William and Melissa – ‘May I?’
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Boarding the train in Sheffield, I stow my case in the luggage compartment and make my way to my seat. I’m heading to Manchester for an author signing event. I have been to several in the past, but this one is different. I’m a romance writer and this event is an erotic and romance event. The book I’m currently working on is more erotic and I’m hoping this will help me make the transition. Taking my seat on a nearly full train I lean back and take a deep breath relieved I didn’t miss it.
Feeling calmer, I look around the carriage. I do like to people watch and most people are working on a laptop or reading a newspaper. My eyes settle on the man in front of me. Something about him catches my eye, however I can’t quite put my finger on it. Although he’s sitting he looks tall and I automatically tuck my legs in so as not to kick him. He has a lean frame, shaved head and green eyes. I find myself smiling as I watch his eyes.
I have a thing for expressive eyes; some are closed off, not his though, they change as he reads. The tall stranger glances up meeting my eyes and they light up in humour. Embarrassed to be caught watching him I blush and turn to my bag rummaging thought as though I’m looking for something freezing as I hear him chuckle. Pulling out my Kindle and my sunglasses to prevent being caught staring again, I slip my sunglasses on and unwind my ear buds popping one in each ear. Feeling my heart rate slow now I’m hidden, I turn on my audio book and begin to listen to Back Stage Pass.
The train heads on and I raise my eyes slightly and look round glancing at the stranger who once again is immersed in his paper. Lost in the story of Brian and what his fingers are doing to Myra, my eyes travel along the stranger’s arm to his hands and I bite back a groan as they reach his long slender fingers. Now in my head it isn’t Brian and Myra, but the stranger and me, his fingers travelling up and down my spine making me hotter. I fidget in my seat wishing I hadn’t worn my skinny jeans because the seam seems to want to press against my clit and the vibration of the train is really not helping with the state of my arousal. I jump and almost shriek as a hand taps my shoulder dragging me from my illicit thoughts.
“Sorry to startle you, can I get you a drink or anything to eat?”
Pulling one of my ear buds out letting it fall on the table I nod to the trolley attendant.
“Red wine please.”
Retrieving my purse from my bag I smile and pay as I take the wine and glass.
Placing my purse back inside my bag I take hold of the much needed wine and twist the cap, but it doesn’t budge. Tightening my grip on the bottle I twist again without any luck. I sigh in frustration.
I look up and my eyes once again meet the stranger’s and the owner of a deep sexy Scottish voice. He has placed his newspaper on the table and is holding his hands out for the bottle. I hand over the bottle and with a quick twist the wine it’s open. Still watching me, he takes my glass and pours the wine. I feel my nipples harden under the intensity of his gaze, the words ‘May I’ play over again in my mind and it has nothing to do with a bottle of wine. I really do need to get laid if I’m this turned on by a stranger on a train. He leans forward handing me with wine; our fingers brush and heat shoots up my arm. We both look up and I wonder if he felt it too or if it was just me.
“It was my pleasure.”
His eyes move from mine to my ear buds and he leans closer with an inquisitive look. I realise that I hadn’t turned off my Kindle and the sounds of Brian and Myra in the throws of ecstasy are coming loudly from my ear bud. Quickly setting my glass down I try to unlock my Kindle with the passkey failing three times in my hurry to shut off the groaning. The stranger raises his eyebrow as he leans back in his seat picking up his paper and once again I’m left mortified.
Turning off my Kindle unable to listen to it now he knows what I’m listening to, I pull out my note pad and attempt to write. My creative juices really must be flowing because I’m soon lost in my writing until we pull into Manchester. Gathering my things together I stand, placing my bag on my shoulder as I make my way to the exit of the train. Pulling my case off the shelf I’m knocked by people pushing past and I find my back hitting a firm tall body, a hand grips my hip to steady me.
“Are you ok?”
The Scottish voice whispers in to my ear, his breath caressing my neck and once again I feel like his touch burns me as his thumb presses to my skin through the silk of my shirt. Unable to pull myself from his chest, I nod clearing my throat.
“I’m fine, thank you again.”
“This time the pleasure really was mine.”
I move away from his chest, my legs feeling shakier than before. His hand lingers a few extra moments before releasing me and I force myself to step off the train onto the crowded platform. Turning to look for him, Haymana Escort he’s gone in the sea off people and I shrug it off to have been a one-off encounter as I make my way to get a taxi to my hotel. After checking into my room, I type up my notes checking my watch as my stomach rumbles. I realise I missed lunch and it is almost dinner time. I quickly freshen up. Stepping into the hall I pull my door closed and turn to walk to the elevator as the door next to mine opens. I stop in my tracks as the tall Scottish stranger steps out.
My day hadn’t started well. The weekend engineering works on the West Coast Main Line had been brought forward and my train down to Manchester had been diverted to the East. Added to that, the overcrowding on the first part of my journey had been hell. An hour waiting to change trains in the freezing cold on a windswept platform at Doncaster hadn’t helped lift my mood either. I leaned across to inspect the reservation ticket on the seat opposite. Sheffield to Manchester. ‘Good’, I thought to myself, ‘I’ll get some peace and quiet for a short time before that person turns up. With any luck, they won’t or will go and sit elsewhere’. The other seats at the table had reservations but it was clear that no one was claiming them. I really wasn’t in the mood for any company. I rested back, closing my eyes. Peace after the chaos of the last train. I let my mind wander.
I wasn’t now sure if this trip was best idea that I had ever had. I mean, a writers’ signing event! Romantic Erotic? Who was I kidding? A rather silly hobby writing filth had become a bit of an obsession ever since that dumb-arsed columnist in that rag of a newspaper had randomly chosen the only book I have ever published to illustrate all that is wrong with erotic writing. Who the fuck did he think he is?
I had the newspaper in front of me. I turned the pages to his Friday column. ‘Ah, it’s Science Fiction this week. Pity the poor bastard he picks on today’. He ran a weekday column and every Friday, just to show how devoid he actually is of any intellectual thought, he chooses a genre of literature and sets out to annihilate current e-publishing and casual writing trends. He had chosen the field of erotic writing a few weeks back, lazily searching out any book on Amazon, which just happened to be mine, and set out to trash it. Fucker! ‘One dimensional characterisation’ is what he said. What the fuck does he expect? It’s filth! Pure and simple smut and filth! And it was very good smut and filth going by the few reviews that I had actually had received. ‘One dimensional’ – How could it be? I had basically written it about myself, so what is fucking ‘one dimensional’ about that. Even thinking about it now was making me angry again.
I threw the paper on the seat opposite aware that I was mumbling swearwords to myself. The thing is, he had affected me. I looked at how I had written the book, that was basically a selection of the shorts I had previously written for Literotica, which I joined together with a common theme to tell the story I had always had in my mind. Maybe that had been the wrong approach. But then what the hell did it matter? I was doing it purely for fun, to be able to say that I had done something different. Certainly not to make my fortune. Eighty copies sold at the last count! So, I signed up to attend the event I was now travelling to on the basis that I felt that I could write the filthy parts – to an excellent standard I like to tell myself – but that the storyline, and dare I say it the characterisation, may indeed be a little ‘one dimensional’.
Perhaps I did need to inject a bit more romance. After all, there is only so much shagging a couple can get up to. My mind wandered again – ‘Or is there?’
We stopped at Sheffield. The train became busier. I looked around to see who might be joining me opposite and hoping that no one would fill the other seats. I saw a young woman, shoving her case in the luggage rack, looking somewhat harassed. Shit, she was approaching here, looking at the seat numbers. Damn, there goes my personal space. She inspected her ticket then squeezed herself in, tossing my paper back onto the table, messing with her jacket and bag, shuffling through it. ‘Oh for fucks sake’ I thought, ‘can you not just sit still?’ I took a deep breath, reached for the paper and began to thumb unconsciously through it. I became aware that she had settled. Good, I really didn’t want to engage.
I scanned the headlines, my newspaper really only being used as a prop – a signal saying ‘don’t bother, I’m not interested’. I glanced up. She was looking at me. My heart skipped a beat.
Our eyes met for the briefest of instants but I was drawn to their sparkle. My mind instructed an involuntary response by telling my mouth to smile. Only momentarily, before logic took over and I corrected myself. I shook my head, ‘get a grip man!’ She shuffled backwards in her İranlı Escort seat, straightening herself up, her knees brushing against my own as she did so. Damn, the inadvertent contact made my heart skip again. I glanced up again. ‘No, no, no’ I shouldn’t do this. I lowered my head to disguise the fact that I was now studying her. Tiny glances up, taking in little details each time.
Since I started writing, I can’t stop myself looking at a stranger, perhaps building up a character, but really just studying the details. I checked her hair – long, well past her shoulders, brown with a colour through. The brown maybe natural, maybe not, it was difficult to tell. Mid thirties maybe? Perhaps a bit younger, certainly much younger than me. Well defined eyebrows. Fine lines at her eyes. Narrow lips. Green eyes. A light make-up. Well it was only a Friday morning after all, nothing to get made up for really. Pale skin. Yep, brown was her natural colour but she had touched up a bit. That’s the details. However, each of those pulled together into a picture of pure warmth. She looked happy, contented, the harassment of getting onto the train now having left her.
I twisted my shoulders around as an excuse to look up at her properly, my eyes being drawn to her body. Fantastic boobs, just a bit of cleavage showing at the top of her unbuttoned silk shirt. Enough to cause a response within me. I thought back to when she’d approached the seat. She would be, what, around five foot five inches tall, maybe slightly taller. She carried herself well. I wouldn’t say confidently, but certainly self assured. Definitely sexy. Well presented, not tarty. Sexy skinny jeans showing off her rather lovely figure.
Which brings me up to where I am now, sitting on a busy train, somehow fantasising about a young women sitting opposite.
She glances up, catching me looking. Or was she looking at me and I catch her. I’m not sure. However, the moment causes me another smile. She appears embarrassed and turns away quickly rummaging through her bag. I laugh inwardly. This is fun, I think to myself. Perhaps a little bit of flirting on a Friday morning is fine. She pulls out a pair of sunglasses and pushes them on. I’m laughing inside now. It’s a pretty miserable day outside. She was looking at me, and now she wants to hide! The thought excites me. Perhaps she had that same little spark that I had when our knees brushed.
She presses earphones into a Kindle and fixes them into her ears. Hmmm, I think, maybe a signal to me that our interaction is over. I return absentmindedly to my paper. I can’t help asking myself ‘who buys a Kindle to read things on, but then uses it to listen?’ Every now and then I glance up but only for the briefest of moments. She is concentrating on what she is listening to. I see her looking across to the other passengers. ‘Ha, a people watcher! A bit like me then!’ I see her glancing down at my hands, her eyes linger. She thinks that the sunglasses are disguising her actions – they aren’t! I drop my head slightly to hide the fact that I am watching her too. She bites her lip raising her hand up to her ear, her fingers touching a spot just below.
There is something very sensual in her behaviour that I am finding it rather exciting. She begins to fidget in her seat, looking away and out onto the landscape outside. Either she is avoiding me now, bored looking at me or lost in her book or music. My heart sinks a little. ‘Stupid man!’ I think to myself ‘Do I really think that she is interested in me?’ The drinks trolley approaches, I shake my head as he looks over in my direction. Seeing my fellow passenger gazing outwards, he reaches over and taps her shoulder.
“Sorry to startle you, can I get you a drink or anything to eat?”
“Red wine please.”
She nods in response. My eyebrows raise. Perhaps I should have one too. I glance at my watch. ‘No, that’s a bit too obvious’ I think as I decide that I don’t want to come across as too forward or make her feel awkward.
“Thank you.” she says as she picks coins out of her purse and pays.
I watch her every move, fussing putting her purse away and reaching for the bottle. ‘Damn, I should have got one after all’ I think. She twists the cap but I see that she’s struggling. She tries again, a look of frustration appearing across her face. ‘Ha!’ I say inwardly, ‘a perfect opportunity for engagement’ thinking back to my desire for a little flirtation.
I reach forward to take the bottle from her. It opens easily. Well in fact it doesn’t really, it is stuck fairly hard. I just make it look as if it is easy. I reach for her glass, pouring the contents of the bottle. I look directly into her eyes as I’m doing so. ‘God, I’m no bloody good at this!’ I think but I let our gaze linger. I pass her glass across, our fingers touching gently as she takes it from me. Another rush of excitement passes through me. I gulp.
“It was my Karapürçek Escort pleasure.”
I blush at the stupidity of what I have just said, what an idiotic line! I am about to lean back into my seat when I hear the noises from her headphone which she had removed when she ordered her wine. Noises of quite passionate sex and a story being narrated. I immediately think of my own writing. Obviously she had reached a part in her story that I was most expert in. I laugh inwardly, keeping my cool.
So all the time she had been sitting there, she had been listening to the type of filth I had been enjoying writing for the past year! ‘If only she knew.’ I grin. I push back into my seat watching her squirm as she fiddles to mute the sound, failing miserably. I make a play of being cool, picking up my newspaper but indicating with a raised eyebrow that I now know what she was up to.
She switches off her Kindle returning it to her bag, retrieving a notebook and pen, busying herself writing. ‘Okay, interaction over’. Perhaps she isn’t interested in me at all and that her squirming in her seat was a reaction to what she had been listening to rather than any of my crude attempts at attracting her attention.
I put her to the back of my mind and spend the remainder of the journey hiding behind my newspaper but thinking about my next story. Strangers on a train? Never works! Too little opportunities for sex. A young lady falling for an older man? Too common. ‘Hmmm,’ I think, ‘it’s harder to stop thinking about her than I thought it would be’ as every idea that I have somehow involves the situation that I was currently in and certainly features the beautiful girl sitting opposite.
We are nearing Manchester and she begins to gather her things together, readying herself to go. I inwardly sigh, a missed opportunity perhaps. I need to be more upfront. I could easily have opened up a conversation. She looked like she may have been interested, stealing those little glances. But then, maybe not. She seemed engrossed in her little notebook. Perhaps her looking around was due to any embarrassment she may have felt listening to whatever erotic story was playing on her Kindle and not, as I liked to imagine, an interest in the man sitting opposite.
She pulls her bag onto her shoulder and stands as the train slows. She gives me the briefest of nods, a slight smile, and moves away. I grab my own bag from above and walk along the carriage. I see her struggling to pull her case out of the luggage rack, other people around her fussing over theirs. Why people gave to rush I never understand. Her case suddenly gives and she falls backwards. I’m close enough that my arm instinctively goes out go catch her, steadying her with my hand on her hip. I freeze, a bit of a panic. Could that be misread? It was an instinctive movement but could easily be misconstrued. I an aware that my hand remains placed on her hip perhaps a little too long for her comfort. I swallow hard.
“Are you okay?” I ask, for want of something better to say but knowing that if I expressed concern she may not see me as a threat.
“I’m fine. Thank you again.” I realise that we are standing close together.
She turns towards me, our closeness takes me by surprise as our words pass between us. My heart misses a beat again. I become aware that my arm is holding her in tightly. I swallow hard again.
“This time the pleasure really was mine!” I say, immediately kicking myself for sounding so corny. Damn, will I never learn to think first before I speak?
She pulls away from me, breaking my hold, turning around swinging her case before moving towards the door. I follow behind her but lose her as she steps down onto the platform into the crowds. I sigh. I thought that she may have had an interest in me, but perhaps she was simply being polite. I make my way slowly through the barriers, scanning for her, but resign myself to accepting that she is gone. I walk up the hill towards my hotel, only a few minutes away, but realise that I am still inadvertently looking around for her. I shake my head at myself thinking that I really do have to have sex more regularly if such a minor and briefest engagement with a young lady has this affect on me.
I check into my room, unpack my bag, put my iPad onto charge. I really do hate hotel rooms, my heart sinks when I enter them. It’s okay if you have company or on holiday, that’s different. But being alone in a hotel can make me feel really, really alone. It does not surprise me at all at how high the suicide rate in hotels actually is. They certainly suck the life out of me. I check my watch, it’s still a little early for dinner even although I had skipped lunch. I lay down on the bed closing my eyes for a minute.
My mind wanders back to the train. She really was pretty. Three times she had made my heart skip. I should really seize these opportunities. After all, I had nothing to lose. I just keep missing the moment. I make a promise to myself – next time, fuck it, just go for it! I snap myself out of my thoughts. Shower then food. An early dinner. A walk around the city centre as it becomes dark. Maybe a pint in an old pub then early to bed. Up early in the morning, good breakfast and head down to Manchester Exhibition Hall for registration. That’s a sound plan.
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