Erotica, Champagne and Trains
By: Date: 2023.12.09. Categories: Just Wife Stories Tags: , , , ,

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 candlelit
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 they were not the sustenance 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 a being 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 faux Victorian clock on the wall
revealed that it was 11:30 p.m. Her decision was made. She had to get out
of here 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, not surprisingly recognizing 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 gleefully 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 countdown. She could hardly recall the cheers, the
fireworks and the noise. All she remembered were 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 kiss.” She laughed. Just as his previous reticence had tempted her, his current
eloquence encouraged her. For the next two hours they danced erotically, touched with rampant
indecorousness, and behaved no less mutually besotted than anyone around
them. She found out that he was from Canada, 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 who is 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 man. 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 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
wafted 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.

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