Packed Carriage

T.H. Sandal's first person narrator recounts an episode aboard a packed train running out of London. Easily distracted, prone to sermonising, how will he cope with a woman who knows what she wants. The story includes a closing textual twist.

   "Short but nice, this is exactly what usually happens ..." Red Hot 

     "Ah, those Brits. Staid? Well, perhaps a little, until…" Ernest Winchester

   Sample ...

   The train had barely attained its top speed when it was no longer a case of intermittent contact but rather one of varying degrees. And to go with this constant pressure of bust against my upper stomach, now she was looking up at me with undisguised lust. Ordinarily this would be great. In a club perhaps, you'd work out quickly enough what was about and you'd migrate to a quiet corner or perhaps the dance floor ... but on a packed train?

   What came next was as unexpected as it was welcome. I hadn't noticed that the train lights weren't working – possibly it was just our carriage, but it might have gone further – in the late Summer afternoon, there was enough light coming through the windows for it not to matter. But then the train entered a tunnel and it went completely dark.

   I heard a couple of stifled groans – some people have a problem with the dark – but to be honest those noises were peripheral when set against the sudden, fevered contact of this woman. She didn't just lay her bust against me, it was a fully body press. I felt her right leg against my left. I felt one hand against my pectoral muscle. I felt the other hand holding hard against my waist. And I felt her breath against my lips.

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