Copyright 2004, All rights reserved
This is a spin-off from the story of Karen and her grandmother's Ring, as described in other files in Literotica. Several readers have asked the writer to report on what became of Hans, the 24-year-old German tourist and Katherine, his 19-year-old former neighbor. As readers of the Zephyr series will recall, they were separately on their way to ski vacations at Winter Park, when they were brought together by a coincidence-- or did it grow out of magic?
The information here was assembled by myself, from later contacts with the people involved, and I have written it from my notes. Therefore, I apologize for the way that the point of view and tenses keep shifting around.
- Professor Richard W. (formerly of ____________ )
Katherine and Hans were in the lower level of Sophia's coach. The German students had found one of the coach doorway windows open, and were un-Germanically breaking the rules by riding in the entry vestibule, enjoying the racket and a cold, fresh breeze. As they embraced, they did not see Richard and Sophia pass [see ZEPHYR]. Hans' arms held tight to his hometown discovery. He caressed her bottom, as her soft lips played music over his mouth. Richard and Sophia kept going, but the thought occurred to them that it was a good thing that the young couple was so near the well-upholstered unisex dressing room.
That thought had not yet occurred to Hans. He and Katherine were so preoccupied with catching up on old times, combined with the lust that had snared them, that he had not planned ahead. Methodical in nature, he had always tried to anticipate needs, even with sex. His girlfriend in the university had learned that he would always be ready with a condom, that he bought the appropriate flowers, had arranged for his roommate to be gone when she came back to his place, etc. He always called the next morning, like clockwork.
Katherine was enjoying her older neighbor's caresses too much to plan ahead. She had watched him growing up, and had been frustrated by being apparently doomed to lag behind him.
Once, unknown to Hans, she had heard giggling behind the wall of his Zehlendorf home's garden, while his parents were off in Mallorca. She had stepped like one of Karl May's Indians over to the low chink in the bricks, where she knelt and peeked through from her yard.
She had watched as Hans and that Elisabeth had laughed and talked together. They were sharing a Weisse out of a big glass. The blonde, intelligent-looking Elisabeth seemed to be an English-speaker, perhaps an American student. Hans was switching back and forth between German and English with her.
Elisabeth took off her sunglasses, revealing sparkling blue eyes. She looked cute without the glasses on. Katherine was disgusted. When Elisabeth's back was turned, she saw how Hans had circumspectly pulled a wrapped condom from his pants' pocket, checked it and replaced it carefully, to be as organized as possible. She had seen how they embraced and then walked into the house, arm in arm, laughing and kissing.
Katherine had rushed to her room. From her window, she could see Hans' house. In her mind, she visualized what was happening. She locked her door, in case Mutti came by. Mutti surely wouldn't understand! Picturing Hans, and blotting out the foreigner, she imagined undressing him. In her T-shirt and shorts, her hand imitated what she thought his was doing, stroking, caressing. When she touched herself, she found that her moistness allowed her fingers to create an exciting sensation.
Now Hans was in Katherine's arms. And she felt his excitement growing as he held her against the bulkhead. The vibration of the train rumbled through them. She found herself hoping for more than his kisses. Ever since that scene in the garden, and the many days and nights that had followed in her bedroom, she had yearned to possess golden Hans.
At that instant, their near-violent passion in the vestibule was cut short by the voice of authority.
"Ahemmmm." It was the Zugfuhrer, they both realized.
"You can't stay here. Safety rules." The conductor wondered if they understood him, as they stood rooted to the spot.
Drawing on 20-year-ancient GI German, he told them in his best version of the bahnpolizei:
"Hier sie kann nicht stand. Das ist eine sicherheitsordnung!"
Actually, they understood his English perfectly, but it was their circumstances that slowed their response to his order.
"Where can we go?" Katherine asked.
"Hmmmmmmmmm." The conductor was amused; he hadn't been young so long ago. Scraping together some more German, he advised, "Moeglich den ankleidungszimmer?" He gestured toward the restrooms.
Katherine made a face, but Hans remembered something.
"Yes!" he said. One room there was a changing room, it had carpeted walls, no windows, a small bench along one side, and clothing hooks. And it latched from inside.
With a twinkle in his eye, the conductor left the vestibule and headed upstairs, not wanting to know what happened next.
Hans embraced Katherine with renewed gusto, and whispered in her ear. (Actually , he shouted over the noise, but his manner suggested a whisper.) They rushed into the corridor, reading the signs on the door of each cabin.
Now, dear reader, if you read the long story of Karen in the "Zephyr" series, you will recall that there was a couple underneath a beach blanket in the coach section of the train, too.
They were students headed back to Hastings College, doomed to get off in that small town in the middle of the night. More interestingly, only one was the white-bread American you might expect. Yes, Jack was an Iowan, from an Ida Grove family. His dad worked in the heavy machinery factory there. His friend, however, was from Nimes, far off in France (in more ways than just geography). Marie was from a family not much different than his, but her Frenchness made her seem exotic to him. He knew middle American girls as well as anyone his age, but he did not know quite how to approach Marie.
Under the beach blanket, they had snuggled for some shut-eye. They were on their way back from a speech meet in Wheaton, where she had noticed that he had more than a slim frame and strong hands, when the team he captained took a blue ribbon in debate. She knew that he had gone out a lot with another student named Maribeth, and the rumor was that they had been intimate. Now, however, Maribeth seemed to have faded away.
Marie had enjoyed the effect that the night's closeness had on Jack. She had pretended to sleep, while letting his accidental touch grow into tentative explorations. They were already on good terms, but she wondered how far he would go.
Just the thought of her being French was a turn-on to Jack. His mom sure wouldn't approve. Her perfume was perfect-- his mom probably would have thought it too expensive. Probably, he mused, under the sweatshirt and jeans Marie was wearing lacy, tautly-stretched lingerie from some expensive label.
He did not realize that Marie was beginning to think of how strong this American was, and that she was wondering if the things that she had heard about American lovers were true. Would he be too fast, too rough in bed, but tender and generous? Just having a cheeseburger and a milkshake with him that noon had made her feel like a character in a Hollywood film.
The night before, the whole team had gone out to a Chinese dinner, her first ever. There had been fortune cookies afterwards, also just like the movies. And, as in the movies, they had all read their fortunes aloud. Her cookie had been accidentally stuffed with many slips of paper, all cryptically suggesting that "a ring will bring you great pleasure."
Everyone had assumed that it meant a wedding ring, and they teased her about that.
Jack's had only the expected single slip of paper. It simply read that "you are closer than you think." Someone suggested that referred to their chance for a blue ribbon in the morning awards ceremony.
Jack began to realize that she was only pretending to be asleep. Realizing that she must have been enjoying his touch only turned him on more. His fingers found her bra, and he traced the outline not of lace, but of some smooth material.
Certainly, he thought back, it wasn't the cotton and synthetics of Maribeth Williams' bra. He had worried that she would slap him, the first time he had ever gone for it. Instead, it turned out that the real danger was that it would grab his hand in its elastic snare and turn his attempted tenderness into evil groping. This was compounded by his suspicion that Maribeth did not really feel comfortable with herself.
Maribeth's looks were great, and with his appetite, it had been easy to slip on a condom and have sex with her. But somehow it was an unjoyous struggle each time. It had not brought them closer together. She was just doing it because it was the thing for them to do.
Here was gentle softness; Marie had chosen the bra for comfort on the trip. His fingers moved upward to her nipple, and found that it was already erect. Smoothly, he moved to the other, and it was waiting for his touch.
Marie pretended to awake and be startled. Jack pretended to be equally shocked.
"I must have gotten carried away there..." he whispered. Marie grinned and pulled his hand back to her breast.
"Touch me again. That felt good." She looked at him very directly, and he felt an electric jolt go through his system. He shifted his legs under the blanket as his sex asserted itself. He had never had a date tell him that so sweetly. The French accent was the finishing touch.
Jack grinned, a big American grin, Marie thought. He leaned over and kissed her, tentatively, then more deeply. His lips were firm on hers, but he did not force the kiss. She trembled with excitement as she felt his steady strength in their kiss and their embrace. The trans-Atlantic move, the strange university system, new people, had made it easy to say "non" to sex. In fact, she admitted to herself, it had made it hard to find anyone proper to ask her!
She had not realized till now how hungry she had gradually become to once again enjoy a man's touch. She longed for the excitement of preparing this slim young man with the interesting ways for herself. As the Zephyr rolled through the night, their caresses became more intimate.
Jack loved the moment when his fingers slid under her waistband. He felt her tummy pull in beneath his hand, as she eased the way into her tight curls. He found her warm and moist, every nerve end waiting for his firm touch. Forced into mutual silence by the situation, their other senses seemed to become more acute, and her reactions guided him. A rush of her scent enveloped them, telling him to go on.
He forced himself to keep his eyes open, when he wanted to close them in passion. Her amber eyes did not signal "caution." They invited him knowingly, urged him onward, as he watched her reaction to his explorations and responded accordingly.
"What if she tries to take me all the way right here?" Jack suddenly found himself wondering. Marie's hand had slipped to the hard mound in his pants, and was circling her prey. He had not thought to bring a condom in his overnight bag, or Kleenex, or any other comfortable way of preventing a mess under this blanket. This was beyond wonderful, but it couldn't be allowed to go on.
