Message-ID: <14426eli$9808151851@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/14426.txt> From: Bernadette <by_bernadette@yahoo.com> Subject: Champagne and Trains Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <19980812040249.18074.rocketmail@send1c.yahoomail.com> Champagne & Trains by bernadette August 1998 ****************************************** She was surrounded by her casual friends among the regulars. Tuxedos and glittering cocktail dresses abounded in the upscale Manhattan-style cocktail bar. All the pretty people from the city wearing seasonal styles and seasonal smiles. Glittering credit cards reflected the low lights amid loud laughter and soft background jazz. The silk of her satin pants caressed her body. In the glow of candle lit tables, she nursed a vodka martini and puffed on a miniature cigar. Those around her were patiently awaiting the arrival of new goals and expectations, other places and different faces as they silently imagined the promise of yet another year. She was alone. With no one on New Year's Eve. A crisply dressed young attorney sitting at her table with his date politely bought her drinks, but that were not the substance she sought. Tossing back her dark mane of full chestnut curls, she scanned the room with large blue eyes. Too many pretty boys with too much arrogance. The few possible exceptions were already paired. Her last lover had left her in late October on the eve of her thirty-fifth birthday. He hadn't called the next day to wish her a “happy one.” She never heard from him again. Sometimes she missed his sad dark eyes, unshaven face, and tangled mess of jet-black hair. He was committed to something with which she could not compete. He had not left her for another woman or his profession, although his work had suffered too. He was out there somewhere tonight celebrating with an old, Irish friend - man she had never met before whom he fondly referred to as “James.” James lived in a bottle. She became vaguely aware of those around her, engrossed in stock market lingo, the latest in Parisian fashion, and pleasantly polite laughter. Despite the elite company and the delicate atmosphere, she felt caged and stifled. Suddenly she felt an overwhelming desire to flee. A vision of running - sprinting blindly down the street in incessantly pouring rain – flooded into her mind like a tidal wave. She had to leave. A quick glance at an extravagantly large Victorian clock on the wall revealed that it was 11:30 p.m. Her decision was made. She had to get out of there now. After asking a bewildered departing couple for a ride, she chose her final destination impulsively. She spotted her destiny through the rainy car windows as a large flashing red light caught her eye. It was a dark, seedy lounge - the type her mother had always warned her never go into so many years ago. She thanked the couple for the lift and told them she was meeting a cousin from out of town there. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the dimly lit room as if she owned the place. The bouncer at the door inspected her quizzically but waved his hand for her to enter with no hesitation. She took in a full view of what could have been described as a surreal carnival in an experimental film. Most of the crowd there were obviously regulars--salt-and-pepper bearded men, complete with cowboy boots and hungry eyes dancing with bleached “big haired” women who could barely gyrate in jeans so tight that they appeared to be painted onto their flesh rather than worn. She walked through the crowd. It was not surprising she recognized no one. Inquisitive eyes burned through her expensively tasteful attire. More than one woman sneered at her as though she were a plump rabbit sauntering sanguinely into a forest overpopulated by starving wolves. She stood at the bar, pulled out a cigarette, and asked a guy in a cut-off denim shirt for a light. A husky voice drowned out Jimmy Buffet's crooning over the fuzzy loudspeaker system. “TEN MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT.” At that moment she realized she would be standing alone in another place, but still alone. Perhaps this wasn't such a great idea after all, she thought. She quickly stubbed out her cigarette and headed out the door. She would welcome in the New Year on the nearby railroad tracks by herself. She wanted to just stand quietly and listen to the city raucously celebrate. That would be enough for this year. He caught her attention just as she was stepping over the exit's threshold. He obviously didn't belong here either. Straight, short hair the color of golden silk. Brooding eyes that locked onto hers to hers never to let go. They seemed to be composed of an impossible undulating mixture of blue, green, and brown. And he was standing by himself, slowly drinking a long neck beer. “FIVE MINUTES UNTIL MIDNIGHT.” Then she committed the most gleeful, irrational, impulsive, spontaneous, and passionately desperate act of her life. “Are you alone?” she asked, still staring into his eyes. He nodded affirmatively. “Me too,” she said. There was no reply for what seemed like an eternity. Neither looked away. “Really?” He spoke for the first time, unblinking eyes still firmly locked onto hers. She continued staring at him, unable to speak or avert her eyes from his intensity. Finally she leaped. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she said. He nodded again. His terseness appealed to her in a way she that she couldn't comprehend. “FOUR MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT.” Excitement was in the air, and people were beginning to yell like prison escapees on a joy ride. “May I bring in 1999 with you--or am I being too forward?” she asked. For a brief instant she expected no response. For that same fleeting moment she felt as though she would run blindly into the pouring rain as she'd imagined earlier that evening. But he looked at her and smiled. He nodded his approval and bought her a beer. She barely remembered the count down. She could hardly recall the cheers, the fireworks and the noise. All she remembered was his mouth, the most sensuous lips she'd ever felt on hers. His lips made her feel as though her entire body was burning with hot, liquid sex that was slowly melting into a puddle at her feet. He looked into her deep endless eyes and said, “You, my dear, have the softest lips I have ever had the pleasure to touch.” She laughed. Just as his previous reticence had tempted her, his current eloquence encouraged her. For the next two hours they danced erotically, kissed with rampant abandonment, and behaved no less mutually besotted than anyone around them. She found out that he was from Australia, and in the states on business, but only for a few days. He was dressed simply in jeans and spoke with an accent as fresh as his sparkling smile. They reminded her of cool air, warm sunshine, and high mountains. They left the bar holding one another's hands and climbed into a black rental pick-up truck. It was so large that he had to hoist her petite voluptuous frame up inside. He tickled her and called her “shorty.” She fell into the vehicle uncontrollable laughing like a girl half her age -- ripe and ready for her “first time”. He asked her where she wanted to go and she playfully pointed at the railroad tracks. The rain had stopped and the night air was crisp and foggy. They followed the wispy outlines of the tracks several miles outside of the city limits. As they approached a grassy field, she told him to stop. The stars were plentiful, twinkling like fireflies on a hot summer's night. She dimly recalled that the purpose of the insects' display was similar to their own objective. They ran up and down the tracks, drinking cheap champagne out of a bottle. He gently grabbed her by the hair and poured the champagne into her mouth. It dribbled all over her face and down her blouse. He began to slowly lick the champagne off her skin. A hot eager tongue traced the wetness from the side of her wanting lips down the curve of her cheek and into the hollow of her bust. He lightly bit the side of her neck like a first-time vampire teasing virgin prey into a seductive pose. She freely gave her body to him, tossing her head back into the wind as her curls flew into the air. His moist tongue slowly slid down until it buried deep within the comfort of her now erect bosom. Her nipples needed his touch and his saliva to moisten their tips. The champagne dribbled from his mouth as his lips covered and sucked her breasts in a rhythmic fashion. His hands had found their way into the seductiveness of the satin as he discovered a pool of wetness flowing as freely as the bottle from which he drank. His mouth and hands were in unison now, as she found herself moaning in ecstasy at the passion reverberating through her. She found herself laying flat on the railroad tracks. The heat of the moment was so intense, she wasn't sure how she got there, but her half exposed skin was shining in the hazy light of the moon. As a mild wind blew, she shivered as she realized that she was covered in champagne and could not tell where it's wetness ended and her own began. He drank from the well that flowed in her garden--an elixir more intoxicating than anything made by a distillery. Then they heard it. The horn blew as the train screamed toward them at full speed. They jumped up, half naked, and ran away as fast as they could, like startled children ambushed while sneaking forbidden delights from a cookie jar. She had never felt so incredibly high. It was though she'd been set free from the staid rules of a constraining and restrictive civilization. He grabbed her by the arm and lifted her into the back of his truck just when the lights of the locomotive had utterly blinded them both. The passing train was so close to their bodies that she could feel the wind blowing against her like an animal force powerful enough to pick her up and carry her away. She remembered the driving sound of the train, the clanking of wheels on metal tracks, the rattling of the rusty cars and the beating of their hearts. He entered her as the sparks from the locomotive flew into the truck. His body was moving with the engines' rhythm, thrusting like a hungry machine, reaching inside her and bringing her back out again. Just as the train blasted a final farewell horn, she screamed. He screamed too. As the ripples of pleasure overcame them, fond memories of her childhood drifted into her mind. Waving to the man in the "little red caboose." Her face was glowing, her mouth glistening, and her skin was as flushed as the color of the imagined trolley. She raised her head, letting her long loose hair fly wildly into the wind, only to see the man in the last car smiling at her. He tipped his conductor's hat and winked. He knew. (c) bernadette 1998 _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? 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