The rhythm of the wheels' clickety-clack over the steel rail pervaded the atmosphere as the dinner car swayed gently back and forth. It was the evening and Jim looked out the window over the white tablecloth at the sparsely wooded fields of central Ohio. The sun bathed the landscape in a peach hue as it slipped behind the horizon in the west. He was on his way from Chicago to New York for a job interview. It was nice that the Company had sprung for a standard sleeper. He enjoyed taking the train but it took a lot of time and he didn't want to sit in the same seat overnight. He watched his third beer move in its glass, the amber fluid ungulated with the motion of the train.
He lifted the glass and took a gulp, anxious about what the next day would bring. Interviewing with a big company in the Big Apple was rather intimidating for someone who grew up in the cornfields of Iowa. He finished his beer, left a tip on the table for the steward and stood up. The car swayed under his feet and he staggered for a moment. After regaining his balance, he made his way back to his compartment. This standard sleeper compartment consisted of two seats astride a single large window. The seats could fold down into a bed and another bed could fold out of the wall. Jim sat down in the chair that faced forward with the train and opened his backpack to look at some papers that might help him with his interview the next day.
As the outside light diminished, it became increasingly difficult to read, so he turned on a small overhead light. After about 30 minutes, he grew restless and got up, reaching for the train schedule. Shoving the schedule in his pocket, he stepped out into the hallway and made his way to the lounge. He sat down by one of the big observation windows and ordered another beer. This is one of the things he liked about traveling by train; you could walk around and stretch your legs. He sat drinking his Bud watching the landscape glide past the speeding train.
Then he remembered the schedule and pulled it out of his pocket. He glanced over it and estimated they must be more than halfway through Ohio, past Sandusky and approaching Cleveland. These towns were just names on a map to him. He had never spent any real time in them. He looked ahead at the schedule, at the towns in Pennsylvania. He didn't know people in many of those towns either; he had just passed through them at one time or another in his life. Then he saw they were going to go through New Jersey, Trenton and Newark to finally arrive in New York. He smiled inwardly.
He knew someone in New Jersey, a woman. Her name was Sarah. Over the past few months he had become increasingly close to her. However, he didn't know exactly where she lived in New Jersey because he had never been to her house. He didn't know exactly what she looked like, because he hadn't really seen her face. He actually never met her, but he knew her. He knew some of her past and some of her dreams for her future. He knew of her desires and she his.
He wondered how close the train would pass by her house. He wondered if she would be showering, cleaning, caring for one of her girls or working on one of her hobbies. Their relationship had been purely electronic plutonic. It had started when he responded to her posting regarding children's soccer. They discovered that not only did they both have girls playing soccer, but that they were both officiating some of the games. Their talk of their ambitions for their children gradually expanded into discussions on a more personal level.
Their chats about professional desire resolved into personal fantasies. It was fascinating to Jim that they could exchange so much and still remain virtually anonymous. He knew she was quite tall and she felt her height intimidated even her husband. Sarah had exchanged only one picture and her long brown hair concealed most of her face. It cascaded down over her bare shoulders to spread over a yellow tank top that clung to her ample breasts. You could just see one eye peering out of the depths of her hair and a cheek that puffed out in what must have been a smile. She wore blue jeans and was bare foot. Her toenails were painted red and she wore a gold bracelet. Sarah had intimated that her husband didn't like the ankle bracelet; she had bought it because it made her feel sexy. This was the only real image he had of her, not that he hadn't imagined more.
Jim sighed and crammed the schedule back into his hip pocket and looked back out at the moving landscape. The view was changing, becoming increasingly urban as the train snaked its way into Cleveland. He could see the tall buildings of concrete and glass and he was reminded of his final destination - New York City. After the train stopped in Cleveland, he finished his beer he made his way back to his compartment, on his way being jostled by the new passengers embarking on their journey. He didn't look at their faces; they were just fellow travelers.
He pressed his way through and made it safely inside his compartment and closed the door as the train pulled out of the station bound for the next stop, moving closer to New Jersey. He didn't turn on the compartment light because the lights of the city illuminated the cabin with a comforting amber glow. He instinctively reached up to the side of the compartment and pulled down the bed. He preferred this bed because he would not have to fold down the chairs. He quickly slipped out of his clothes and climbed up into the berth.
Once tucked into the berth, his mind began to drift. At first he was anxious about the interview. Then he remembered New Jersey and Sarah. This sent his thoughts--and his hands--down a different path completely. Slowly his hands made their way down his hairy chest, feeling his stomach and then his hips. He briefly thought of how his stomach looked once, but quickly thought of the feel of her skin against his, her stomach against his stomach, her breasts against his chest. He imagined her in the room with him, sitting in one of the chairs looking up into his bunk.
Remembering that she had mentioned it turned her on to watch her husband, he imagined what she might like to see, what she might suggest he do. His left hand pressed against his left thigh, spreading his legs a little. Then with his right hand he slowly stroked the length of his erect penis. Tracing the dark path of skin on its underside. He shifted his weight slightly and wrapped his hand around its full girth. To the rhythm of the swaying of the train car he moved his hand up and down, up and down. His breathing became heavier and Jim imagined her throaty voice, whispering, "Jim, I want you to touch the sensitive area behind your balls."
He glided his left hand over his thigh to behind his balls and began to massage that skin in the valley between his legs while his right hand kept rhythm with the train, up and down, up and down.
