Lovers on a Train

MuseitHot Publishing

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 13,560
0 Ratings (0.0)

He’s 50, divorced, burned out, and moving south to start a new life.

She’s 72, twice widowed, and travelling south to escape the cold and to live with her daughter.

An unlikely pair to become Lovers on a Train.

Lovers on a Train
0 Ratings (0.0)

Lovers on a Train

MuseitHot Publishing

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 13,560
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Cover Art by Nika Dixon

I left my room and made my way down the narrow hallway as the car rocked and rolled. Pulling out the note she gave me, I reconfirmed my destination as room 14-A. By her description, she should be in the next car toward the engine from mine. Feeling suddenly nervous, my hand hit the buttons that opened the doors between the cars. In the hallway of the next car, the first door bore the numbers 14-A. Nervously, I tapped on the door. It slid open, suddenly leaving me once again face-to-face with Julia. She took my arm and pulled me into the dimly lit room. The door closed behind me and locked. She fell into my arms with our lips pressed together. Her freshly applied perfume filled my head with the scent of flowers and a touch of musk. I found it intoxicating. This time my tongue pressed forward into her yielding mouth where it danced against her tongue. My hands slid down the silky fabric of her robe to her bottom, pushing her hips against me and grinding my rapidly stiffening cock against her. We enjoyed a long, intense, and exciting kiss. When our lips separated, she surprised me by moving back, holding me at arm’s length. She looked down at the floor while collecting her thoughts. When she looked up at me, her face carried a look of concern.

“Look, I don’t know what you’re used to, but I’m not one of your perky forty year-olds. I’m seventy-two years old, my skin is loose and wrinkly, my boobs are flat and saggy, and I have arthritis in my legs and hips. Beautiful I ain’t, so if you’re having any remorseful feelings, this is your last chance to escape.” Her face appeared fixed and resolute.

I smiled at her and pulled her to me, kissing her cheek. “Julia, you are the woman I’ve wanted to meet since I turned fifteen years old.”

She looked confused but that confusion faded when my lips again pressed to hers. Her arms wrapped around my neck revealing the need within her.

I doubted she understood what I told her, but it was absolutely true. From the time I crashed into puberty, I desperately hoped to meet a skilled and willing older woman to teach me how to make love. I hated being a gangly, awkward teenager with a constantly hard cock chasing after any little longhaired piece of fluff who might permit me to touch her under-filled training bra. I wanted a mature woman who would put up with my stupidity and clumsiness while she patiently transformed me into a skilled lover. Unfortunately, it never did happen. There were a few ‘back seat encounters’ in my youth and even a few ‘bed bouncers’ in college, but I always came away with the feeling that she wanted something from me that I did not provide. So finally, when I married at age twenty-two, the blind man driving the bus struggled to learn how to satisfy the woman he just wed.

Now I was fifty and no longer in need of the education an older woman could offer. Life had just handed me the unexpected and enviable opportunity to be the younger man with stiff cock, capable of taking her to long-forgotten heights of ecstasy. Pleasure for her and an ego boost for me, a true win/win.

Her bedroom proved to be not nearly as cramped as my ‘roomette’. With the seats now converted into a double bed, there remained little area for movement. While we kissed, her loose robe slid from her shoulders. Now she wore only a thin, mint green nightgown that did little to shelter her body from my hands. My hands held her ass cheeks, gently lifting and squeezing. She began to sigh while her hips ground against the hard protrusion at the front of my pants. I slowly lifted the nightgown up until it reached her chest. Her arms came loose from my neck and extended upward to allow me to slide the thin garment from her. When her arms came down, she smiled at me, while her fingers began to unbutton my shirt. As she opened the front, my fingers released the cuffs so that she could pull my shirt open and slide it off.

Her face looked soft in the dim light and her eyes appeared contented. “Please don’t rush me. It’s been years since I’ve touched a man, especially a strong young man like you. I want to feel your wonderful muscles and your hairy chest. I want to smell you and taste you, I love a man’s body.”

She slowly explored me, her hands on my chest and shoulders before reaching around my back. I used the time to kick off my shoes and unbuckle my belt. When she saw my hands start to unzip my pants, she stopped me.

“Please, let me do that. You’re like a Chanukah gift for me and I want to unwrap you at my own pace. We have plenty of time and, who knows, at my age you may be my last.”

“Julia, when you get to Florida, those beach boys will be lining up for the chance just to touch you.”

She smiled and chuckled, enjoying my flattery. Her hands continued over my body.

“Such nice arms and shoulders, you could pick me up and carry me away with such arms.”

“If you wish, I’ll pick you up and carry you off to the bed where I’ll make love to you until sun up.”
Her voice caught in her throat. “Oh God yes...please.”

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