I have a thing about trains.
Not in that ’65 year old man who watches trains through binoculars’ kind of thing – but rather, I find the concept of journeys a rather interesting one. As a people watcher, I enjoy travelling on the train, trying to imagine where people are going, who they are, what their stories are. Trains are the place where fleeting moments of passion can occur, perhaps not in the form of erotic encounters, but certainly brief connections in which there is the possibility of something more.
That notion got me thinking about a late night train. I have taken many when I worked antisocial hours and had to catch the 11.30pm train home. They were always deserted, and most of the time the conductor couldn’t be bothered to pass through the carriages to check tickets. (I evaded my fares A LOT back then!). And while “Pleasure Express” is not a confessional by any stretch of the imagination, it did come to me while travelling on the train late one evening. I got to thinking about brief encounters, and how fulfilling a once-in-a-lifetime erotic moment could be – with no strings attached.
My character Marty represents the everyday man – the one who doesn’t usually get the girl. He’s ordinary, works too much and can’t seem to catch a break. I like to believe he can be related to. So why not give this average Joe a chance to have no-holds barred sex with a gorgeous, willing woman – and add in an element of voyeurism?
Below as an excerpt of “Pleasure Express” which will be released to ebook with Ellora’s Cave on the 19th of December. Bookmark it!
EXCERPT – PLEASURE EXPRESS
“Hi,” she said gently, her voice as smooth and syrupy as honey. “I’m leaving town tomorrow.” My eyes flickered to the cardboard box filled with personal desk belongings, then back to her. She was still smiling.
“I’m…sorry to hear that?” I tried. I was hopeless with women, always had been. They mystified me, left me feeling mentally drained as though I had been puzzling over a Rubik’s Cube for hours. I couldn’t work out their motives, their mindset, or anything really. It explained why the entire female species had given up on me.
“Yeah,” the stranger said, lifting a perfectly manicured hand to sweep away the strand of hair. She looked divine, a vision of perfection in her tight skirt and near-sheer blouse. “We’ve been taking this train together every night now for months,” she continued with firm command. “I expected you might introduce yourself, ask me out, even say ‘hello’, but it seems you’re one of those guys.” Her bluish eyes took time to roll in despair, as though she were bemoaning how utterly useless I was. “So I thought maybe we could skip those preliminaries and you could just fuck me now.”
It had happened to me before that I would lose myself in a lurid sexual fantasy while talking to a woman. Like the pixie-haired blonde at the deli counter who made my tuna salad bagels at lunchtime. When she said to me “that’s two pounds ten, please” I imagined she was saying “I want to suck your dick, Marty”. Her lips were moving but the words I heard were wholly different to the ones she was actually saying. For a moment I thought the same thing was happening here.
“P-pardon?” I spluttered, anything but smooth.
“Look,” she said evenly, a finely tapered eyebrow rising as though she were talking to a particularly dim-witted child. “You’ve been staring at me for months now.” Her head gestured to the seat she regularly occupied. “So, had you found the courage to ask me out we would have gone to dinner, chatted inanely about things neither of us are interested in, discovering information about one another that just taints the sexual attraction.” Her mouth was speaking the most beautiful words, as though I were dreaming the best dream ever. I was speechless, which was perfectly all right as it seemed she had plenty to say. “I’m saving you money, saving me time and best of all, saving us from the mind-numbing tedium of having to pretend we actually give a shit about all those petty details.”
She braced her arm on the chair, leaning close enough for me to smell her perfume, something fruity and summery. Her blouse revealed cleavage, her tits pressed together, tantalizing me. I couldn’t look away and my cock was rigid.
Her fingers toyed with the pointed end of my tie, her eyes locked on my face. She didn’t make any attempt to slap me when I refused to draw my gaze away from her tits. I’d learned from experience that women didn’t like that. But this woman seemed to almost get a kick out of my helplessness.
“T-the conductor might come at any minute,” I spluttered, dragging my rounded eyes to her face. She looked like a school mistress, displeased at my incompetence.
“When was the last time we saw a conductor at this time?” she asked patiently. My eyes flittered to the door between compartments, trying to remember if I ever had seen a conductor on this train. She and I were almost always alone—two solitary people in the last compartment. When I glanced back she had deftly popped one button on her blouse, revealing the lacy trim on her white bra. I found my throat was dry, my tongue sticking ineffectively to the roof of my mouth.