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      BORGO PRESS BOOKS BY MICHAEL HEMMINGSON

      The Rose of Heaven

      In the Background Is a Walled City

      How to Have an Affair and Other Instructions: Erotic Tales

      The Dirty Realism Duo: Charles Bukowski and Raymond Carver

      Auto/Ethnographies: Sex, Death, and Independent Filmmaking

      Sexy Strumpets and Troublesome Trollops

      The Stripper

      The Yacht People

      Star Trek: A Post-Structural Critique

      Judas Payne: A Weird Western

      The Chronotope

      Poison from a Dead Sun

      Zona Norte

      Vivacious Vixens & Blackmail Babes: Tales of Erotic Noir

      COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

      Copyright © 2007, 2013 by Michael Hemmingson

      Published by Wildside Press LLC

      www.wildsidebooks.com

      SEXUAL PERVERSITY ON A TRAIN GOING TO CHICAGO

      Introduction

      Inside, Sharon Thomas knew there was a dirty, skanky slut waiting, wanting, to come out and go wild; the problem: she’d only slept with two men, at the tender age of nineteen, and she was too shy to approach anyone for sex. Her whore persona remained in her mind, creating nasty adventures as she lay in bed, fucking herself with a silver vibrator.

      Inside the Passenger Car

      For the first time in her life, Sharon was on a train. She was en route to a university in Chicago for an interview; she had the grades, the recommendations, and they wanted a face-to-face. Taking the train seemed like an adventure. She wore a short skirt and a sweater. She was a quite attractive and alluring, there’s no doubt about it—much of it was an air of innocence about her, and the fact that this young woman had no desire to be innocent, she really wanted to be bad.

      A man named Gerald Rhines knew this.

      Gerald was forty-eight and on his second marriage; he was returning to the windy city from a business trip. His second marriage was in danger because he had a nasty knack for fucking other women. He couldn’t help it; he loved women. He loved his wife, as much as he loved the first one. It wasn’t like these “other” women meant anything to him; he met them when he traveled (which was required often in his job: regional sales rep for an academic publishing company) and many of them were married as well, these women, out to have a little meaningless fun. They tended to be younger than him.

      Gerald liked younger women—what man didn’t? He noticed Sharon in the bar section of the diner car, ordering a mixed drink. He was discreet, following her back to her seat. She seemed to be alone. He liked the way she glanced out the window, at the passing land—her naiveté.

      He got himself a drink, returned, and sat across from her.

      “No one’s sitting here?”

      “No.”

      “Do you mind?”

      “No.”

      Sharon was attracted to him from that moment; she didn’t let it show, of course. Older men made her circumspect; they’d made the moves on her before, but she’d never succumbed. She was going to play it cool with this one. She knew what was on his mind, the way he was looking at her. She crossed her legs for the effect—and yes, his eyes quickly glanced down, the skirt riding high. Maybe he saw her underwear? She hoped so.

      “What are you drinking?” he asked.

      “White Russian.” She stared out the window, sipped her White Russian. She asked, “What’re you drinking?”

      “Tom Collins.”

      “Oh.”

      “Ever have one?”

      “No.”

      “You should.”

      “It has a lime and a cherry in it.”

      He said, “I’m Gerald.”

      She liked the streaks of gray in his dark hair. She said, “Sharon.”

      They talked a little—why were they on this train? She told him about the interview.

      “I had fun in college,” he said.

      “I bet you did.”

      “Can I get you another drink?” he offered.

      She noticed her glass was empty. “Well.”

      “A White Russian?”

      “I’ll try a Tom Collins.”

      He took her glass. She sat there, wondering what the hell she was doing. The man was twice her age! More even! Maybe he wouldn’t come back. Her nipples were hard under the sweater.

      Gerald returned with a Tom Collins for her, a White Russian for himself. This made her laugh. She really did like him, and because she liked him, she allowed what happened next to happen.

      She said she had to go to the bathroom. She gave him her empty glass, made her way to the bathrooms. She didn’t know Gerald was following her. At the women’s restroom, he pushed her in, closed the door and kissed her. They kissed for a good long minute, his hands on her back and her ass. Their lips parted; they looked at each other.

      “I’m sorry,” he said, “I couldn’t help myself.”

      She thought: Am I really doing this?

      The bathroom was very small. Gerald was quick to get to business. He lifted her, sat her butt on the sink. He pushed her skirt up, yanked her panties off. His cock was red and hard; it was thick with veins and had a giant head. Sharon was worried; the two young men she’d previously has sex with didn’t have cocks the width of Gerald’s. She wondered if it would hurt, if she could stretch that much. She heaved when he put it in her, almost telling him to take it out. He told her to relax and she did, her cunt forming comfortably around the thing. But it wasn’t easy. Fortunately, the whole matter was quick—a three-minute fuck, really, but she came twice, and he came inside her. He kissed her on the nose when he was done. He bunched her panties, put them in the pocket of his suit jacket. “That was great,” he said. He left the bathroom, left her alone there. Just like that.

      She sat on the toilet and let Gerald’s semen drip out of her.

      She walked back to her seat and realized she had no underwear and Gerald’s discharge was still coming out. It started to run down her thigh. She hoped no one noticed, and wasn’t sure if she cared. She found her seat. He wasn’t there. She thought he would be. She reached into one of her bags, found tissue, and cleaned the cum from her leg, being discreet.

      Gerald appeared then, and sat down next to her.

      Motion

      “Listen,” he said, “close your eyes and just listen.”

      “Okay.”

      “Are your eyes closed?”

      “Yes,” she said.

      “Listen to the train. Listen to the machinery.”

      “It’s sexy,” she said. Her hand reached over to his crotch.

      Three Weeks Later

      “Are you following me?”

      Sharon jumped, and turned. It was Gerald, on the train. She couldn’t believe this. She couldn’t help it—she embraced him, and kissed him.

      “Hey, hey,” he said.

      “I’m sorry,” she said. She blushed. She looked around. No one was watching.

      Gerald straightened his tie.