Finding John, part 4

Seduction on the rails

The last few months with John had been heavenly. We enjoy so many of the same things — we love the same foods, classical music, simple outdoor activities, and, of course, sex — spontaneous but unhurried and exploratory. Fortunately, we are on the same page with nearly everything: politics, our families, and religion, of which neither of us was a fan. Add to that synchronicities that are uncanny — our having grown up at opposite ends of the same town, our passion for Renaissance poetry, and both of us loving to hike and swim. All of this made it easy for us to be ourselves and fully let go. There was no second guessing or worrying if something said plainly might cause offense.

And there is nothing sexier than John’s sense of humor, which is as edgy as one might expect from a young man in his 30s. Hard to imagine John is well over twice that age, and not just because of his youthful pranks and snarky retorts — he has stamina and a fabulously fit body. Add to that the smooth moves of someone who had bothered to figure out what brought pleasure to a woman, and I’m talking details that went well beyond the bedroom. John knew how to dress and masterfully trim his beard, and he always smelled nice, whether that just-took-a-hot-shower nice or that irresistible masculine pungence that comes from exertion and hard work. I was happy to take him, and I do mean take him, however he came to me.

Days and evenings with John typically included an invigorating excursion or listening to some great music and always, always, included delicious food — food that left one feeling great — something healthy rounded out with a bit of decadence post-dinner. John had a sweet tooth that wouldn’t quit, and dessert typically included something with dark chocolate and fresh berries, which we frequently passed back and forth with our warm mouths. This sexy exchange of macerated berries and half-melted dark chocolate became our foreplay for an evening of exploration in bed. And never were things rushed or expectations made as to how things would play out. Though we were both meticulous (to a fault) in our daily lives, our time in the bedroom (or on the couch, or in the car, or on the beach) was altogether different. We had an agreement those occasions were not to be rushed or planned — they needed to unfold like a Debussy tone poem. We liked to imagine we would know we were there when we got there, and who could know exactly when we would arrive? Our lovemaking varied and could be anything from an energetic spurt to a powerful ground roll — think earthquake trembler — to a light, unfolding flutter. We prepared ourselves for whatever might transpire and left expectations outside the bedroom door. Our reward for staying open-minded was an experience that was always unique and deeply satisfying.

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I had been working on some marketing pieces for a client who owned a local dinner train and had developed a collegial relationship with both the event director and executive chef. My job involved putting together a compelling online brochure, and that warranted my actually experiencing the dinner cruise so that I could describe their offerings from personal experience and hopefully with enthusiasm. Austin, the sales coordinator, set me up to take the Tuesday evening train ride, which would be less crowded, and he suggested I bring a guest so we could enjoy the dinner and romantic scenery together. Of course, John was game.

The dinner excursion was on a beautiful fall evening, the train slowly wending its way through the rural countryside during “golden hour.” John and I had private pre-dinner seating on the deck of the caboose, where we relaxed in Adirondack lounge chairs under soft plaid wool blankets, sipping crisp apple cider mimosas and noshing on garlicky arancini. It was wonderful being outdoors, the cool fall air invigorating, with clusters of colorful deciduous trees ornamenting the road that ran parallel to the tracks.

John and I had not seen each other for over a week, and to say we were starved for one another would be an understatement. After our refreshments were cleared, we pushed our chairs together and shoved up the center armrests, then cuddled up together under our blankets. John put his arm across my shoulders and pulled me in close, as I rested my head on his chest. Always tastefully attired, John had worn a teal cashmere V-neck sweater with nothing underneath, the soft fabric luxuriously plush against his skin. My right arm, hidden from view by the blanket, slipped under the sweater to enjoy the soft curly hair on his chest and tummy, which ignited hundreds of nerve endings on the inside of my arm and hand. John’s other hand immediately reached across to caress my smoothly-shaven bare leg, which I’d draped over his after hiking up my knit skirt under the blankets.

First, John massaged my knee, then feathered his way up the back of my leg with his fingertips, encouraging me to open my legs ever so slightly. He then reached all the way up to my bare buttocks, which he kneaded with some force. Tracing my crack with his middle finger, he gently worked it down between my labia and let it rest in the place that was warm and wet. All the while, John was leaning softly into my neck, his lips parted and his warm mouth voraciously eating, licking, and nibbling all the way up — to behind my ear and then ever-so-slightly into my hairline, where he exhaled his hot pent-up breath. All of this set me on fire, and I could no longer hold back — I brought my hand down to his crotch to discover he had worked up a hard, throbbing bulge. The cool breeze wafted up my skirt from the moving train, magnifying the titillation. Then, there was a polite knock on the caboose door.

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We both sat bolt upright, clutching our blankets as if caught in the act, which we were, though we did our damnest to appear nonplussed. The waiter appeared not to notice anything amiss and invited us to join the other guests in the second Pullman car for dinner.

The evening sky had grown dark, and the train interior was twinkling romantically with votive candles, sparkly table settings, and crisp white linens. On our table was a Haviland china teapot playfully planted with purple and pink violets and a carafe of ruby-colored pinot noir. The wine was paired perfectly with our wood oven-roasted pork tenderloin and braised Brussels sprouts with mustard seed and maple syrup glaze. The sensuality of this autumn meal brought the momentum of our earlier interactions to another level, and fortunately, we were not only seated on the same side of the table, but we also had the benefit of a mid-length table linen, our roaming hands hidden from the guests across the aisle. That evening, we also enjoyed live sets of jazz standards, played on the parlor grand, with upright bass and drums, the trio and dance floor occupying almost half of the large dining car. The pianist had come up from a well-known nightclub in Detroit, his group specializing in Red Garland arrangements. Per John’s request, he rounded out dinner with “Golden Earrings,” a dark and sexy rendition that was the perfect backdrop for the gift John presented to me — an impossibly delicate trio of gold hoop earrings, which suited me perfectly. Could the evening be better than this? It was hard to imagine so.

Before the dessert course was to be served, the maître d’ tray passed glasses of manzanilla sherry and encouraged guests to roam all of the Pullman cars, as each had a different decorative motif, and some offered lounge seating, and after-dinner espresso drinks. There was also a bit of dancing possible, for those inclined, and the trio continued to pump out romantic standards, as well as taking guest requests. Dessert and cheese courses would be served at 9:30 p.m., leaving 45 minutes for exploring and letting the large meal settle, so John and I got up to walk the length of the seven cars. The center car had two levels, the top of which was a quiet lounge space, which was unoccupied that evening as there were few guests on a weekday. The bottom level included two luxurious bathroom suites and a second kitchen for evenings when the cars were at full capacity.

We briefly relaxed in the lounge, polishing off our sherry, then John suggested we use the restroom below — since the whole car was deserted, there would be no line. We made our way down the spiral staircase and went into the bathroom suite tucked below it, John locking the door behind us. The space had many of its original components — a marble floor, ornate walnut wood paneling, and an opulent gilded mirror, as well as imitation flambeaux lanterns. In this dark, mysterious room, John wasted no time in grabbing me and pushing me against the door. He held my head in his hands, brushing my hair back from my face and kissing me intensely, his mouth open and receiving. I grabbed his ass with both hands and pulled his pelvis as close to mine as I could, arching my hips out to meet him, and was rewarded with a huge erection. John began working on the buttons of my blouse, pulling my breasts out of my push-up brassiere and as soon as it was accessible and burying his face in my bosom, drawing my nipples tightly into his mouth without hesitation or any of the light teasing he normally lingered over. We had but a limited amount of time before there would be a rap on the door or the intercom announcement for the dessert course.

As my body responded to John’s sucking, I let my hands explore the length and outline of his dick through his trousers. All I could think of was that I wanted his dick in my mouth and immediately. I could feel the tip was swollen and felt it popping out of the top of his boxers. I put down the wooden lid of the toilet seat, sat on it, and pulled up my skirt to display my bare vulva, my breasts still out of my bra, nipples swollen and hard. I left my breasts accessible for additional pinching and squeezing, then extended my hand out to John and pulled him close so he was immediately in front of me. I took no time in unloosening his belt and the stud button on his trousers, then I pulled down his zipper and shoved both his trousers and boxers down to his ankles. John clumsily lifted one foot out of his pants to avoid tripping, then stood proudly in front of me, legs splayed, with his massive erection right at face level, the tip of his penis glistening. I cupped his tight balls with my right hand, gently grazing them with my fingertips and expertly manicured nails, then engulfed the whole of his dick in my mouth. John let out a huge moan as he grabbed my head and held it in place for a moment as he took in the sensations of it all.

I reached around to John’s backside with both of my hands and held on tightly to his ass as I bobbed up and down, light as a feather, on the tip of his dick, providing a little pressure point for him where my lips met my teeth, a spot for him to pile drive his amazing equipment. As his dick continued to grow in my mouth, I pulled him further in, until his tip tickled my epiglottis. I then alternated the gentle sucking of his full shaft with my licking him from the base of his penis to the top of his glans like a soft-serve ice cream cone on an August day. It was there I lingered, salivating generously on his penis, then gently bobbing up and down until he could stand it no longer.

As John reached his high point, he held my head still with both hands, completing the act by fucking my mouth with a dozen thrusts and then shooting his seed deep into my throat. John then pulled me to a standing position and leaned in to share in the taste of his delicious juices with a wet, wide-mouthed kiss that lingered until the announcement for dessert could be heard on the intercom.

It took us all of two minutes to freshen up, though we weren’t able to get rid of the deep sexual flush in our cheeks, even after splashing them with cold water. Back up to the dining car we went, suspiciously radiant, to round off the evening with flourless dark chocolate cake with raspberry sauce and a spin around the dance floor to “Golden Earrings.”