[
This story was written for a writing exercise limiting the text to exactly 750 words
.]
The wind howled and the snow reached blizzard conditions as the train inched across the Rockies. In the dark compartment, I concentrated on icy snowflakes slamming against the window where my foot was wedged in the corner of the frame. The man crouched between my knees. My other leg was draped over his arm.
We were both bundled up above and naked below, our trousers puddled together on the floor. He was inside me, fucking me, both of us grunting and moaning in the silence of the raging blizzard outside. He was a stranger, but he had been quite persuasive--obviously.
I was returning by train to the West Coast for the spring university semester, which required a precarious winter crossing of the Rockies. It wasn't unusual to be stranded in the mountains in weather like this.
I'd met the older, charming, seductive, and quite glib man in the dining car. I was easy.
The train lurched to a stop, I could see the blur of lights outside as I clutched at his bare buttocks and moved with his thrusts. An intercom broadcast announced that the rails ahead were buried in snow. We'd be stopped here a few hours. The "here" had been identified, but I lost what that was in the jerk and quiet exclamation by the man as he came.
Quick as that, he pulled his trousers on and was out of the compartment.
Stepping down from the train I saw a line of old brick and wood buildings running parallel to the tracks. There was no indication where we were. We were told that we could wait in the lounge of the hotel directly across the street. Drinks and snacks were complimentary. Not being anxious to meet up with the stranger in the hotel lounge, I looked more broadly as I walked toward the hotel. A neon sign announcing Rider's Bar blinked down an adjacent alley.
I had figured out by the time I approached the bar that this was a gay club. Only men were present, men dressed in Western gear and engaging in various stages of "make" with each other.
