Strangers on a Train

I woke up to the warm pressure of Sofia's supple skin pressed against my naked body. Did last night really happen? How could this woman be real? It seemed too good to be true.

But, it was true, every glorious moment of it. I lay in bed lingering for a moment, taking in Sofia's scent, nose nuzzled against her graceful neck. The improbable geometry of her body, the physical manifestation of quadratic functions, created a topographic map comprised of rolling hills and valleys beneath the satin bed sheets. I gently propped myself up, trying not to disturb her sleep, letting the vision of her slumbering form sink in.

Sofia had been pressed against me sleeping on her side, but when I sat up, I created a small space between us allowing her to roll onto her back. The movement caused the sheets to slip away, exposing her breasts, which crested and fell with every deep breath. Again, I stopped and watched the hypnotic undulations, a smile creeping across my face. Ever so gently, so not to wake her, I pulled the sheets further and further down her body, the smooth fabric gliding along her skin, each bit of exposed flesh more enticing than the last.

There she lay, naked and perfect, one knee bent, the other extending straight out offering a glimpse of her beautiful pussy, which mere hours ago was so tightly wrapped against my hard cock. Even asleep, her body begged for attention. Gingerly, I nudged apart her legs, allowing me a clearer view of her most intimate parts. Her inner lips protruded slightly from between her smooth outer labia and as I eased her legs wider they began to separate providing a flash of pink, which stood out nicely against her otherwise caramel skin.

I positioned myself in the space I had cleared between her two tan limbs, my head inches from her sex. Her delicate scent invaded my nostrils, the faint smell of sweat mixed with a sweet tangy feminine musk. I carefully placed my mouth over her vulva, tasting her, my tongue lightly pressed between her innermost folds.

Sofia, stirred and groaned, a smile gracing her lips, but remained asleep. Gradually, I pushed into her opening allowing her honey to coat my tongue. I lapped lightly, dipping my tongue in and out of her syrupy hole, as her perfectly manicured pubic hair tickled my nose.

I began to lose myself in the task at hand, working my skilled tongue, coaxing out her sweet molasses. So lost in my mission, I failed to notice her draw her knees up around me on either side of my head.

"Mmmmmm... Good morning, lover," she murmured sleepily as her fingers rummaged through my messy morning hair causing me to pause, look up, and grin.

"Don't stop, silly," she teased. "Get back to work... That's it... Mmmmm... Yes, sí, just like that," my tongue once again greedily drinking her in. My hands wrapped around her thighs enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against my hands. I reached one hand around further and with my middle and index fingers, pulled back on the skin at the base of her pubic hair, retracting her hood, and fully exposing her pearl. I painted her pussy with kisses all over, coming painfully close, but avoiding her little button with each passage, keeping up my mischievous motions until she couldn't take it any longer.

"Don't tease me," she begged as I released a devilish stream of air from my pursed lips directly onto her uncovered clit. She fidgeted in the bed trying to push her sex against my practiced mouth again.

Finally, I gave in to her needs. My lips closed around her and my tongue pressed on her magic button. Her hands pulled my head in as she arched her back, bucking against my face. All the teasing had left her burning with anticipation, and so when I finally did make contact, she started to cum instantly holding my head tightly against her. My lips stayed glued to her as her body jerked and flailed, tongue swirling, as wave after wave crashed over her body in one long continuous orgasm.

Several minutes passed before Sofia's hands became unclenched, relinquishing my head from her strong grasp allowing me to pull away from the quivering, wet mess between her legs. Her body continued to spasm and tremble in small aftershocks as I raised my head up, face shiny with the evidence of her climax. Smiles across both of our faces, content with the morning's fun, I laid my head on her lower abdomen, cheek pressed against her skin, pubic hair right below my chin. She stroked my hair as we just lay there fulfilled for the time being.

---

The late Saturday morning summer sun came careening through the large industrial bedroom window, casting a grid of shadows over the white sheets and our naked bodies.

"So, beautiful," I began, resigning to the fact that a new day was upon us, signifying that the magical night, which we had already let slip into morning, was finally truly over. Pealing my face off of her bare abdomen and sitting up: "What are we going to do today?"

A smile spread across Sofia's lips. "You mean you want to spend the day with me? It's not too much?"

"Too much of what?" I probed intoning that my lack of comprehension was a result of the absurdity of her question. "Last night was... well, amazing... in so many ways. I really had an incredible time with you. Of course I'd love to spend the day with you."

"Oh good," she replied in her sultry Catalan rasp. "I was afraid last night was going to be a, what do you call it? One night stand? Well, I need to go home and change my clothes. Besides that... Hmmm, let me—"

"I have a better idea" I interjected. "The sun is shining and its Saturday. Let's go grab some brunch first, maybe take a walk along the water, and then call you an Uber back to your place a bit later. I'm sure your clothes from yesterday are dry by now. And besides," I added with a wink and a smile. "We already washed up last night before we went to sleep, remember?"

Once dressed and freshened up, we left the apartment and headed out to greet the world. The warm sun had erased all the traces of yesterday's deluge save for the faint olfactory hue of damp grass that lingered in the thick mid-July air. Arm in arm, we circled the corner and shuffled past the throng of tourists outside Grimaldi's waiting for their taste of brick-oven bliss, reminding me of a time before everyone was a foodie and you didn't have to wait three hours for a pie. But, that was a long time ago, long before tourists flocked to the revitalized Brooklyn waterfront and long before I moved into my loft. "I guess this is what progress looks like and I'm both a victim and a contributor", I thought to myself.

We continued down Front St. to the River Café. I wanted to impress Sofia and although severely underdressed, I decided that the tasting menu brunch and the skyline views were too good to pass up. And, in all honesty, I really wanted to impress Sofia. Besides, I was a bit of a regular there, entertaining out of town accounts frequently and as a result, I had become friendly with the Miatre De.

We turned down the old cobblestone driveway leading to the impressive and somewhat hidden entrance. We ambled past the ambient array of lanterns and unusual miniature forest plants, which aided in the illusion of the fairy-tale setting. As we approached the door, the tuxedoed doormen began to gesture, most likely to deny us entry due to my lack of sport coat, when they were interrupted:

"Mr. Davidson!" greeted Alec, the Maitre De in the overly effusive tone stereotypical of men of his position. "So good to see you! Please, come right in!"

We walked through the large, wooden doors and entered the dining room The iconic restaurant had been destroyed during Sandy a few years back and the owner, Mr. O'Keefe had taken extra care to pay for a painstakingly detailed, museum-quality restoration complete with the dark wooden bar, wicker stools, white table cloths, and of course, a house pianist gently tickling the ivories of a grand Steinway.

"Where did you take me?" Sofia whispered as she took in the scene. "This is much too fancy. I'm not dressed for this."

"Don't worry about it," I leaned in and whispered back. "You look beautiful. We'll be fine. I come here all the time."

"Right this way," injected Alec. "Mr. Davidson, I hope you don't mind having a seat at the bar, I should have a table ready for you in 20 minutes."

We perched ourselves on the tall wicker stools along the bar and ordered cocktails from the white jacket clad bar tender—a Bloody Mary for me and a Mimosa for Sofia. We sipped our drinks, the alcohol lubricating our conversation and Sofia gradually became more comfortable sitting in the impressive room. The first round went down fairly quickly and we still had several minutes before we were to be seated. And, although I didn't really want to leave Sofia's presence I decided it was better to excuse myself to the bathroom now then to wait until we sat down.

I walked down the hall to the large old men's room, pushed passed the heavy frosted glass door, and entered one of the two private stalls. Just as I unzipped I heard the bathroom door open followed by what sounded to be the click of the lock. Then, the unmistakable sound of high-heeled shoes tapping against the tile floor, each step bouncing off the walls. By the time Sofia rapped her fingernails against the stall door, I had already started to swell with anticipation for what I knew was coming.

I opened the door, literally standing there, dick in hand. Sofia slipped inside, shut the door, and immediately dropped to her knees. Without hesitation, she engulfed my semi hard member, swallowing it to the hilt, rolling it around on her tongue, causing it to inflate until she pulled away to catch her breath. My cock, glossy with her saliva now stood firm, bobbing in front of me through the fly of my pants.

"Hi baby," my cock inches from here face, her two hands both sliding up and down the length, twisting over the sensitive head. "I got bored. I hope you don't mind," she added with a devilish grin.

"Of course I...uhhhhh...fuck... that feels good..." But, before I could even finish the thought, her warm mouth was closing around my head again. Her enthusiastic hands continued to work my slobbery shaft as if she was trying to wring out my precum, her head bobbing and tongue swirling over the helmet, eagerly lapping up whatever she managed to squeeze free. I braced myself, hands planted against the stall walls on either side and watched as this godsend greedily devoured my manhood.

"Quick," panted Sofia as she pulled her head off of my shimmering cock, a sticky mixture of precum and saliva dangling in one long tendril towards the white tiled floor. "Sit down. I want to ride you," she commanded as she pulled down my pants and boxer briefs in one swift motion.

The cold porcelain of the closed toilet seat sent a quick shock of surprise up my spine as it made contact with my bare bottom. I stroked my cock, still saturated in Sofia's saliva as I watched her quickly turn away from me, bend over, and slide her leggings down over her rubenesque backside, a hint of moisture visible on her puffy pussy lips. In one, swift motion, Sofia's hand wrapped around my stone pillar, guiding it between her slick, hungry lips, lowering herself down and letting her warmth envelop me. Her inner walls contracted, the smooth flesh greedily grasping every solid inch.

She placed her hands on my knees, which were spread apart as she closed her legs tight enhancing her Kegel vice-grip. Using her hands for leverage she began to bounce her bountiful backside up and down, stopping every few strokes to grind her clit against me maintaining a steady, but aggressive rhythm. I sank my fingers into the soft flesh of her hips, moving my arms with her in perfect sync, assisting in her frantic, vacillating motions.

Within moments I could feel Sofia start to tense up. She pushed down hard against me, grinding her pussy, her escaped juices lubricating her movements on my lap. I reached up covering her mouth with my hand to stifle her screams as her orgasm overtook her, my cock still buried to the hilt inside her hot, wet, constricting pussy.

Sofia's intense grip brought me right to the edge and I could feel the sticky white fluid boiling up inside. I clenched hard, holding back the inevitable eruption, letting Sofia come down from the dizzying heights of her powerful climax. Before she could even catch her breath she was on her knees between my legs, causing me to exchange one wet orifice for another. She swallowed my cock whole, my head passing from her mouth into her throat and, as she pulled up slightly, my cock twitched, spraying my cum to the back of her throat. Sofia's lips sealed tight around me and she swallowed repeatedly, making sure to not let a single drop escape.

She let my softening cock slip from her lips and looked up at me with a wicked grin. Then, licking her lips she giggled, "So, let's get some lunch."

---

We straightened up and discretely slinked out of the bathroom returning to the bar just in time for Alec to walk up and tell us that our table was ready. We followed him through the restaurant, weaving between white-cloth tables doing or best to contain our guilty smirks. Alec stopped in front of an empty table in the far corner against the wall of windows and pulled out a chair for Sofia.

"Madame," he offered.

We took or seats and I noticed Sofia staring out the window at the impressive view of the Brooklyn Bridge spanning the East River, a brown stone rainbow arching over the water, separating the outer borough from the majestic Manhattan skyline. Skyscrapers reached impossibly high in the Summer sky, their points forming the EKG line that measures the city's heartbeat.

"It's so big. I don't know if I can ever get used to living here."

"But Barcelona is a big city too, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not like this. Barcelona is old with narrow streets that have been there for hundreds of years. The city can feel endless, but it has a charm. New York is just so imposing. The giant glass buildings... All the people... Everybody always going somewhere. It's non-stop motion. It's not the same."

"Barcelona isn't like that?"

"No. In my city we take a sietsta. Being well rested, having fun, enjoying life... that is what Barcelona is. New York is chaos."

"Well, I guess I'm used to it. It's what I know. I mean I grew up here."

Over the three-course brunch, I began to tell my story to Sofia. I told her what life was growing up, my interests, about school, and even a bit about my sexual experiences. Sofia listened intently while slurping down oysters and enjoying pancakes with gold-dusted milk chocolate.

--

To say my upbringing was different than Sofia's would be a massive understatement. Whereas she was expected to live a religious and studious life, forced to ignore her creative tendencies, I, on the other hand was encouraged to pursue my passions, explore ideas, and experience as much as I could. The product of a liberal, academic, Jewish New York family, everything was always up to debate and interpretation. Learning to negotiate wasn't just a nurtured skill, but a way to tackle life. Anything I wanted to do, I could.

As a result, I spent most of my youth chasing one creative pursuit or another. From painting, to music, to theater, my family encouraged it all. If had a performance, I could count on them to be there. If a painted something, they would have it framed. Perhaps at times I was a bit of an underachiever, an idea that was reinforced by the results to my direct actions. Whenever I became interested in something, I became fully engrossed and would excel on an extremely high level. Conversely, If I was uninterested in as subject, I would merely skate by. Although never becoming a master of one specific field, through practice and positive reinforcement, I became quite adept in almost everything I deemed worth an effort.

There was however, a downside to my scattered interests. Throughout school, I never quite fit in with any one social circle. I prided myself on being more talented than the music and theater geeks and more importantly, too cool and "normal" to actually hang out with them on a regular basis. It was the same thing with the athletes. Although I was interested in and fairly good at several sports, able to hit three-point shots and rattle off useless statistics memorized from the Post's back pages or parroting Sportscenter anchors, I never really clicked with jock culture or the team mentality.

Ultimately, I wound up spending most of my time at school mingling with the popular kids, curbing my more eccentric proclivities and interests in order to fit in with their vapid click. They were nice to me, never putting me down or outright discluding me, but on the other hand never fully including me either. Lunch hours were spent listening to useless gossip and inane banter typical of teenagers everywhere. I feigned interest and contributed enough, but remained somewhat disconnected and removed.

The reservedness in which I dipped my foot into the varied social pools had its effect on my ability to make any headway with the opposite sex. For years I would pine for girls, all of whom resided in the upper strata of the social hierarchy, lusting after them, unable to understand why they would prefer to be with the bland, characterless teenage boys instead of me. I could offer them a balance of charm, intelligence, and good looks that these ubiquitous dullards could never match. On the other hand, I knew several girls, some of whom were fairly attractive, but who mostly existed in the more outlying social spheres who were quite interested in me. Their friends would tell me they liked me, encouraging me to ask so-and-so out, but I would never act. And, as a result, for most of my teenage years, any girl I finally worked up the nerve to ask out, rejected me, denying me my first kiss until I was much older than most of my contemporaries.

And, like most teenage boys, or so I thought, I was obsessed with sex. When I was 12, I discovered a stack of VHS tapes hidden in the back of my father's liquor closet and I quickly became fanatical. As with anything I would take an interest in, the need to watch them, to observe them, began to drive my actions. I would hurry home from school on days when my siblings had sports practice just so I could have the house to myself, to study these tapes, and of course, to jerk off my teenage cock, which I had started to form a new relationship with. This continued throughout high school, watching the films, broadening my perspective on what was sexually acceptable, studying the techniques, and fantasizing about what it would be like to finally have the opportunity to reenact what I had seen with any number of the girls that I wished would notice me.

But, I never really got that opportunity—at least not the way I thought I would. I did however get the opportunity to spend a month in Berlin during my senior year, which looking back may have been the most important event of my young life. My school had been selected to participate in a program that sent top students overseas for part of a semester and although I didn't qualify on grades alone, my vast and varied activities and interests pushed me into contention for one of the coveted slots. And, of course, my parents fully supported this.

"How could you not go?" they insisted. "These are the opportunities that separate you from the crowd."

And truthfully, I didn't disagree with them. I believed I was special and I deserved this opportunity and so, as with anything else I set my mind to, I made it happen. I aced interview after interview and wrote compelling essays highlighting my ability to think creatively on an unusually high level crafting a picture that went far beyond what my grades alone communicated. I demonstrated my interests in art, culture, literature, and the humanities—subjects that most teenage boys ignored or at best, of which they had rudimentary understandings. Never once did I question if I would be accepted, almost taking for granted that there was competition. I knew I was a perfect fit for the program, yet when the day came and I was finally accepted, I was still filled with joy and pride.