Rhythm of The Rails

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Rhythm of The Rails

We pulled out of Union Station at about 8PM. In the song, the train pulls out in the morning and arrives in the evening. Guess things had changed since Steve Goodman rode the train and wrote the song. I could live with that. Ever since I’d first heard Arlo Guthrie singing about “The City of New Orleans”, I’d wanted to take this trip. Oftentimes, at work or in the shower, I’d find myself humming the tune. Now, I was actually on the legendary train, riding from Chicago to New Orleans. We’d be “changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee” at about 6:30 in the morning, “half way home and we’d be there” by about 3:30 in the afternoon. OK, I’ll admit it didn’t have quite the same lyrical impact as the songwriter’s ride. As I was to learn, however, there are still some wonderful sights to be seen “nighttime on The City of New Orleans”. I was lucky enough to witness one that still burns in my sexual memory.

There were no old men in the club car and the only card game was being played by a long legged, slim blonde in her very early twenties. She was sitting at a table playing Solitaire. I’m kind of on the short, stubby side. I’ve never considered myself to be in the same sexual league as young, tall blondes with sexy slim figures. I’m not even sure we’re playing the same sport. That night, though, I had enough romantic spirit and just enough spirits to strike up a conversation. She was friendly. I learned that her name was Denise. Her boyfriend was an intern in Jackson, MS and she was headed to see him. I wasn’t surprised to find she had a boyfriend, nor, even that he was a doctor. I was a bit surprised that a young woman on such a tight schedule was riding the train, rather than flying. She told me she loved the rhythm of the rails, it relaxed her. The hurry, scurry scary pace of airline travel just made her tense. Without giving me the details, she told me that, for this meeting, she needed to be relaxed when she got there. I nodded sympathetically but didn’t press her. We had a few drinks and a few laughs. It was about midnight when we wandered back to our seats.

There were a few more than “fifteen restless riders” on the train but the coach car we were in was sparsely populated. Denise moved her stuff a few rows back to the seat across the aisle from mine and we talked in whispers a little while longer before pulling out our blankets. Neither of us had sprung the extra money for a sleeping car. I’m short enough to be able to sleep in most spaces and actually managed to lie down across the two seats, my head toward the window, a bit curled up but moderately comfy. Denise was taller than me by about a half a foot; most of her extra height was in her long, shapely legs. She reclined her seat all the way back. I closed my eyes. The rhythm of the rails gently rocked my body. It had been a good night. Little did I know what or who was yet to come.

I was nearly asleep when I heard the conductor announce our arrival in Carbondale. With eyes closed, I listened to the people near us depart. Denise and I now had the whole back of the coach car to ourselves. I peeked over and she appeared to be sleeping. Her long blonde hair and slim frame under the pink blanket made a pretty sight in the dim light. As the train pulled out of Carbondale, I settled in to sleep. Or, that’s what I thought I was going to do.

I heard Denise shuffling about in the seat across the aisle. I figured she was probably having a bit of trouble getting comfortable. Opening one eye, it became apparent that, under the blanket, she was removing her jeans. My imagination pictured her long, slender legs naked all the way to her panties. Then, it imagined her panties and the mound of her pussy outlined on the fabric. My cock rose with the thought. I was almost lost in horny dreams when I heard a little more motion across the aisle. My first reaction was sympathy for her difficulty getting comfortable, even with her jeans off. When I again opened one eye to take a peek, my second reaction was pleasant astonishment.

Laid back in the reclined seat, she had spread her legs. Her right hand was under the blanket and between her legs. I couldn’t tell whether the hand was in or over her panties but she was definitely slowly rubbing it up and down along her cunt. Her eyes were closed. Slowly my hand moved over to free my erection. Under the blanket, I held it in my hand and slowly ran my fingers along the shaft while I watched Denise stroke her pussy. We went on like this for several minutes in the darkened car, her on her back with eyes closed, me on my side with one eye open, both lightly stroking, both ever so slowly increasing our pace.

When she raised her knees, I lost track of her hand but not her rhythm. Her hips had begun to rock with the hand motions. She was making small pelvic thrusts against her hand. Her lips had parted and I could hear her making soft moaning sounds in the back of her throat. Her hips were rocking in time with the clacking of the train on the track. The train was moving pretty fast on this stretch. I began pumping my cock to the same speedy, steady beat. It was like being in tune with the universe. Denise’s young cunt, the speeding train and my hard cock were all in synch. I knew I couldn’t maintain this pace very long. My heart was pounding, my groin was tense with the building orgasm and it was becoming more difficult to restrain my heavy breathing. I could hear Denise’s breath coming out in ragged gasps. Her legs were spread wide apart. I could again see the lump of her hand. It looked like she had several fingers inside her pussy and was pumping them to the insistent rhythm of the rails. Then, I swear, the train picked up speed.

The legendary “City of New Orleans” was rushing toward Kentucky. Denise was rushing toward orgasm and I was along for both of the rides. Her hips were thrusting to the quicker beat of the steel wheels, her pumping fingers had also picked up the intensifying rhythm. Her head was thrown back and was shaking a little side-to-side as the rest of her slender body was wrapped around her pounding fingers. I saw her mouth open wide as the orgasm began to pour over her. I came in hard spurts watching her body thrash under her pink blanket, twitching several times before coming to a sprawled out, panting rest. Still pretending to sleep, I rolled over in the seat to relocate my body in relation to my blanket’s new wet spot.

As I began to drift off to sleep I could hear Denise singing softly under her breath.

“Good night, America. How are you?”
I grinned at the sound. I was doing quite fine, thank you very much.

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