There are times when there is no time, when it isn't just the urgent need between my legs which is the imperative. When the only chance for satisfaction is fast shameless action. Move now or it is gone forever.
***
The Brits gave the world railways. Not just in the inventing sense - I studied enough economic history to know that it was Brit capital that financed most of the railways in the world. Including plenty in the US.
The pity is, when you get on a train in Britain today, it feels like there hasn't been a whole heap of investment since that mid-nineteenth century heyday. Cold dirty creaky carriages. Timetables but no sense of time. Shitty food. I could go on. There could be a whole sub-genre of bdsm stories headed "british railways".
So on the whole I choose to fly. Or drive. But not the train, please.
But like every rule, there is that golden exception. In England it's called the Great North Eastern Railway. I mean that even sounds like a proper railway, doesn't it? None of this Virgin or Waggon rubbish. And the trains even fit the image. (Well, First Class, anyway, I've never bothered with the cattle). Large comfortable seats. Waiters in uniforms, carrying limitless coffee. Even those little lights you see in Agatha Christie films. Heck, any moment you expect to see Hercule Poirot come sauntering down the corridor.
So when work took me to Newcastle (don't ask - it was as much of a waste of time as you'd expect. Nice city tho) I took the train. Three hundred miles, two and a half hours, England briefly felt like a First World country.
On the return journey I was dog tired, and I had every intention of keeping as much space to myself as possible. I don't exactly get off on being surrounded by large north English businessmen trying to impress me with their knowledge of swear words and female body parts. So the papers and the laptop were out (the same laptop I'm writing this on, btw, an old second hand thing which has become a sort of totem, like a battered old typewriter).
Leaving Newcastle it looked like I'd done it, all four seats to myself, but just a few minutes out we slowed down to stop at Durham. Now there's one of the great railway spectacles in the world. (Not on this particular journey - it was dark and foggy - but I've seen it a number of times so I guess you can call this literary license). The station is high up on the side of a hill, and as you look across you can see, half a mile away, atop another hill, the solid symmetrical shape of Durham Cathedral. A thousand years old but still looking impressive enough to put the fear of God into me.
Ok you've had railways and now cathedrals. This is a sex story. I'll get on with it.
The train was pulling out, I thought I'd got away with, when the door to the carriage hissed open automatically. I started to gather all my favorite weapons for repelling boarders. Then I realized - a girl. Tall(ish), brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail, twenty(ish), a slightly goofy smile but pretty and definitely nice looking. I quickly made as much space at my table as possible. There are few enough women in First Class, let alone anything young or attractive. The norm is a bespectacled dragon more masculine than the north English businessmen I mentioned earlier. It was a big question what the hell someone so young was doing in this compartment, but if it came to her being in the wrong place I was sure Sam could help her out. If only she sat down at my table.
She did.
Fuck, already my heart was pounding and I could feel the first little thrill between my legs. I didn't even need to look at my watch to know it was a little over two hours to London. I couldn't, could I?
She smiled as she sat down, a nice polite English girl, an English rose, and I smiled back, a nice polite American lady, a slavering pervert who wanted to do all sorts of nasty things to her new traveling companion.
To begin with the girl put her bag on the seat beside her, but I guess she quickly guessed that wasn't quite the done thing in First Class, and so she stood up to put it in the luggage rack. The move was entirely un-self conscious, but oh dear, the way her short black navy skirt rose up her bare legs (her clothes didn't need the tyranny of pantyhose) as she reached up left me with no choice. I was going to have her, or probably die trying.
She'd pulled a book out of her bag, for reading on the journey of course, and when I saw the cover my excitement instantly increased. Merlin by Robert Nye. A proper book. A literary book. Not Swords and Sorcery or S&M. But...sex scenes that wouldn't go amiss on this website. Written in a beautiful literary style. A wonderful description of buggery that always makes me long to grab the nearest man and urge him to ram his cock up my ass.
But also...a nun seduces a young teenage girl, thrashing her pretty pale bum while (unknown to the girl) a priest brings himself off over the girl's ass. Yes do go read the book.
And my goofy little rose was reading it. I think I smiled outwardly as well as inwardly.
I could see she was near the beginning, but that was cool because the nun bit was near the beginning too. I reckoned ten minutes would do it, and I felt sure I would be able to see the moment.
While I waited, I figured her out. A Durham University student, no doubt. Coming down to London for a job interview. Easy. And that would explain why she was traveling First Class. Must have been a classy outfit she was looking to join.
Yes. All of a sudden she was fidgeting. Her face was red. Although she was wearing a jacket I was pretty sure her nipples were poking at her pink blouse. Once again my smile was probably obvious.
And as I tapped away on my laptop, I noticed that although the pages were turning, they were turning back and forth. She was reading and re-reading the same few passages, where the pretty young girl gets so thoroughly fucked by the nun.
We were getting near York. No time to waste. "Good book?" I asked. It's okay, Americans are allowed to speak at inappropriate times in Europe. It's because we're viewed as crass, arrogant and ignorant, although I was possibly hoping for charming and interesting. Plus a little bit sexy.
"Er, yes." Entirely as I'd predicted she had a "proper" English accent. Think Fergie, think Di, think every lame American actress who tries to pass herself off as a brit. Except Heather Graham in From Hell.
"I read it a few years back," I continued, charming and sweetness. "Mr Nye has a remarkable imagination."
"Yes." Clearly she was a little uncertain how to go ahead. After all she now knew that I knew.
"Some very interesting ideas," I continued. In terms of literary technique? Or sexual possibilities? I hoped the ambiguity excited her.
"Yes." She paused, realizing that, if this was to be a proper conversation, monosyllables wouldn't do for very much longer. The question was, did she want a proper conversation? "It isn't quite what I expected."
"No. It's a long way from Tolkein or Harry Potter." She smiled. She had a nice smile. A nice face. Not beautiful, like I said before, but pretty in a pink and healthy sort of way. "Can't quite imagine Bilbo Baggins getting up to some of those tricks."
"No. I'm not sure I'd want him to, either." My turn to laugh. The girl had wit. "Bilbo Baggins the sex symbol - it's as likely as Chekhov the Cheerful Chappie, isn't it?" My this was turning into a literary conversation. Fine, so long as it didn't stay like that. York was approaching fast.
"You're reading English then?" I asked.
"Yes."
"What takes you to London?"
"I've got a job interview. Banastres. Second round. They're an investment bank." I could see she was uncertain how much to explain, how much to assume. She'd probably got it about right, for anyone other than me.
"Sure they are. Steve Pickens features number two on my all time list of Pains in the Ass. I'm at SPNO."
"Sorry, I didn't realize..."
"No reason you should. They must want you really badly" - almost as badly as I did - "to pay for you First Class."
She blushed. Mm. Pretty, clever, but modest too. And turned on by Robert Nye's nasty imagination. How much perfection could I take? "I hope so. What do you do at SPNO, if you don't mind me asking?"
I was about to answer, but the train was coming in to York, and I knew that the world of finance would be a slow route into her knickers. "Well I don't mind you asking, but I was actually enjoying talking about your book."
I smiled, and looked her in the eye.
She held my eyes, for a bit, then looked down, Di style. "Ok."
