She reads on.
   
   She flicks pages impatiently, irritated, skipping paragraphs and  
   pages. Suddenly she stills. She flicks her hair out of her eyes,
   hunching over the book. Her tongue slips across her her lips, leaving 
   it glistening. Her thumb creeps in between them, soft and round. A
   flush creeps up her cheeks. She turns a page one handed, and after an
   absorbed minute, another. At last she breathes out, heavily, as if
   she's forgotten to breathe for a long time. She looks around the
   carriage, guiltily, as if she'd been caught raiding the drinks       
   cupboard. No-one there. She flushes redder, and opened the top button
   of her blousfeels hot, suddenly.
   
   She wriggles down a bit, puts her feet up on the seat opposite, and 
   starts flicking pages again; and again she stills, and the thumb      
   creeps back to her mouth. Her hair falls forward across her face. She
   pushes it back again, irritated, the space between her lips where the
   thumb has been dark, round, glistening at the margins. Restlessly, she
   sits up again and looks around the carriage. No-one.              
   
   Suddenly, she stuffs her book back into her schoolbag, open at its
   place. She jumps up, and strides down the carriage. The door opens,
   closes, the carriage is empty. A minute passes. The door hisses open
   again, and she strides back to her seat, flouncing down into it. She
   thrusts a fistful of crumpled fabric into her bag, and pulls the book
   out again. Her legs are bare. Again, she takes a careful look around
   the carriage. Again she wriggles down into her seat. Again the thumb 
   slides between the glistening lips. She turns a page back in the book,
   and another, and starts to read again.
   
   The thumb slips slowly out of her mouth. Slowly, it slides down into 
   her lap. It lies there for a moment, and then creeps down to the hem
   of her short skirt. She moves restively in her seat. She raises the
   book. She raises her knees, parting them. 
   
   Her cunt is as blond as her head; as her fingers dreamily open it, her
   vulva are salmon red and glistening as her lips. On the moist red    
   flesh, her pale fingers writhe silently.
   
   The book is hanging limp in her hand; through the thumbhole in her
   lips the breath pants. She feels the slowing train. She looks up  
   irritated; her face glistens slightly with sweat. Outside, the cars
   flick by on the motorway; all else is darkness. She returns to her  
   book, again flipping a few pages forward before settling down to read.
   
   She moves in her seat, pushing her hair back with sex scented fingers.
   They slide down into the hole between her lips. She sucks them,     
   greedily. Thy slide down again, leaving the dark glistening hole
   between her lips... down, down. Below them, another hole, just as
   dark, just as glistening, opens like an eye. Her fingers move. Her
   hips move. She reads.
   
   "And it seemed she was like the sea, nothing but dark waves rising and
   heaving, heaving with a great swell, so that slowly her whole darkness
   was in motion, and she was ocean rolling in dark, dumb mass. Oh, far
   down inside her the deeps parted and rolled asunder, in long, far     
   traveling billows, and ever, at the quick of her the depths parted and
   rolled asunder, from the centre of soft plunging, as the plunging went
   deeper and deeper..."
   
   A new light spills in through the window. Another train, also   
   stationary, also waiting. Elaine looks up startled... straight into
   the eyes of... His hair is rough and shaggy, but soft looking. His
   face is soft looking too -- he's trying to grow a beard, but it       
   doesn't amount to much yet. He wears an old, shabby leather jacket. He
   looks straight at her. He's smiling. Oh God! He's been watching!      
   Elaine's face is dark. She pulls her skirt down quickly. She looks
   away, resolutely. The train huffs and sighs, as trains will, for      
   reasons known only to itself. Far out behind the further windows, a
   car crawls slowly across the blackness. Her eye strays back to the
   book.                

   ...touching lower, and she was deeper and deeper and deeper          
   disclosed..."
   
   She looks up again, through the window, straight into his eyes. She's
   never met him. She won't ever meet him. He will never know who she is.
   Rain trickles down the window, wrinkling the image of his face. He    
   blows a kiss at her. She smiles. She wriggles in her seat again, lifts
   her skirt. She looks at him, and realises that he cannot see what she
   is doing. Her eye strays to the book, and back to the window. He blows
   her another kiss. Slowly, dreamily, she stands up. Deliberately, she
   looks one way down the carriage, and then the other. She is facing
   him. She smiles at him, a secret smile. She puts one foot on the seat,
   and lifts her skirt again. He makes encouraging gestures with his     
   hands. They smile together. Her hand moves, moves, moves.       
   
   Her breath comes in gasps. Her mouth opens wide. Her eyes close. His
   do not. Suddenly she shudders, her eyes fly open, she sinks slowly 
   onto the seat. She smiles at him, softly, sweetly. He grins. He blows
   a kiss. He breathes on his window, and draws a vertical line, and then
   a heart, and then a 'U'. She laughs, softly, happily. She watches him
   through half closed eyes. Her lover, who she'll never ever meet. At
   last his train starts to move, and he holds up one middle finger with
   a grin. Fuck You!
   
   Elaine grins back, lazily. Let him wish! She drowses. Only when her   
   own train sighs into motion does she stir enough to straighten her
   clothing, tidy herself up. She feels soft, warm, powerful, sleepy. She
   sleeps.
   
   She wakes. Another station. Booming of tannoys. Midnight. Lancaster.
   No-one on the platform... and then moving again, bridge, town, fields,
   sea, flashpast of an old station, darkness. Elaine looks out at the   
   darkness, a soft smile on her face. She sees the boy with the tousled
   hair. Shame she'd never meet him... except... except... well, she
   wouldn't want anyone to think she was the sort of person who could...
   She grins. She picks up her book. The train rushes on through the   
   night. She reads. She drowses again...
   
   In the reflection in the dark window she sees the boy with the tousled
   hair. The wicked smile creeps across her face. He grins back. He is  
   standing... She turns her head. He is standing in the corridor,    
   looking down at her. On this train! He sits, across from her. He blows
   a kiss. Elaine gulps. Her hand comes up to her face, to hide the
   flush, to hide her face. She looks down. He is slim. He wears old
   jeans, faded, and scuffed white trainers. She looks away -- and
   eyes creep back to his face. He smiles again. It's a nice smile.  
   
   Elaine turns her head away. This is a nightmare! It can't be... How
   could he be on this train? If only he hadn't seen her. If only he
   hadn't... If only he'd say something. The train rushes on through the
   darkness. Far away, the lights of trucks crawl up the long hillsides. 

   At last she peeps back at him. He's still watching her. He laughs: 
   more sort of a giggle really. Nervous. Elaine blushes. She giggles   
   too.

   "What were you reading?"
   
   He has a nice voice, quiet, low. Not much accent... hard to place. She
   tells him about doing Lady Chatterly for English, how she'd thought it
   was boring. They laugh again, nervously. Which bit was she reading 
   when she... he blushes. She blushes. She pulls the book out of her
   schoolbag, and starts to look for the place. She means to pass it to  
   him, but he's got up, he's sitting beside her. She looks round to say
   something... she doesn't expect the kiss. She whips her head away, and
   then turns it back, slowly, slowly. This time the kiss goes deep, and
   she replies to it, seriously, carefully. She turns away again. She
   starts to read. He is reading over her shoulder. His arm sneaks round
   her waist. Her thumb creeps to her mouth -- and then she dashes it 
   away, blushing furiously. She giggles. She reads. His other hand is on
   her thigh. Will he? Will he dare? Oh my God he will! Oh my God, he is.
   She slumps against him. This can't be happening. This can't be       
   happening to me. She squirms in the seat. She kisses him hungrily. Oh
   my God. Oh... my... God!
       
   "There's something I have to tell you", she says, blushing. He's
   kneeling between her thighs. He's opened his jeans. They're round his
   knees. His cock... In a moment... Surely it's too big... "What is it?"
   he asks, tightly. "I'm..." She meets his eyes a moment, and then her  
   eyes slide down to... "I'm a virgin". He laughs gently. He has such a 
   nice smile. His hands, behind her waist, pull firmly...           
   
   Elaine feels the nuzzling thrust. She bites her lip, and nods. (Is  
   that the right place? How much will it hurt?) He's pushing harder. She
   feels the stretching... (Stop! I don't know you! I'm not ready! Oh no,
   I don't want to...) Tearing! A sudden sharp wave of pain! She lets out
   a soft gasping sob... (Oooh! Oh shit! Oh God!)
   
   He's stopped pushing. He's looking at her anxiously. He's... sort 
   of... shuddering with desire. A tear breaks away from her eyelash and 
   starts to travel down her sweating cheek. She smiles a small smile,   
   and nods a brave half nod.

   He shifts his hands under her buttocks (God he's strong. God he's big.
   Can he possibly...) lifts her slightly off the seat, and slides --
   right -- in. "Were you?" he asks, kissing her again. He grins. "So was
   I". Again her eyes flick to his, and they laugh together. "What do we
   do next?"
   
   She savours the cocktail of sensations. Ragged pain from her tear.   
   Deep smooth stretching and stroking. Throbbing heat. Sweet sweaty
   smelling weight of him pressing into her. Filling her. Is it
   pleasurable? She isn't sure. It isn't comfortable. It's overwhelming,
   irresistible...
   
   I've done it, she thinks. No-one in school would ever believe it.     
   She'll never tell them. I saw him. I wanted him. I seduced him. I'm
   fucking him. And he's never -- she thinks, pulling him into her again,
   deeper -- going to -- deeper -- see me -- deeper -- again! I'll never,
   she thinks, her body cresting and bursting and shuddering as much with
   the wickedness of it as the sensation within her, even let him know...
   my... name.               

   "Go on, tell me, you've got to!" He's lying on her, drowsy, spent. His
   cock, still in her, is soft and small and sticky and -- itchy -- itchy
   in a sort of nice way. She laughs. She shakes her head. He smells     
   clean. His face is soft and smooth. His eyes are dewy. "How am I going
   to meet you again?" She laughs again. "You're not", she says. "Never."
   She kisses him, deep and slow. His hands move. Her hands move. The
   kiss goes on.
   
   Lights flash by behind his ear. "Oh God!" she says. "We're there". She
   scrambles in her schoolbag for her knickers, her tights. "Wait!" he  
   says. "Wait!" She struggles into her knickers. The train is slowing.
   The tannoy. Now her tights... the train lurches, and she stumbles
   forward against the seat in front. He's holding her there! He's doing
   something at her crotch... hard... tickly. Oh! What is it? What is he
   doing? He lets her turn. He's grinning. She looks down and sees a     
   phone number written on her inner thigh, just below the line of the   
   elastic. She blushes. He grins. She giggles nervously. She pulls up   
   her thick blue tights. She kisses him one last time, pulling him hard 
   against the whole length of her. The train shudders to a halt.

   "Goodbye, lover!" she says. She runs for the door.
   
   The number on her thigh... she'll never, never forget him. She'll     
   never, never wash it off -- well, she'll copy it down first, somewhere
   very private... She'll never, never see him again. Never. What a      
   wonderful... she treasures the slight pain as she walks, the liquid,  
   oozing feeling. He was so nice! It was... She'll never ring. She leaps
   from the train, and runs almost skipping down the platform. Her mother
   stands at the station entrance, talking to another woman. "Goodbye,
   Margaret" she's saying. "Hello Elaine, you poor thing, what an awful  
   journey you must have had. Are you hungry? Are you awfully tired?" 
   
   Elaine isn't listening. Already she's overcome with a wave of regrets. 
   Why hadn't she... there was so much they hadn't done. What would it  
   feel like to have her tits fondled... kissed... bitten! What would it
   taste like to... No! No going back. She is not going to phone. It's
   special. Secret. Hers. Deflowered by a stranger in a railway carriage!
   No one else in the world has a secret like that. No, one other. Still,
   it's hers. Hers! She hugs it tight to her.
   
   There are footsteps behind them -- her mother's friend. "Oh, by the
   way, Elizabeth, have you met my son Peter?" Oh God, No! It cannot be!
   Elaine turns. It is. He says good evening, very politely, very formal.
   His semen is soaking coldly through her tights. Her mouth opens,      
   slowly. She starts to laugh.
   
-- mens vacua in medio vacuo -- 
     _________________________________________________________________ 
  

