Archive-name: carlisletrain

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

Keywords: f-solo, mf, series

X-Moderator-Review: 7: finely written

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 :--

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 tannoy 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 them 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 blouse. She feels 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. Then
they 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 her 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.

------- simon@rheged.dircon.co.uk (Simon Brooke)

-- mens vacua in medio vacuo --
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