Special Stations of the Mind

He was an old man, frail and unsteady. The few other passengers on the local train, watching as he tottered to a seat, may have felt some concern for him. Sallow faced and feeble he was truly a candidate for public sympathy.

Sitting back in his seat, as the carriage doors closed, and the train jerked into motion on its circuitous route, old Harry Dayton, felt a spark of weird excitement. This would be his first journey on this line for many, many years. Once it had been his, daily, mode of travel, and he was pleased that he was close to the window enabling him to view the passing scene. How much of it had changed? How much would he remember?

Remembering was the main point of this journey. Observing the pitying glances of other passengers, he had allowed himself an internal smile. What would they think if they knew what thoughts played in the mind of this poor old guy? Would they believe that they were looking at a man who, back in his twenties, had prided himself on his success with women.

Crazy? Were his expectations really so crazy? Were they really the overreaction of a senile mind? No, he was free to roam through memories in anyway he wanted. He couldn't even remember where he had encountered the map of the layout of this line. All he remembered was the flood of vague erotic memories that were triggered by seeing the names of certain stations on that map. The challenge to rebuild those memories, because each in its own way was different from the norm, was so strong. He just had to make this trip.

He was no longer a well man. His doctor had warned him about taking unnecessary risks. But what was the risk in reliving happier times?

"The next station will be Farville," a female voice came over the loudspeaker.

Harry gazed at the passing range of back gardens, some immaculately tended, others a jungle of undergrowth. Farville was not one of the trigger stations for him, but he remembered how this current stretch had just been fields over sixty years ago.

"This station is Farville," came the calm female voice. One or two passengers lined up to leave the train. Two men in smart suits came on.

Harry was almost ready for the next announcement, "The next station will be Cattergate."

Yes, Cattergate, a memory that was furthest back. He had been to a birthday party, drink had flowed, and hadn't he missed the chance to get inside Brenda Brand's knickers. She had come leaning into him, asking if he wanted a kiss or 'something'. Why had he refused? No memory of what had diverted him. Within minutes, it seemed, he had spotted her climbing the stairs being fingered by a lad called Malcolm, who he'd never liked. Missed opportunity.

He'd only just caught the last train. The carriage hadn't been very full, but at Cattergate, where there was a large council estate, everybody else had got off, and he thought he would have the carriage to himself. He was just worrying that in his drunken state he might fall asleep, when a young woman just managed to squeeze through the closing doors.

That woke Harry up, for in just a few seconds he had taken in the good looking face, the blonde hair and the exquisite figure in a thin blue summer dress. To his utter amazement, after a momentary pause, as she viewed up and down the carriage, she came and sat opposite him. Why? That was the first thought on his mind, as she gave him a slight smile.

Harry tried looking out of the window, where the only view was the empty platform.

"Been to a party?" she asked, her words slightly slurred.

Harry muttered a weak, "Yes," while his eyes fixed on the fact that the top two buttons of her dress had come loose, and the beginnings of two generous curves were on display. The sight was a magnet for his drunken eyes.

"Get anything?"

"Drunk," he said flatly, trying to look at her face, but his eyes kept dropping to the cleavage.

She laughed, a nice sound. "No touchy feely?"

God, she was forward, this one. "No, none of that," he admitted.

The dark eyes widened in surprise, before she asked, "Yes, I've had a poor night that way,too. Like to change it?"

"What do—?"But before he could frame his uncertain query she had moved to sit alongside him.

"Now,"she said, with a little huskiness in her voice, "would you like to put your hand where your eyes have been basking?"

With a jerk the train began to move, while Harry had become a bundle of jelly, "I don't—"

But again she moved before he finished, as her hand grabbed his and slid it into the opening of her dress where the movement caused another button to pop. There was no bra, and Harry's hand, almost independent of his troubled thoughts, slid readily over the delightful orbs, savouring their delicacy.

"Feel good?" she asked. Harry looked up to see her eyes, in spite of her lascivious smile, clouding. "My God, what's that pressing down there?"

Harry had been very aware that he had become fully erect, almost at the first touch on her skin, and she was now gazing down at the bulge. Even as she looked she was reaching to smooth her hand over the mound in his pants. "Think he needs some freedom?"

Old Harry straightened in his seat as the train slowed and stopped at the present Cattergate station. As he looked toward the opening doors he could almost conjure the look of her again. The pale blue dress, the half revealed bosom, the cool, teasing smile, had him desperate to recover how their meeting went next.

It came to him so easily. With a shuddering breath, he saw her fingers tugging at his zip. She was going to touch it, feel it. His own fingers tightened on her breast. While her left hand continued to lower his zip, her right hand came to where his hand entered her dress opening and she flicked at another button, so that the whole breast was free. Almost in the same action her face came close to his, her lips slightly parted, "Shouldn't we have a kiss?" she breathed, and her mouth being so close there was little point in refusing. Not that he wanted to.

The next second their lips were meshed together and her tongue was playing over his, and along the inside of his cheeks. He had tongued girls before but the sensations had never been so electrifying, so intense. But even as he revelled in the joys of the kiss and the fingering of her nipples, he realised her hand was inside his pants reaching for his wildly erect penis.

As soon as her fingers closed around it, drawing it free of his pants, Harry feared that he might lose control under her eager handling, but it was she who broke the kiss to gasp, "Jesus, what do you have here?" And she was staring, wide eyed, at his erection, the purple head ballooning out as she drew back the foreskin. Harry could not remember seeing it looking so bulbous.

"How many women has that been up?"

Harry hesitated with his answer, but there was no point in withholding the truth. "Only one," he admitted, deciding the whole truth was personal. His one and only time had been with a girl called Rita, and had been all very hasty, little foreplay, and as she parted her thighs, eager for his entry, he had shot his load all over her inner thighs, only just managing to enter her even as his erection collapsed.

"One! With a glorious cock like that?" Her use of the word might have shocked him in any other circumstance, but she went on to ask, "How old are you?"

"Going on nineteen," he said.

"University student?"

He nodded, and she gave him a determined look, before saying, "Well, excuse me, but you could do with some further education." Without any more words she dropped her head down to take his swollen penis directly into her mouth, pressing down so that he felt the head hit against the back of her throat. Harry had heard about this, had read about it, but never had his penis been in a woman's mouth Then she began sliding her mouth back and forth along his length. God, it was fantastic, but Harry feared that he would be shooting within seconds, but maybe it was the drink he'd consumed that held him back. With her bending over it was difficult to keep his hand on her breast.

As though guessing this she briefly released him to gasp, "Put your hand between my legs. Find my spot. Feel me. I'm ripe for it. And pull my panties down."

Harry could not believe this was happening to him in a train carriage. The train was in motion again. How far to the next station? What if someone got on? He found that she had moved her left leg, way back so that her legs were totally parted, and two lower buttons had loosened. There could only have been one button holding the dress together.

As her mouth continued its elaborate performance over his penis, his fingers slid over the wetness of her silken panties. The whole of her nether body was soaked. He hooked his fingers around the crotch of the panties, tugged and was amazed how easily they came down, with the help of a little wriggle from her. Then his fingers were roaming that fantastic crevice, front to back, touching on what felt to be a very ready hole, hearing her grunt at that.

He knew that it was the clitoris that was a big turn on for women, and that it was not always easy to find. Once he had been with a girl who had shown him how to find it, had orgasmed heavily, but was keeping the final act until she was married. So he knew where to probe, and with this lady it took no finding. That little nub was up and proud. But the moment he touched it, her mouth came away from his penis, and she was gasping, "Oh, God, I've got to have this creature deep inside me."

Her actions pushed Harry to one side as she lay back on the length of the seat, drawing him back on top of her. She reached for him again, panting, " I've had some cock in my time, but this-Oh, quick, inside me, before we get to Forkton."

Harry had been worrying about the next station, but this lady was clearly positive and sure of herself, and here he was poised to have a real full entry into a woman. For some reason he wasn't worried about what might happen if it was like with Rita, because this lady already had him poised at the lips of her vagina, and all he had to do was push.

Already her hips had been thrusting and the moment his erection entered her, she gave what was almost an animal howl and bucked and heaved under him. Moving up inside her was a wonderful sensation for Harry, the smoothness , the heat, the moisture, the frantic motion of her hips, drew all he had out of him so that, as she hit her high, he was pouring his juices deep, deep into her, his penis head striking her cervix, he was sure.

As they lay panting the train began to slow. In those days there was no announcer, and the lady eased him aside, pulling at her panties, fastening up her dress. "Better put that away, "she laughed, standing, only slightly dishevelled, as the doors opened. She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips, before saying, "Thank you, for making my evening. I wish there could be more." This was her stop? Harry couldn't believe it. She was gone, and the doors closed. For a brief second as the train pulled away, he saw her walking away without a backward glance..

Old Harry found that he was panting heavily as though he had just carried out those long gone activities. Worriedly he glanced at the other passengers to see if they had noticed something strange about his behaviour, but they all seemed preoccupied. He had later checked the time between Callergate and Forkton stations and the whole episode with that unnamed lady could not have taken more than five minutes.

Watching houses and gardens gallop by the window, old Harry had to admit his surprise at how many aspects of that occasion had come back to him. The first time he had heard a woman use the word 'cock'. Time eventually would tell him that getting mutual orgasm like that. although possible, was not that easy. It all proved that this trip of memories was well worth the bother.

One thing was certain, after those few moments of delight, Harry's experience with the opposite sex blossomed. His confidence boosted, he began to develop quite a reputation among the female members of the university fraternity. He flinched at the egotistical thought that, gradually, he had become quite accomplished at giving those young ladies something to remember.

He and his big university mate, Bill Sanders, would exchange notes on their conquests. Bill had declared from the outset that he was an amateur lover, who was, while at university, eager to boost himself up to professional status. Long after university they were to keep in touch, exchanging news of sexual conquests. Bill's motto was, "Marriage is pointless, when thighs part so readily."

Harry smiled to himself now, as the world raced by the window. That all seemed so immature now. The train was moving away from the Fieldway station which had been his stop when he lived with his parents. Harry drew in a deep breath as he knew what was coming.

"The next station will be Rander Street."

Ah, yes, Rander Street, just a short line away. He felt a strange queasiness, as the memories started to come to life. Just turned twenty two, out of university with a good degree in finances and business studies, he had been on the point of finding himself both a flat and a second hand car. On this particular night he had gone to a dance hall some way out of the city.

The place was always crowded on a Friday night, and early on he'd noticed this fairly tall, willowy figure in a yellow blouse which appeared to be under pressure. When he was closer he saw, under a flow of blonde hair, an attractive face with a wide mouth and vivid green eyes. They had danced, and the voluptuous way she pressed against him sent eager signals to his brain. By the time they had the fourth dance he was having an instant erection every time she came near. And her grinding against him promised much.

They left before the dancing ended, and discovering they were heading for the same train, had time to exchange hot kisses, behind a platform pillar, where she had no objections to his squeezing an excitingly rounded breast.

Harry wasn't sure whether he was kidding himself, but whenever her green eyes looked at him they appeared to be full of desire and promise. Her name was Sharon and she was twenty six years old,

Arms linking them together on the carriage seat, she leaned into him and whispered, "Would you like to come to my flat for—"And her pause was deliberately seductive, "- a coffee."

There was much more than coffee on offer, Harry was sure. He accepted without delay, and was standing eagerly behind her as she unlocked the door of her downstairs flat.

Inside his eyes quickly took in a smart sofa and easy chair, a sideboard and two doors, one leading to a kitchen. But before his eyes could register any more he found himself pressed back against the door as Sharon flung herself against him, her hungry mouth wildly seeking his, while her hands pushed under his shirt, and her nails raked ligjhtly over his skin.

Totally overwhelmed by her ardour, Harry responded, thrusting his tongue along and around hers. But before he could do anything else, she had stepped back, eyes afire, breasts heaving. "Harry, I like it rough. Rough and dirty. Don't be too careful with me. Now, strip me."

Puzzled by the nature of the request Harry reached out to unbutton her blouse. She took a step away, "No! No! Rip it off. Hard. Bare me."

Uncertainly Harry clutched the collar of the blouse, as she nodded, and urged, "Yes, just yank it away."

Harry did just that and was surprised at how easily the buttons popped and the blouse fell away. Her breasts blossomed out of a slight bra, which he easily discarded, revealing two globes that pointed their pink tips directly at him. The urge to bury his face between them was strong. But first, the skirt, which, because it was elasticated, dropped away without any bother, and there she was in only skimpy panties through which a hairy tuft was clear.

Sharon had begun heaving at his belt buckle, and as it came free, she unzipped him expertly, pushed her hands down over his buttocks and pushed pants and boxer shorts down. At the crucial moment of freedom his rampant penis came springing free right into her face as she bent. Not the last time that little scenario would take place.

"Holy mother," she gasped, as she gazed at it, "that is some cucumber of a tool. Must have a taster." And without further ado, she grasped his testicles in her hand and wrapped her lips around his erect penis, sliding her face right up to Harry's belly.

Harry felt the penis head strike at the back of her throat, as her tongue worked a magical spell around it. He was wondering how to handle this situation, when, just as suddenly, she released him, stood up, murmuring, "Needs a little sauce" Then she turned away and walked towards the far door, calling over her shoulder, "Just wait there. Don't let yourself droop." Just before she disappeared, into what had to be the bedroom, Harry saw her wriggle out of her panties.

Standing there feeling just a bit spare, and wondering what she would return with, Harry took the opportunity to slip out of his shirt. After just a couple of minutes her voice came, "Right, Harry, come in here."

What he saw when he entered the bedroom, lit by one small bedside lamp, almost stopped his breath.

Sharon, completely naked, lay spread-eagled on the bed. Each wrist was fastened to a bedpost by hand cuffs, and her ankles were held wide apart by silken straps, tied to the bottom of the bed.

She saw him looking at the handcuffs. "Oh,easy release. A little button that I push against the bedpost. Come on."

He moved to the foot of the bed, and looked in some wonder at what lay before him. He had been with a few naked ladies, but never had they been so wantonly exposed, before any kind of intercourse had taken place.

He might have just stood and drunk in the intoxicating sight of her curvaceous body, her firm breasts only slightly canting to one side, the flat belly and the pubic area, where the hair was more tawny than the blonde on her head. Through that tawny thatch he could make out the fascinating sight of labia slightly parted by the spread of her legs, with a teasing suggestion of pink beyond.

"Hey, that's enough gazing," Sharon called, her voice rising as she demanded, "Are you going to fuck me, suck me, splatter me with cum, or just fucking stare me to death?"

Harry could hardly believe the depth of her language. Women just didn't talk that way, did they? He tried to show some level of control, "Well, it's usually my aim to give a lady the kind of satisfaction they desire. Maybe you should give me a clue as to what will give you pleasure."

The green eyes glared at him, "I've told you. Dirty. I want rough and dirty. Just use your hands and mouth all over my body. No stupid caressing either. I want to be grabbed, squeezed, bitten-hurt. You get it?"

Trying to psyche himself into the mood he would need for this unprecedented situation. Harry climbed alongside Sharon, tried to kiss her, but she turned her head away. "You earn kisses. Get on with it."

As his train pulled into Rander Street station, old Harry closed his eyes and tried to ask himself why, in that weird situation, had he not just said, "Stuff it," and walked out? Well, he hadn't , had he? He had tried to give her what she desired.

The young Harry had gripped tightly on Sharon's upper arms, as he bent to bare his teeth over her breasts, raking them roughly up and down the smooth slopes that he really longed to stroke. He bit on her nipples, not too hard. "Harder," her voice ordered. Harry made a nibbling action over them. His hand scratched over her shoulders, and as he moved his mouth onto her belly, he moved his hands to squeeze tightly on her breasts, and he felt her wince. Was that a sign of success?