The man in the white linen suit.
A.M. Gray
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 A.M. Gray
Cover by V.Webster
Cover image belongs to K.Firstbrook, used with permission.
http://www.pbase.com/firstbrook
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The man in the white linen suit.
She is on an adventure. She is a young woman in the 1930’s and the world is new and shiny and she wants to experience life. She is going to go and do things.
She isn’t sure what those things will be, but she is sure that stuffy old London is not the place for her.
She has accepted a position; a ‘position’ mind you, not a job, as a private tutor for a family. It goes without saying that they are wealthy. She has packed her one bag and boarded several modes of transport from London to Rome. She has taken her time to get this far, as a kind of pre holiday. The final leg of her journey is a train from Rome to Sicily.
She travels alone. She is twenty three years old. She wears a long dark skirt and a prim light blue blouse buttoned to her neck. It has long sleeves that cover her arms. It is between seasons but still cool in places.
Her train carriage has compartments running off a side corridor. She looks into several before she finds an empty seat in one. The only space available in the luggage rack is close to the window with a seat in the sun streaming in the window. Too hot for anyone else to sit there, but she doesn’t mind. She reads her book and looks out the window. The compartment starts off full with other passengers but eventually each of them alight at their destinations and she is left alone.
She thinks about the people that had shared the compartment with her. Some of them obvious married couples. She wonders how they got to their stages in life and what adventures they have had.
She has had one lover in her life, so she is not completely inexperienced, but it was awful; a fumble in the dark between two virgins. It was painful and she did not enjoy it at all. He seemed happy enough but she just felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment. Maybe it was the novels she read, but she had always thought it would be bone melting and passionate… and it wasn’t. He couldn’t convince her to do it again and their relationship had come to a halt as fumbling and unhappy as their meeting in the dark.
The train has stopped at another station and for a change, some passengers get on the train. A man comes in to her compartment. He checks with her with a glance if it is okay for him to sit. She waves in a vague way that she hopes signifies acceptance.
He is late and she can hear the conductor blowing his whistle. Maybe the other compartments were full, before he found this one.
He is wearing a linen suit. It is a light cream colour; beige maybe and he wears a crisp white shirt under it. He looks cool, if a little rumpled. She rather thinks that he looks like some character from one of her romance novels. She studies him the way she had studied the earlier passengers.
He looks experienced, she thinks; like he has had all sorts of adventures. The kind of adventures she was hoping to have herself. From his slightly wavy black hair and his swarthy, olive skin he looks Italian. He seems to be in his thirties, perhaps.
He goes to lift his suitcase onto the rack above, just as the train jolts into movement and he loses his balance. His groin thrusts toward her. He stops himself before they make contact, but she blushes like mad and he mutters an apology.
She had almost put her hands up on him. Luckily, she did not get a faceful of him, but she did get a whiff of his scent. He smelt musky; manly she supposed.
He sat opposite her close to the other window.
The train accelerates. She reads her book. He has no book or newspaper to read. She keeps glancing up at him. He is watching out the window but occasionally their eyes met. The train makes its scheduled stops at the stations. She gets up to use the bathroom and resumes her seat. He stands when she enters and waits for her to sit before resuming his seat. His jacket is unbuttoned and she can see his physique. He is slim.
There is still no one else in their compartment.
She goes back to her book, but she realises something. He is watching her now. When she glances up once, he smiles at her. She blinks hurriedly, but the next time she glances up, she smiles back.
Their eyes met and his almost smoulder at her; they are dark and intense.
They almost touch in the closeness of the compartment. He shifts a little and his leg brushes her skirt.
She glances at the corridor windows. She could not say why she did that. No one is there.
He rubs her skirt again.
She looks at his elegant light suit and she thinks that he really does look like the hero in one of her romance novels. His shirt is unbuttoned a little and she can see a hint of chest hair. His olive skin continues the light tan. She looks up to meet his amused gaze and comprehends that he just caught her, sizing him up. She blushes.
He leans forward, reaches out and the back of his hand slips under her skirt and brushes against her leg on the outside. It slides up, lifting her skirt a little.
She doesn’t say anything.
She lets her legs open a touch and he repeats the gesture on the inside of her other leg. He stops at her knee. She feels a rush of warmth inside her. It makes her shiver. It is so gentle and so sensuous. She is being very reckless and her heart skips a little and settles into a higher rhythm. His foot is now between hers on the floor.
She hitches her skirt up a little. Biting at her bottom lip nervously as she does so. He looks amused again.
He keeps brushing her leg back and forth. He is still staring at her intently. She feels brave enough to lift her eyes and meet his gaze. He licks his lips; she does too.
He touches her leg with his fingertips. She inhales sharply. He presses his palm against her leg; it is warm and dry. She swears her own palms are sweating. His fingers reach up between her legs, sliding up the inside of her thigh.
He keeps watching her, as if he is waiting for her to stop him.
She doesn’t.
She feels a wetness between her legs.
He makes circles against her skin; like the calming strokes he would have done on a frightened animal. She relaxes a little. She could snap her legs shut or she could finish what she started. She knows she started it. Somehow she gave him some signal that she was okay with this. She is not sure what it was… maybe the smile.
He hand touches the hem of her panties and he smiles.
He has leant towards her now. He hitches up his trouser legs with the other hand and he crouches on the floor between her legs. She notices he doesn’t kneel on the carriage floor; it would dirty his suit. His eager hand slid up the leg of her step-ins. They are wide legged enough for him to fit. She almost pants as he brushes across her pubic hair.
She opens her legs wider. She wants him to touch her. He pulls behind her knee with the other hand and she understands that he wants her to slide forward a little. She does; reclining back against the seat. She slid herself onto his hand. She clutches at the armrests on either side with both hands.
His fingers are gentle and her secret places open for him. She bites her lip again. He strokes her, slowly and gently. She can feel her cheeks warming, her whole face is flushed.
Her wetness allows him easier access. She doesn’t remember being this wet or this excited before. He moves jerkily occasionally, when the train jolts in a manner he didn’t anticipate. He is crouched on the floor after all. He keeps stroking her and her breath increases almost to a pant.
She tries to be discreet and bites her lip again. His other hand reaches for hers where she clutches at the armrest. Their hands lift, meet and in an oddly intimate gesture their fingers interlock and their palms press together. A finger slides inside her and she shudders and her eyes close. She feels wanton; reckless. She feels like moaning aloud. She is too embarrassed to do that, but she squeezes her fingers against his hand and he seems to understand.
He slides a second finger into her and she finally spoke, “Oh” she said. She sounded so surprised. His brow furrowed for a second, a tiny crease between his eyebrows and she blushed again. He gave her a small smile.
He seems to feel deep inside her with those long fingers. She emits a longer breathier, “Oh”, now.
He seems satisfied with his exploration. She wonders if he could tell if she was a virgin with just his fingers, not that she is. She doesn’t know what to think. She is just acting, not thinking right now.
His fingers curl within her and she bites her lip to keep her surprised noise inside.
Somehow another finger is stroking her on the outside; no, it must be his thumb. It feels thicker, larger than his fingers. They slide into her and the thumb strokes her on the outside. She clenches her fingers against his hand and she starts to pant. She is astonished to hear herself emit such a noise. She pushes her body onto his hand.
It feels so airless in the compartment now; like all the oxygen has been sucked out. The train bogies make their distinctive rhythmic sound and his strokes take on a rhythm of their own. She pants. Her whole body tightens up.
He leans towards her, bringing his upper body closer. His left knee is braced against her seat. She pants and watches as his face came closer.
Her eyes close. She feels like she is running, or perhaps falling. She no longer has control of her own body. She feels everything within her tighten. “Oh” she moans.
And then she hits whatever it was she was running for; now she is truly falling. Her body jerks; she shudders and clenches his hand tighter. She makes some wordless noise. His fingers keep thrusting into her and she flies apart as she falls. She turns into some kind of explosion. She is her own firework.
He keeps stroking her as she makes small wordless noises; and then his face leans in closer and he kisses her. It starts as a gentle touch of the lips but she is on fire. She opens her mouth and tries to taste him.
In some kind of compensatory act, she gets a kiss, but he withdraws his hand. Or maybe it was more of a distraction. She touches his face with her other hand. His body leans over hers now; his knee pressed into her seat. He kisses her deeply and then pulls his head back.
She hears the train conductor shout something. The train noise has changed as it approaches yet another stop.
He pulls back from her. She releases his hand with a final squeeze. He tugs her skirt down where it has ridden up her legs; it is oddly thoughtful. She watches him, still breathless from her exertions. He pushes him self upright, adjusts the front of his trousers, pats his suit jacket down, buttons it and lifts his suitcase from the rack above her head.
She doesn’t know what to say to him. She doesn’t even know his name.
The train is decelerating now with much noise and clanking. He leans down and kisses her; a final gentle, brush of the lips.
And then he leaves.
“Wait…” she calls out.
He turns with his hand on the compartment door handle.
“T-Thank you,” she stutters.
“Il mio piacere,” he said softly. He smiles again, opens the door and leaves.
She finds herself pressed to the window to catch a glimpse of him on the platform. He sees her looking for him. Their eyes catch. He lifts the hand he had buried within her; he holds it to his mouth and kisses the back of it. She blushes, but nods in acceptance. She blows him a kiss in return. He walks from the platform looking as elegant and rumpled as before.
She looks up what she thought he said in her phrasebook. He said ‘My pleasure.’
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About the Author
I feel I should be witty and informative about how many children and household pets I have. But really, the chickens lay eggs and I am yet to see what use the teenagers are. They eat the eggs, I suppose. I love writing. I also read a lot and play my music loud... really loud.
I started writing fanfiction as mrstrentreznor and discovered that my head had many more stories in it, than the ones that I chose to correct. I choose to share them with you now.
I am Australian, and that might explain why my language is sometimes confused. I am aware that most of my readers are American, but occasionally I slip up and write ‘car boot’ instead of ‘trunk’ or whatever. Please forgive me.
Discover other titles by A.M. Gray at Smashwords.
Kissing Cousins: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/127194]
Alejandro & Maela: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/127229]
Dream man: [https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/128005]
Connect with me online:
Twitter: [https://twitter.com/#!/mtr_amg]
Smashwords: [https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AMGray]