Storming out of the lecture hall, sickened by these spoiled rotten racists and their so-called "open-minds", I catch a taxi and speed away from this establishment of higher learning. Talking to the Jamaican taxi driver, I inquire: "What is it with these people?" He looks back, laughs and our eyes meet touching with a look of displacement, two people far from home. Gazing at the his ID, I say "What the hell are we doing here, Treon?" In his sing-songy Island accent, exaggerated in humor he says: "Come now, fiery Miss, doncha be lookin like dat, here me? Der are far worse places you could be."
Pointing out the window to the campus, "This is the University of Illinois, birthplace of our country's future CEO's, Politicians, hell even Doctors for Christ's sake! The most narrow minded people in the universe! Damned spoiled Mid-western brats, with their hatred for anything that doesn't wear GAP!" With a bewildered look in his eye, my GAP comment rolling past his head, he says: "The fiery Missy be needin to get away, aye!"
Our eyes lock. In a heartbeat, I tell him to take me to the airport. He shakes his head, and turns the taxi in another direction, downtown, past the loop, in front of Union Station. With a dark smile and glittering eyes, he says: "You will find yourself and lose yourself on dat der train." I press a wad of money into his hand, squeezing it gently in thanks and left the taxi.
Looking up at the tall building of fame, I enter through the huge columns, and down the staircase that once flowed with blood and debris from the violence of gangsters, now decorated with the designs of the new gangsters that prowl around. Approaching the ticket desk, I had no idea where to go. The prim agent attempted to help for 30 minutes, pushing flyers in front of my face.
With wild eyes, I slam my fist on the counter, "LOOK, I don't care if I go to NJ, NM, NY, ND, NH.... Just get me the fuck on the next train out of here!" The manager walks over and looks me in the eye. I stare back hotly for a good 10 seconds. Then he asks: "Open ticket or one way". I break into a smile, answering, "Open... it has a lovely ring to it. Yes, that's it... oh sorry for yelling, .... But, if I hear another Mid-western nasally accent, I am going to SNAP!"
The manager and the assistant exchange conspiratorial glances, quickly looking at the man that had just departed the desk before I came up, and type furiously on their keyboard. After several beeps and minutes, my ticket is printed out. Their smiles, glittering eyes and syrupy "have a gooooood trip"... is completely lost by me.
With ticket in hand, I have 2 hours before taking off. I run into the shopping area to buy some clothes. Oh, the feeling is GREAT! New clothes, impulsivity, that wonderful feeling! The saleslady chattering away, as I am reveling in this freedom. I hear her repeat something vaguely, twice..."A getaway to ... To where?"
Where the hell am I going? Looking in my bag, my ticket said "OPEN- Northwest bound". Good lord, I've been all over but never there. She looks at my ticket and says, "Oh, you are taking the Empire Builder route, that is the most beautiful!"
I pay for my purchases, 2 pairs of jeans (bell-bottomed and low waisted), 3 cropped top t-shirts, a 2 pc. red Swim suit, a classic little black dress and sandals. Upon leaving the clothes store, I walk into the intimate apparel store and purchase some delicate items. I notice some female condoms... mmm, interesting... I buy a pack just for kicks. I have to dash to catch the train... "forever-late Rhiannon", I am called.
When the porter asks for my ticket and my bags, I hand him my ticket and hold up my ONE bag. He looks at my ticket, glances over my shoulder, to the manager who had sold me the ticket, and nods. I could care less about what that exchange was all about, I just want to relax and get as far away from Chi-town as possible. Then, curiously, the porter blushes and takes my bag and carries it up for me. I follow him through the narrow aisles of the train, car after car; we pass but kept walking to the front.
"Slow down sugar, where are a taking me, coach is back there!", I ask. He then turns to me, with a smile and a wink as he puts his finger over his shhh'ed lips. He leads me into the 1st class sleeper cars. I was aghast!
"No way,... I cannot stay here! It's too expensive!", thinking of the mint I just dropped on buying the clothes impetuously. He slides the cabin door open for me and says: "It has been taken care of Miss, enjoy your ride". I am speechless, a rare moment indeed.
There's a single red rose lying on my bed, by the window... the room smells of... hmmm... I can't place it... masculinity? I am too thrilled to notice the gray valise hanging in the closet.
Instead of unpacking, I tuck my shopping bag under the bed, take off my stifling hot sweatshirt and jeans, and with only my tank top and red gym shorts on, I hop on the bed. Feeling the train's engine rev up and slowly pull us out of the station, I lay back to watch the departing skyscrapers. It has been a stress filled day and I need a release... where is a man when I needed one? Closing my eyes, feeling the slow deliberate movements of the train, I reach into my thoughts and concentrate on relaxing. It was time for a release.
I let my fingers walk down my neck and slowly to my chest, as I circle my nipples into ripe, hardened peaks. One by one, watching the offices go by... wondering if anyone could see me looking up into their windows... this sends erotic thoughts through my mind, as my hand creeps lower, caressing the tender area just under my breasts, feeling my body's warmth through the thin tank top.
Ever so slowly I slide down to my navel, dipping, circling. Still pushing away at a snail's pace, the train passes under bridges, and I can see the pedestrians walking along, and people sitting in their cars. My hand moves lower to play with the texture of my short's waistband, then under, down over my cotton panties. Here is where the heat was radiating, embers burning, gathering more fuel for the fire inside. Fingering the left side of the leg band sends shivers down my legs, touching that tender crease where thigh meets hip.
I gather my whole hand together and cover my mound and smile to the world that is passing by my passionate lowered eyes. Holding my hand there, I close my eyes and awaken the slumbering criatura, the Wild one, the one who detests chairs and tables, but prefers the ground, trees, and caves, for in these places she can lean against the cheek of God.
The change comes over my body so swiftly, the touch even is different, deeper. Entering though the leg band, my hand is on a mission, eyeing it's way through the familiar forest and finding my clitoris, now peeking softly out of it's hood to meet it's lover. Reaching my finger lower past my swollen lips, I dip my finger inside to get some slick sweet nectar to soften the response of the unshielded warrior. Then, back up to play wild little circles around and around, feeling my nerves shoot flames through my body. Still having my face towards the window, erotically masturbating in front of the Sears tower and passing cars, I build to a climax and moan softly. I didn't see, nor hear the door of the cabin slide open as you stepped in.
You are heading home from a conference in Chicago and decided to take the train instead of flying, after all, you needed the relaxation. Splurging on a private cabin, you had hoped to share it with the woman you met at the conference. But, sigh... she was married... too complicated... So, here you are alone... or so you thought.
You enter the room, always quietly, as is your nature. What a sight... a red blanket of silken curls hanging ½ off of the bed with a creamy white leg, the head turned towards the window, you are curious to know who has stolen into your room. But, your nose catches the intimate fragrance of woman as your eyes quickly take in what unfolds before you. You freeze, not knowing what to do, feeling yourself leap to life in your jeans. With the stealth of a cat, you enter the room, and quietly sit on the bench, facing the window and the bed, and watch in fascination.
I continue to pleasure myself, catching the masculine scent again, my back starts to arch as I imagine it is my lover's tongue flicking sparks of pleasure. I slide fingers in and out and in and out, soaking my panties, and moaning with pleasure, until my muscles contract around my fingers. Not wanting to cum too hard, I ease my fingers into an age old rhythm, slow steady and strong. Feeling pinpricks of pleasure bursting all over my body, my head throws back and I bite my left hand, to restrain the scream.
At this moment, I roll my eyes into the back of my head, catching a quick glimpse of you sitting there watching, but you are only part of my voyeuristic fantasy. I cum sweetly and slowly onto my fingers. The feeling has made me extremely drowsy. Removing my fingers from my sensitized mound, I drift off into perfect aftermath slumber. I doze off as the train comes to full speed and heads out of Chicago.
You sit there quietly, running your palm over the front of your jeans... what are you going to do with this strange girl? Wicked evil grin crosses your face, as that little demon inside of you says: "TAKE HER NOW! Rip those shorts off the naughty sprite, and ride her so hard that she'll never be pleased with a simple finger from now on!" You ache at that thought. No, but the chase is so much sweeter. You decide to wait. But, you must do this one thing... you stand up, towering over her sleeping body, filling the room with your masculinity, then you lean down for the gentlest kiss.
I stir in pleasure filled dreams... rugged coastal cliffs of an Emerald Isle... kissing in the chilly rain... You finish with the kiss, and with the strength of a thousand men, you stand up and leave the room. You are on a mission to find out who this red headed vixen is.
Spotting the porter, you make your way towards him with a determined walk. He catches sight of you and tries to dash away. You grab him by the coat and put him against the wall.
"You know something!", you say calmly into his up tilted frightened face. Without further encouragement, he stammers out the story... blaming his manager for the deed, it was his revenge on this screaming mad redheaded bitch to book her into the same cabin with you, trying to "teach her a lesson". A smile slowly creeps into your eyes as you imagine the scene I created at the ticket desk, recalling a loud curse echoing from Union Stations high walls.
