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California Zephyr Ch. 01

By: SadieRose



"I wrote this story for a friend in the States who wanted a Vampire tale just for himself. Marc was the same age as me at the time I wrote this story. (ie: 33) Rayne views him as the "Boy" because he's about 48 years old by this time, although he has not aged past his 30th birthday. 

"My friend is no longer with us, but the story survives him. This is for Marcie. God Bless... xxx J"

CALIFORNIA ZEPHYR an observation in three parts

by Josh & Sadie Rose

NOTE: "No part of this story may be used or re-published without the prior permission of Josh or Sadie. Violence will be meted out to those who transgress!" *grr*

Chapter One: BOY ON A TRAIN

The Vampire tapped idly at the keys on his laptop, pretending to be engrossed in whatever he was doing... or, at least, not appear to be obviously doing nothing more challenging than play Minesweeper whilst he watched the guy in the berth opposite. What had begun as an intriguing challenge, to come out here and write a column on his travels in the States for Grant Jackson's 'Zipped' magazine was rapidly turning into a series of featureless rail and bus journeys which made touring his band, Whipsnade, look like a cakewalk by comparison. He was tired and ill humoured and if it hadn't been for the fact that the guy across the aisle was as cute as hell he would have sloped off into the corridor for a cigarette several millennia ago! Having blown himself up for the hundredth time he yawned and dropped the lid on his machine in despair... gazing at his reflection in the window as they thundered into a tunnel and were plunged into darkness for a time. 

He had been staring at the centre of his universe in the darkened glass for a minute or so when he realised that the reflection of the dark-haired guy on the other side of the carriage was watching him via the medium of the window. Frowning slightly, he sat straighter, then looked around. The young man's head jerked away automatically, and for a few moments he seemed briefly absorbed in trying to read his own palms. In spite of himself, Rayne let a smile twist his full, pale lips and he leaned back in his seat letting his eyelids fall half-shut, watching the watcher through the veil of his lashes. 

For effect, he stretched and snuggled down, feigning sleep. Now he sensed a definite prickle of interest, like delicate claws pulling across his scalp beneath his hair. The young man's emerald eyes slid sideways, discreetly and he began to chew on his thumbnail self-consciously; looking, but trying not to look obvious about it. Rayne tilted his cheek against his shoulder and actually drifted for a moment or two, he was so tired. When the train began to slow down, making its next approach, he was jolted into wakefulness again. 

The kid was rummaging through his bag for something but Rayne could not tell if he was planning to alight here. He hoped not, sincerely. Even if only for the want of something to write about. 

At last the lad pulled a battered paperback from his holdall and wriggled to his feet, stowing the bag back in the rack overhead. He was around medium height, Rayne figured, perhaps in his early to mid twenties, quite lightly made under the layers of clothing which shrouded him; loose t-shirt, fine-knit sweater and open shirt over his dark jeans. Loose, dark hair tumbled around his face as he curled around his book, snuggled against the window with one foot drawn up under him. Now, as Rayne watched idly through his eyelashes, the boy fished an earphone from the neckline of his sweater and tucked it into his left ear, thumbing a button invisible at his waist beneath his clothing. 

His large, dark, expressive eyes moved upward once over the top of the paperback in his hands, glancing in Rayne's direction. In response, the singer stretched himself again, and yawned with exaggerated weariness. The artless motion drew up the fine, deep blue acetate of his shirt revealing a brief glimpse of flat belly and sharp hipbones between hem and belt-loops. Rayne did not miss the fact that the boy's eyes shifted down to his midriff and a small, private smile touched his own generous mouth as he pretended to read again.

The Vampire turned his head away and gazed out of the window at Princeton station watching people hurrying back and forth on the platform, pushing trolleys or dragging trunks, scurrying like so many ants to make their connection. Once the Amtrak express was on it's way again, a little fuller than before, he pushed himself to his feet secure in the knowledge that the pretty boy wasn't going anywhere. There was a large guy sitting in the lounge car seat between them now... managing to take up nearly a place and a half, with his equally massive, disturbingly floral wife parked across the table from him. His bulk virtually dwarfed the slender kid by the window, who seemed to curl up even tighter to get away from these giants. Everything about them was vast... down to their voices, which boomed emphatically in an irritating, Texan drawl, which reminded him annoyingly of JR Ewing in Dallas. They had travelled up from Austin via St.Louis to see their son who was at college in Princeton. And seemed to feel the need for the entire car to know about this. Now they were headed out to Salt Lake City to see their daughter and her family. 

Rayne felt sorry for her. After all, she had gone to so much trouble to escape in the first place, what with putting a virtual continent between herself and her parents... He shook his head incredulously.

The Vampire needed air... and he needed nicotine more. Slipping into the aisle, he made his way back up the car to the entryway and leaned against the door there, with the window lowered, feeling the hot wind blow through his hair. It felt delicious after the stifling warmth of the carriage. He lit a cigarette from the pack of B&H in his jeans pocket... remnants of his dwindling duty-free allowance, and leaned on the sill, sucking in the smoke gratefully, feeling his senses gradually stop prickling as the nicotine rush did it's work. 

"That's not allowed... and it's not good for you anyway," said a low, softly-accented voice behind him and he turned with a guilty start expecting the guard. The wind rushing past his ears had snatched away the sound of the interior door opening and closing and now he blinked at the long-haired boy from the carriage almost owlishly as the kid leaned past him to tap the No Smoking sticker (thoughtfully provided in French and English) pasted over the entryway. 

"Right... yeah!" Rayne laughed cynically and took another long drag on the crumpled cigarette between his fingers.

The young man worried his lower lip between his teeth and looked down, suddenly bashful.

"Sorry... it's none of my business really."

"Uh... no. I mean... well, yeah!" Rayne shook his head, still somehow surprised that the boy was American. He had somehow convinced himself that you had to be a European to look as good as he did right now without actually 'trying'. "It isn't good for me, I guess. But it makes me 'feel' a whole lot better!"

Dark green eyes, with a flicker of gold somewhere deep inside, moved briefly back to his face and the kid forced a wan smile. Rayne's expression solemnified for a moment. Something in that look told him that the boy was not as young as he had first thought. Maybe closer to his own age, even. He 'was' extremely pretty; with sharp, delicate features and long, fine, almost feminine hair that waved slightly, cutting in around the line of his jaw then curling out again over his slim shoulders.

Coyly, he glanced towards the closed door of the bathroom now.

"Are you waiting?"

Rayne shook his head and drew on the filter of his cigarette one last time before tapping it out against the wall. His companion nodded in silent acknowledgement but did not move to try the door.

"I think it's empty," Rayne told him at last. 

"Oh... right." Another nod. He did not move, save swaying slightly with the motion of the train. "I don't really need it..."

His gaze moved back up to Rayne's face, almost searchingly. 

"Are you okay?" the Vampire asked, suddenly solicitous. He thought the kid looked rather pale.

Nod.

"Can I get you anything?"

A little shake of the head was his only immediate answer. 

"You look sort of... um..." Rayne groped for a word. Gorgeous.. his mind supplied mischievously.

"I just needed some space." His companion glanced at him defensively. "They're gonna drive me crazy... Mr and Mrs Austin, Texas!!!"

Rayne managed a sympathetic smile. "You're going all the way to Frisco?"

"Uh-huh.." The kid hardly looked overjoyed at the prospect. 

Rayne Wylde weighed his next suggestion fairly carefully before launching it. "You can sit across from me, if you like. The seats aren't taken... and I don't think there's a reservation on them."

For a moment, the boy just bent his head in silence and the Vampire worried that he had been scared off. He raised his hands apologetically.

"Look... I know you'd still be able to 'hear' them..."

"I'd love to," the boy said quietly before he could finish. 

Rayne closed his mouth and counted mentally; 'Four, three, two, one....'

"You 'would'?"

The answering smile bordered between shy and sceptical. "Sure... You know, I 'did' see you looking me over before!"

Rayne met his eyes with a serious little smile of his own. "Oh yeah... And you weren't checking me out just as closely, huh?"

"Maybe..." The young man pursed his lips thoughtfully. 

"What's your name?"

Melting emerald eyes flickered up to his face again. The look was defensive, but also challenging.

"Marc..." he said levelly. A little pause weighted the word, then he added; "With a 'c'."

Rayne's mouth quirked and the expression on Marc's face dared him to openly deride this. At last, the singer held out his hand. "Hiya Marc, with a 'c'. I'm Rayne... with an 'R'.. and a 'y'!"

"I know." Marc said it so softly that the clatter of iron-shod wheels on the tracks and the rushing of air through the train's slipstream virtually swept his words away.

"You 'do'?" Rayne was genuinely surprised. In the UK and certain parts of Europe and the Far East he still expected recognition, but America afforded him a rare degree of anonymity due to the fact that Whipsnade had never been a major stadium band in the States. The US following was small and selective rather than insane and all embracing.

"I have a few of your CDs." Marc's smile was brittle; almost painful in its embarrassment.

"Wow..." Rayne grinned reassuringly, then worried that he merely looked like a dangerous lunatic. "And you're still talking to me! I'm touched."

The young man looked down and the tip of his tongue flickered between his lips, moistening them.

"I've never met a famous rock-star before," he murmured.

"You still haven't," Rayne pointed out, leaning more casually against the rocking partition of the car. "Whipsnade split nearly three years ago. I'm a not-so-famous travel writer now."

Dark green eyes lifted to meet his own, mildly intrigued. A small frown creased the mortal's brow under his tangled hair.

"That's what you're doing here?"

"Yeah..." Rayne nodded. "I got a commission to write an article about travelling the US by Amtrak."

Marc's smile quickened. "Oh my, and I thought you were just playing Minesweeper!"

The sudden mischief in his eyes told Rayne at once that this was no raw kid. He was dealing with a contemporary. Now that the initial shock of meeting him had passed, so did much of Marc's shyness. Rayne found himself feeling glad. It was easy enough to seduce and fuck some starstruck youngster, but these days the Vampire was hungry for rather more than that. Since leaving London, he had been starved of regular companionship. Maybe Marc was even someone he could talk to.

It also occurred to him that if the young man had not come out here to use the bathroom and did not smoke, then he too was plotting a strategic seduction. Rayne was impressed, and also quite aroused by the idea. Up this close, his fellow traveller was remarkably pretty; possessed of the kind of lean, boyish body, under all those clothes, that he found stimulating in both sexes.

Marc's expression sobered slightly and the Vampire realised that something was wrong. Then figured that he had been standing here staring at the kid since his last comment. Marc could hardly be blamed under the circumstances for imagining that his companion was maybe a little moonstruck. It did not help either that Rayne was growing increasingly conscious of the erection pressing against the flyer of his denim hipsters. He had no way of hiding the fact that he was intensely attracted to this guy; his shirt stopped short of the buttons of his skin-tight jeans and if he got much stiffer he was risking indecency.

In an attempt to preserve some dignity, he forced a hand into his front pocket and made a casual half-turn back towards the window. Clearing his throat, he wracked his brain for Marc's last words.

"Oh my," the young mortal said again, very softly, close to his ear. Rayne turned his head and found himself looking directly into that creamy-pale visage. He could smell the boy's fine, bronze-coloured hair and virtually taste him, they were so near to one another. Marc's emerald gaze lowered, behind long, dark lashes and when his eyes lifted from the bulge of the Vampire's crotch to meet Rayne's acid-lime stare he licked his lips again and whispered; "Do you need some help with 'that'?"

Rayne reacted by pure instinct. One hand propelled Marc un-gently towards the door of the restroom and the other was already deftly unbuttoning his fly well before the latch clicked behind him. Freed from the crushing constraint of his denims, he turned and wrapped his arms around the slender neck of the beautiful young mortal, pushing his companion up hard against the washstand as he pulled Marc's lips hungrily down onto his own. Standing together like this he was conscious that the other man was slightly taller. Not so much, though, that he could not press his hips up firmly against his lover's groin, letting the guy know exactly how horny he was feeling.

Marc's tongue flickered between his own lips now as they kissed like starving creatures, feeding on one anothers' lust. The mortal's gentle hand eased determinedly beneath Rayne's shirt, stroking the sleek, hairless flesh of his firm, flat belly, then slipping boldly lower to handle the ready stiffness of the Vampire's sex. Rayne gasped almost soundlessly into his lover's open mouth as the boy's fingers closed tight around the shaft of his cock and wanked him vigorously.

He let his lips wander to the boy's ear, burying his face in the softness of Marc's long fine hair as he breathed; "And I figured you were 'shy'!"

The young man's tongue explored his own ear.

"Touch me," Marc insisted at last, equally breathless, dispelling any remaining doubts about his boldness.

Rayne eased a long, cool hand beneath the layers of clothing and found his belt-buckle, quickly tugging it undone and unfastening the flyer of his jeans with urgent fingers. Marc caught his breath and his grip on Rayne's prick tightened for a moment as the Vampire's cold fingers entered his shorts and cupped his balls, squeezing briefly, then sliding back along the shaft of his cock, rubbing him steadily, eliciting a little; "Ohhh..." from the boy's lips.

"Is that good?" he murmured unnecessarily.

"Ohhh..." Marc sighed, and nodded quickly. "Yes!"

Rayne kissed him again and sank slowly to his knees, pushing up layer after layer of material to apply his lips to the warm skin beneath. He closed his eyes for a moment, lost in a heavenly reverie. Marc's young, mortal body had the most wonderful aroma to him; hot with blood and life and deeply sensual. The Vampire inhaled the fabulous, tantalising scent of him and lost himself in the vibrant feel of living flesh. Since leaving London he had been virtually celibate, apart from an astonishing, rapid-fire fuck with a muscular young baggage handler in the loading bays at la Guardia. From the moment he boarded the train in New York he had been mainly surrounded by wealthy suburbanites travelling for travel's sake, disinterested in experience; untouched by passion or impulsiveness. They were people jaded by life. He supposed that it was not a surprise in view of the price of his sleeper tickets but even so... the lack of individuality had disturbed him, until today.

The boy had joined his train in Chicago, about two and half hours ago. He might have been an artist, or a student or anything really, and right now Rayne Wylde did not care. His luck had turned. The kid was pretty and he was willing. More than willing... his body language currently suggested that he was hungry as well.

The Vampire's lips parted around the head of his cock and he swallowed Marc into him greedily. Giving head always aroused him and this was no exception. Somewhere up above him he heard the boy utter a strangled sound and long fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at him, urging him on. Rayne nuzzled against the softness of his lover's belly and groin and sucked long and hard, gently pulling Marc's pants to mid-thigh and caressing his slender legs encouragingly. He pressed his face into the dark curls of the boy's groin and reached down to stroke himself with the left hand as the first and second fingers of his right teasingly insinuated themselves between the perfect, firm cheeks of his fellow traveller's arse, probing experimentally until his partner was arcing forward, pushing deep into his mouth and uttering tremulous little cries of longing.

Rayne paced himself. Long before the boy felt ready to come, he pushed himself back to his feet, ignoring the little whimper of protest which this provoked and pressed his lips to Marc's quickly and roughly to silence him.

"Oh my..." the lad whispered in a shaken undertone when Rayne drew back to look him up and down appreciatively.

"That's nothing."

"No... I mean... yes..." The young guy looked back at him in virtual desperation. 

"You know what I want now," Rayne said, very softly, keeping his tone as light as possible. 

A nod was his answer. Marc lowered his head and a little colour touched his pale cheeks. Rayne smiled grimly.

"You okay?"

Another nod. Then the kid whispered; "I wouldn't normally.... I mean..."

"Sshhh... it doesn't matter." Rayne enfolded him again and kissed the tip of his nose, then his mouth, quickly. "You are so fucking gorgeous... d'you know that?"

"This is... this is..." Marc shook his head uncertainly.

"'Amazing'," Rayne finished for him, totally adamant. "It's amazing. You have a beautiful body."

"Uh-huh..." He sounded unconvinced.

"I want to fuck you."

Those dark green eyes widened and looked straight back into his own. Rayne met and returned the gaze adamantly.

"You knew I'd want that."

Marc nodded and murmured; "Normally... I uh..."

Rayne's eyes closed for a moment as the realisation dawned. "You wanna make the running, huh?" 

Oddly enough, the idea of it quite excited him, but he was still playing it cool. This was an unexpected turn about but he supposed he had enthusiastically entertained the prospect of making out with an equal and should not have been so surprised that this little starlet had his own ideas about the game. 

"Well... normally, 'I uh...' too," he replied flatly at last. "So where does that leave us, sweetheart?"

Marc's generous mouth twitched mischievously. "You wanna toss for it?"

Rayne laughed, in spite of himself. The situation was almost too ridiculous for serious contemplation.

"Where I come from that doesn't mean what you think it does," he said good-humouredly.

"Oh yes it does," Marc flashed back, grinning at him as he darted a hand between Rayne's thighs and grabbed him firmly. "C'mere..."


California Zephyr Ch. 01



Copyright 2004, All rights reserved

California Zephyr 

Train 6 (eastbound) Car 0631 Economy Bedroom 6

There was some magic about this train, according to the friend who told me this story. In the rolling movie set known as the California Zephyr, she played parts in a dream scenario, led by the power within an ancient ring.

- Prof. Richard W., formerly of (_________ University)

oo0000oo

Karen had suddenly faced a moment which she had been dreading for several years, the death of her grandmother. For the ailing, elderly lady, "it was a release" as people said. For Karen, it meant a sudden trip back to Galesburg from her home in Berkeley. And, despite years of women's liberation, the duty (as the only granddaughter) to sort through grandma's belongings.

It also turned out that the airline fare for this sudden trip would be prohibitive. It was too late for an excursion fare.

"For that rate," Karen told me later, "the airline president should have driven me to the airport. I got the last Economy Bedroom on the Zephyr instead." Karen boarded the sold-out train in Emeryville in mid-morning, and in a little while, watched the San Francisco bridges fade away, and then the marshlands, and then...

The trip became a kind of blur. Her tiny room remained motionless, while America wheeled past her window. She went out to the diner for a meal at lunchtime and noticed nothing. After that, she tipped the car attendant to bring her meals to her room.

It wasn't just grandma's death closing a chapter in her family and dragging her down. It was her own life. She was thirty years old, and the guy that she had been going out with had dumped her last week. Jim DUMPED her, as she would put it. His reasons were shallow-sounding, but hey, he was kind of shallow! Now that she reflected on it.

In the night, east of Winnemucca, she opened the blind and watched the stars moving across the train window sky. The desert beyond the tracks was empty, just showing some distant lights from the freeway on the horizon. It was cowboy country. Jim would be at home here: no involvements, no one trying to touch him, no subtleties.

The train had passed a famous bordello earlier in the evening. She had read about it in a travel magazine, but perhaps she would have guessed what it was anyway. Expensive limos, dirty pick-up trucks, a slick-looking low-rider, were pulling up for the evening activities. She could picture Jim liking going there, if he wasn't so cheap.

On the empty desert she imagined that she was watching Jim through a one-way mirror, entering a room in the fancy house; she could picture the bustiered prostitute, a tall, bleached blonde, silently issuing her coded commands to Jim's ego. At the first signal, Jim would try to embrace her, bringing him close enough for her hands to begin working on his clothes. Then she'd have her hands in his pants, reaching into his briefs to straighten him up. She'd surely be sighing as if she enjoyed his groping of her breasts when they spilled out of the bustier.

Karen caught herself laughing harshly out loud as she realized that the picture, other than the image of the prostitute, was her own, but she let the imagery roll on with the scenery. The working lady pulled away from Jim with a squeal as he attempted to take off her last covering and then she stretched back on a brass bed.

With practiced coyness, the pro signaled her readiness by slowly spreading her legs apart, communicating directly with Jim's hormones. Karen watched his erection tighten up, and saw him take a glance at the mirror, admiring his own hardness as he rolled a condom down his shaft.

She decided that this train of thought was unhealthy, she would have to try to think of something else. Her body's memory of Jim was too strong, however, and she too easily imagined this enemy tilting her vagina up to Jim, guiding him into herself, stroking him, encouraging his desperate thrusts.

The bright lights of Elko slammed into her face, erasing the compelling one-way mirror image with neon promises of quick wealth, cheap liquor, and easy love. The train slid to a fast stop as expectant faces looked up into the windows from the station platform. A 19-year old cowboy swung smoothly from a coach ahead and a high school girl standing by an old pick-up truck at trackside went running to him, embraced him, ran her fingers down his well-muscled back. Karen snapped the blind shut.

The first night out on a train was never an easy night for her, but she was tired and would give it a try. She finished undressing for bed, putting on the blue shortie nightgown that she'd brought along.

"Damn!" Everything was reminding her of something. Bernard had loved her in a similar outfit a decade ago. Each step of putting it on reminded her of some smooth comment that he'd made. As she raised it up over her head, the powder blue showed off her blonde hair. She pulled it down over her breasts, "champagne glass breasts" he had called them, over the "silky, smooth curve of your tummy" and down over the "secret triangle" she had already covered with the matching blue panties.

Bernard was a reporter from France who had come to her office in the City on a project long before she had met Jim. She hadn't been so careful then, and her natural curiosity and his practiced Gallic charm had made their liaison seem so logical. He must have been more than just a news reporter; perhaps his family had some money. A night in San Francisco's rooftop lounges had segued into his room-with-a-view in the expensive hotel beneath.

He was just in it for the sex, she had warned herself then. But now, as she climbed into the lower berth, she wondered where he was. Men were strange beasts, she thought. Jim was demographically just right to become her husband, and he behaved like an animal. Everything was wrong about Bernard, but as she lay between the plain covers it was his hands which she imagined touching her, not Jim's.

In her drowsy state, she came sharply once to consciousness as she remembered the stress of Jim's struggle with her bra on their first time. Then she remembered Bernard's touch again, and how her clothing had seemed to melt away as the Frenchman caressed her. Karen relaxed in her dream-Bernard's arms as he kissed the inside of her thighs, and then the dream faded into deep sleep.

She awoke after the train had left Provo, having slept much longer than she expected. She forced herself to dress for the day. At breakfast time, it was snowing on the mountains of Soldier Summit. The little guide pamphlet which the attendant had brought her told about this climb. As the train twisted upward, she thought about her grandmother again, felt guilty about thinking of her own problems last night, sure that it was wrong to have been thinking about sex so much. Grandmother had done so much in her life. Had she wasted time on this subject? Probably not, Karen supposed. She had raised a family, yes, but anyone who could put up with a Jim could have handled sex efficiently enough to have kids.

Karen opened up her briefcase and pulled out some proof-reading that she had brought from the office. She forced herself to work on it across the West Slope of Colorado, deep into Glenwood Canyon, on past lunch time. Her eyes tired, she slept in the afternoon, and awoke only when the train lurched a bit as it stopped in Winter Park.

The train was running an hour or so late in a snowstorm now, and it was dark under the storm clouds. She pulled out the guide and saw that they were in a little cowboy town called Fraser, not really at the park itself. At 8,550 feet above sea level, and cut off from the ocean by ring upon ring of fortress peaks, the air here was super cold and super dry. The tiny crystals of "freeze-dried" snow sparkled in the station's lights. The station bustled with ski-country activity.

Again, she told herself, her preoccupation with men and relationships was coloring the view out the window. There were a half dozen or so college men and women in expensive ski outfits getting off the train here. They were being met by about an equal number of friends, and as at Elko, there were embraces. Some of them seemed "just friends-ly" and some of them embraced in very familiar ways, blending colorful chartreuses, bold blues and flaming pinks into a swirl of preliminary passion.

Karen tried to tell herself that she was behaving like an old maid, reading motives into everything. These guys were going to have a great time on skis together, and so what if more happened?

For the first time on the trip, Karen enjoyed a laugh. Laughed out loud at herself. In the privacy of her compartment she watched them slide away from view, and in her new self-deprecating mood mentally let them have their fun.

It was easy to realize that there were one or more Jims in the bunch. She could picture the group around the fire in their condo, pairing off to fit a dozen people into six beds (or maybe less, she realized). She heard the ripping sound of ski clothes coming off, the little nylon hooks grabbing desperately, useless against youthful energy. She pictured urgent fingers in ringed zipper pulls, lambswool undergarments being swiftly slipped off well-exercised thighs, to release the not so recently-exercised organs that they had shielded from the cold.

The train swept by the base of the ski slopes. Bull wheels turned, skiers went up into the snowy night on lifts. They whizzed down almost to the tracks in front of her. She felt the engine pulling hard against the grade, and then the California Zephyr roared into the Moffat Tunnel. In the smoky darkness, she returned her mind to the question of whether there were "Jim's" in the ski group. This was her fantasy, real though it might turn out to have been; Karen decided to change it.

She felt herself grin as she imagined herself standing before this group and demanding a halt to the activities. Their imaginary astonishment was amusing to picture.

"Hi! You don't know me, because we're all imagining this, but my name is Karen," proclaimed Karen in her daydream, "and this is my very good friend, Bernard." She pointed out the French journalist who had entered the dream.

"Is there anyone here named Jim? Raise your right hand!" Karen demanded. All six men raised their hands, a couple of them raised their left hands accidentally, and then joined with their rights.

"I should have suspected that," Karen sniffed. "We're not here to spoil the fun, but you folks need a Sex Ed class before anything else happens." The imaginary class booed and shifted uneasily.

As the train rumbled under the Continental Divide, Karen pictured herself and Bernard working with the class, explaining not the "facts of life", but the facts of enjoyment. Just putting the brakes on the incipient mass fucking had let the men and women look at each other a bit, and Bernard's suggestions for suggestive practical exercises had reminded them that there was more to their sensual sides than a quick squeeze, penetration and an explosion.

Karen blushed at her own imagery, as she pictured herself and Bernard demonstrating the last exercise, in which she climbed on top of the dishwasher counter, allowing him to easily kiss from her toes to her lips. At this point, Bernard flexed a very dear muscle and the firelight in the condo lit a beautiful sparkle on his tip. He slipped easily into her on a silver stream. The class couples, following their example, completed the exercise in similar style, on whatever convenient spot they could find. The train emerged from the long tunnel as Karen felt the dream slip away. She forced herself to take one last look at the "class", and found that there was now no one named Jim in the room, and everyone looked warm and glowing in the firelight.

The warm, glowing image really was Pinecliffe, just past East Portal, and the train was curling, down, down into the lights of Denver. When her sleeping car had merged with those lights in suburban Arvada, Karen changed for bed, pulled up the covers and slept soundly through the Denver switching and servicing.

In the morning, she awoke as the Zephyr left Omaha and she felt wonderful. She was even able to look at a packing plant and still feel like heading to the diner for breakfast. Taking her place in the waiting line in the dome lounge, she smiled at passersby, and even chatted for a few minutes with an older lady. They talked about the mountain scenery that they had just enjoyed. Karen supposed that her private view of the mountains might have been more sensational than this lady's.

The simple breakfast felt wonderful, the bacon snapped crisply, the jam in little plastic packages seemed terrific. The older lady joined her at the dining car table, and told an interesting story about riding the Zephyr years ago, when there was a choice of famous trains through the mountains. Karen returned to her room and told herself that she should feel guilty. The Iowa landscape scrolled past her window at 75 mph; winter fields covered with old snow, front porches on white, wood frame houses, tractor supply billboards, a little insurance office. As Karen packed up her proofreading project, and put away her nightie and toiletries, she wondered how she would handle the duties awaiting her at her destination. The door of her sleeping car opened out onto grungy, winter-beset Galesburg. Her brother was waiting to greet her, gave her a hug. "You remember Mrs. Schmidt, the neighbor lady, don't you?"

"Yes." Karen flashed back to visiting Mrs. Schmidt and having cookies and milk with her son.

"She's fixed up some cold cuts for us. You'll probably be wanting some lunch, huh?" Her brother, still thinking of food!

"Okay." Karen let herself be carried back into the familiar circle of family activities.

[To be continued. The magic begins as Karen will discover an interesting family secret and enjoy her return trip on the Zephyr beyond anything in the travel brochures.]

oo0000oo 



California Zephyr Ch. 01



"What are you plotting?" The Vampire demanded breathlessly between kisses as his lover groped him energetically. Marc pulled away as quickly as he had moved in, and took a side-step, his movements as precise as a dance, to push Rayne up against the washstand in turn, coming up smartly behind him.

"Did you think I'd never done this kind of thing before?" he whispered into his companion's ear, from close behind.

The Vampire put his head back onto Marc's shoulder and admitted to himself silently that this was almost what he 'had' considered. A lifetime spent in pursuit of his own whim had left him ill prepared for sex on equal terms with someone. It was a shock to discover that there were other people still out there in the world that were as devious as he was.

Soft lips touched his ear and he shivered with pleasure as Marc whispered; "I have 'dreamed' of doing this."

Rayne yielded. It seemed too much of an effort to fight right now.

"D'you have rubbers? I left mine in my bag," the mortal whispered, nuzzling his neck as he rubbed himself urgently between Rayne's thighs. The Vampire pushed back against him bracing himself with both hands against the lip of the wash basin.

"Are you kidding?"

For a moment, Marc eased off and Rayne turned his head, conscious of the 'look' he was getting.

"What d'you mean?"

As he straightened, Rayne followed, half turning to face him, suddenly solemn. 

"What I said. We don't need them." He tried a smile but the young mortal was gazing at him with a curious mixture of incredulity and forced tolerance.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he demanded, and the force of his enquiry left Rayne in very little doubt that he could still easily blow this. "You would have..? You'd have fucking well 'let' me..?" 

He ran out of words and turned away, snatching at his pants and wrestling them back up, keeping his head bent, hiding evident disappointment behind the veil of his hair. His hands were shaking.

"Hey..." Rayne said gently, surprised by the vehemence of his reaction. "If you 'insist...'"

The other man's head came up and his eyes blazed briefly with emotion. "Do you have a death wish? Is that it?"

"No." Rayne shook his head emphatically. He held out his hands. "Hey... slow down here. I'm not gonna force you to do anything you don't want to do..."

"Damn fucking right!" Marc growled softly at him. 

He was reaching for the door latch when someone knocked from the outside and a voice said; "Hey... you gonna be in there all day, man?"

Rayne's lips quirked again at the expression on his companion's face. Marc looked torn between horror and hysteria. He turned back with wide eyes. 

"Oh hell... what now?"

"Wait for him to go away," the Vampire suggested.

"What if he won't?"

"Open the door and walk out... what can he do?" Rayne grinned. For a moment the other guy looked as if he might relent and see the funny side, then Marc looked down again. 

"What if he reports it? What if the rail people decide to prosecute or something?"

"What are they going to prosecute...? We haven't done anything. I'm a dumb English guy and you're very kindly showing me how the john works!"

A giggle escaped Marc at that and the boy put a hand over his own mouth briefly to stifle it.

"You're crazy!" he hissed at last.

"So I'm told."

Outside in the corridor the guy began to bang on the door. "Hey... c'mon I'm bustin' to pee out here!"

"Sorry!" Rayne called out in an exaggerated sing-song parody of an upper-class British accent. "Only I've got the raging shits in here... must be something off the buffet! I'd suggest you find another lavatory, sir!"

Marc clapped the other hand over his mouth and shook with suppressed laughter as the Vampire wrapped an arm around his shoulders and buttoned his fly awkwardly with the other hand.

A silence followed his words then concern replaced the irritation in the stranger's voice.

"Aww Jeez... are you okay in there? D'you want me to raise a doctor?"

Marc quivered and Rayne began to kiss him again.

"Ohhh... I think it'll work its own way through! Just... take my advice and don't touch the vol au vents, okay?"

In his embrace the boy was crying with laughter and Rayne swayed up against him, kissing his face and neck and chuckling softly to himself. 

"Sh-sh-shhhh!"

"I can't h-help it!" Marc's breath was warm on his neck. "D'you think he's gone?" 

"Shall we look?" Rayne ventured.

"Let's not." Marc kissed him more insistently. 

So, they didn't.

LATER

It was quiet outside the door when they finally emerged, dishevelled and laughing, still tangled loosely in each other's arms, during the late afternoon. Marc touched his nose to Rayne's and the Vampire caught him by the hair, pulling him closer for an instant, suddenly conscious of how hungry he was. Being confined to close quarters like this made casual hunting virtually impossible. It might have been easier if he was allowed to smoke but the afternoon's distraction had certainly helped. 

"D'you want food?" he whispered.

"I don't mind." Marc grinned at him, his face alive now, caught in the afterglow. "I think I may have read somewhere that the calorie count in a good come is astronomical."

"It isn't so bad," Rayne said, deadpan. "Better than a pack of salted peanuts, anyway!"

The young man cuffed him lightly and giggled some more. He had the cutest way of giggling. 

"I've got a bottle of vodka in my sleeper," the Vampire suggested off-hand.

"You mean to say, you have a sleeper and we just spent the last hour in a toilet cubicle?" Marc sobered and looked at him aghast. "You have style, my dear!"

"Sorry sweetheart... I'm a creature of impulse!"

Marc kissed him roughly again and spun away, virtually gliding back down the corridor. Rayne followed more slowly, watching him with an appreciative smile. This was going to be a very interesting journey after all, he decided. 

"So, where are you going?" he asked, over tall, iced glasses after lunch in the dining car. It was early evening and the sky was flushed with gold outside their windows as the express thundered on through Indiana.

"I told you." Marc said, swallowing and touching his lips to the straw again. "San Francisco."

"Sure... why?"

The young man smiled quickly and took another sip.

"This is good..." he ventured appreciatively, then sobered and said; "I'm looking at colleges out there."

"You're a student?"

"Mmmhmmm..."

"What'cha reading?"

Marc looked at him over the rim of the glass. "Lord of the Flies... in Italian."

"That's not what I meant..." Rayne grinned.

"I know."

"Italian, mind you..." The Vampire let his words hang and his smile grew more suggestive. Marc ignored him and returned his attention to the glass. "Ciao... bella.." Rayne blew a kiss and his companion retaliated with a mildly cynical expression. At last the singer stopped teasing. "Seriously....pretty deep stuff, though." 

"D'you like Golding?"

"I'm not an expert," Rayne emptied his glass and flagged down the bartender for another. "I was never much of a fiction reader."

Marc sucked on the tip of the straw again, lowering his eyes to the base of the glass. Rayne knew the move... 'Take complete advantage of those long lashes', he thought to himself. The boy was an expert; a true seducer.

"Art History," Marc said at last, licking his lips thoughtfully.

"Huh?"

"That's what I'm studying... This is my intern year."

"You have to 'work', huh?" Rayne's lips quirked sardonically.

"Don't be a bitch. I know 'how'!"

The Vampire craned his neck, looking around. 

"Am I boring you?" Marc demanded suddenly.

"Uh... no..." Rayne turned back to him, shaking his head quickly. "What time is it?"

"Time you got a watch."

"I never wear one. They go wrong on me." The Vampire's pale eyes were as bright as jewels in the overhead light. He gazed back, unblinking at his mortal companion and Marc looked away unexpectedly, then rolled back his sleeve to check his wristwatch.

"About nine thirty," he said quietly. "Is it important?"

"I just wondered... What time do we get to Omaha?"

He saw Marc's lips tighten. "Do I 'look' like a rail attendant?"

Rayne glanced back sharply at him then mellowed and shook his head. "No." He leaned forward on the edge of the counter. "I just need a fag, that's all. Then I can relax a bit."

"Very sad..." Marc shook his head despairingly, then turned back to the bar and asked for another Vodkatini.

Rayne watched him for a while in silence. Since this afternoon, the kid had been brittle with him again. He wanted to ask if Marc regretted the intimacy. Maybe they had nothing more than that in common. That and music. 

He had not been bullshitting about the albums. One of the CD's in his holdall was 'Silver Line Park'. 'Good travelling music', Marc conceded, nodding his head. 'Music to get lost to.' The young guy seemed content to hang out with him, but as the night wore on he grew more touchy, almost uncomfortable. They were scoring points off one another and Rayne found it hard to understand why. He wanted to impress the kid. He almost had to stop himself from looking out for him, then considered that maybe that was it. 

Over dinner, he had been fairly proprietary, but that was his way. He liked to take care of his lovers, always had done. Even if they were only casual flings and one night stands. Maybe Marc resented that.

He was not sure how to ask.

The bartender brought his companion's drink and automatically Rayne instructed him to put the charge on his own tab. Marc shot him another 'look' but said nothing. Once the guy had moved on to serve another couple, the Vampire said; "Am I not allowed to spoil you?"

"It isn't that," Marc retaliated at once, stirring the ice around in his glass with the long straw.

"What is it then? You resent that I can afford it?"

"No.." Dark eyes came up to meet his own and the boy's lips tightened again. "What d'you think, Rayne? D'you think that you've had me and now you can buy me off? Is that it?"

The Vampire shook his head. "I don't think that."

"Yeah... damn right you don't!" Marc pushed the straw aside and took a long slug of the drink straight from the glass. "I know what's going on in your head. You figure if you treat me right I'll roll over and beg..."

"I fucking do not!"

Several people looked along the car in his direction and Marc rolled his eyes and pretended to be absorbed in his drink, suddenly awkward again. Rayne removed the straw from his glass and emptied it at a single draught, then got to his feet and walked away. 

In his head a little voice was berating him for an idiot.

'I don't have to take that!' he told it severely.

'Yeah! You could sleep alone for the rest of the trip!' it suggested by way of retaliation. 'Good move, Wylde! Damned good move!'

Leaning in the corridor once more, kicking himself silently, he debated that he could get his bags and leave the train at the next halt. Except that the next stop was somewhere he had never heard of and it would be at least another 24 hours before the next train came through. He pushed down the window and let the darkening night billow through his hair. The express stopped in Creston, Indiana and pulled out again. He was still leaning in the corridor, staring out into the night. 

"You're here," Marc said quietly behind him. He did not need to turn around.

"Where else would I be?"

"I wondered... I thought maybe you'd jumped trains... or gone to bed."

"Like you care!" Rayne shrugged his shoulders against the night then straightened from the window and turned to face him again.

"I don't understand what your problem is," Marc told him evenly. "But if I'm gonna spend the night with you, then I think you should sort it out, or I'm sleeping coach class."

MUCH LATER

Rayne had booked the double berth for comfort, pure and simple. He hated feeling closed in and was reluctant to share his sleeping place with anyone he had not selected personally. When the door closed almost soundlessly behind Marc and the boy set his bag down on the floor, just within the encircling walls, the singer was sprawled comfortably across the mattress in the dimly illuminated compartment, with his dark blue shirt unfastened and slipping from his shoulders, drinking from the two litre bottle of Stolichnaya he had picked up at la Guardia Duty Free just a few days ago. He sat forward now and wiped the neck of the bottle, holding it out like a gift - or a bribe. 

Smiling quietly, Marc closed his fingers around the vessel and Rayne drew it, and him, back towards the bed before releasing it and letting him drink. Whilst Marc let the pure, Russian vodka burn down his needy throat, Rayne slipped steady, gentle hands beneath his sweater and unbuttoned his jeans deftly. He did not speak now. Marc had the fleeting feeling that they were beyond words. The singer's lips felt chilled against the warm flesh of his abdomen and he shivered, taking another long draught from the bottle. Rayne's hands were cold on his naked thighs when the other man drew his jeans down quickly and began to caress his slim legs and bare ass intimately. 

Wordlessly, Rayne kissed his belly and crotch, burying his face in the warm hollow of his pelvis, kissing the silken weight of his prick, teasing it with the tip of his tongue until Marc felt himself stiffen in response. He kept drinking until Rayne reached up for the bottle and murmured; "Enough..." 

Then the singer was pulling him down onto the covers and pressing him into the yielding mattress, scrambling up to kiss his neck and throat whilst peeling back the layers of his clothing. He knelt back once and drank from the bottle, then put it down by the side of the bed. His eyes were darkly luminous in the shadows beyond the small night light and a contemplative smile tugged at his full, sensuous lips very briefly before he sank down once again, taking the other man in his arms and holding him very close.

"You are incredibly beautiful," he whispered in his lover's ear, running slow hands over the warm, silken skin of the young man lying under him. Methodically, he undressed the lad, whilst Marc's fingers found and unbuttoned his fly and his own hands slipped into Rayne's snug black jeans, exploring him boldly. "I want you."

Their lips met; almost clumsy in their urgency, and Marc felt one of those strong, cold hands slip beneath him, stroking its way up his naked back to the nape of his neck and through his hair as Rayne kissed him in a relentless fashion, insinuating his vodka-tasting tongue between his bedmate's teeth and deep into Marc's open mouth; biting his lips and sucking on his own tongue as they writhed together, creating a mutual electricity. Rayne was just as excited as he was feeling; Marc was conscious of the singer's erect cock, pressing against his thigh and hip as they strained against one another. He reached between them, touching it with gentle fingers, squeezing and rubbing until he could feel the blood pulsing under his hand, and Rayne was gasping almost soundlessly between his parted lips while they kissed. 

Now the singer's mouth roamed lower again, and he teased and nuzzled Marc's neck and throat, his skilful tongue darting over the flesh, tracing shivery lines of pleasure on his lover's skin as he bent over the young man's nude torso and sucked greedily on his nipples. Softly, the mortal groaned and reached out for his hand, guiding it to his own cock and urging Rayne to fondle him there. The singer chuckled deep in his throat and his lips moved sweetly down, across his partner's flat stomach, his tongue briefly exploring Marc's navel, then licking its way south into the dark tangle of his pubic hair.

"Aa-hhhh....!" Marc exclaimed, closing his eyes as Rayne began to kiss the base of his cock, still caressing him with one cool, long-fingered hand.

"M-mmmmm..." Rayne conceded, and chuckled again, his breath a warm breeze across his bedmate's slender hips and lean thighs. He kissed his way lingeringly to the tip of Marc's erect prick then, as the naked youth tilted his chin into his chest to observe his progress, let his lips part and swallowed the head of his lover's sex deep into the wetness of his mouth.

"Ohhhh..." the boy whispered, weak with arousal, as he stroked his own fingers through Rayne's hair and urged himself in still further. "Ohhh, that feels so-ooo good!"

He thought he felt Rayne smile; a stretching and tightening of the lips that pleasured him, which only increased his sense of growing excitement. At this rate it would be over far too soon... he was so close that he felt quite faint from the sense of his imminent climax in the singer's mouth. Just as he was sure he was about to cum uncontrollably, Rayne Wylde sat back from him and began kissing his thighs very tenderly, stroking soothing hands down the length of his body until the tightness in his balls subsided and he was able to draw breath; then beginning his seduction anew. 

Marc let himself be rolled onto his side and Rayne kissed his naked back from nape to knees, running soft lips down one thigh and back up the other to the curve of his beautiful arse. Insistent fingers parted his cheeks and the tip of the singer's tongue tormented the puckered lips of his rectum mercilessly until he felt his stomach turn and clench with need. Rayne was nuzzling between his legs, kissing him there, stroking his cock with one hand and probing his thoroughly spittle-lubed arsehole with the middle two fingers of the other. Spreading his partner's lean thighs wide, he scrambled back between Marc's legs to suck on him again. Marc trembled with a need he could barely articulate, but he managed to roll himself onto the other man, pinning him down whilst he manoeuvred himself into a position that allowed him to snuggle against Rayne's pale, sleek belly, nuzzling and kissing his cock in turn. 

The singer was virtually hairless; apart from a dusting of dark curls around the base of his penis, he was as smooth as a wax doll. The head of his cock felt like wet silk as Marc swallowed it, sucking slowly and reverently, feeling Rayne's mouth still working hard on his own sex. He pressed himself deeper, as the other man's fingers penetrated him more roughly, fucking him with a fast, persistent action which gradually loosened the tight muscles of his sphincter and sent an electric tingle of longing through him. Groaning incoherently he buried his face in the dark hollow of Rayne's crotch and gripped the other man's pale thighs, pushing his jeans down to his knees and taking the singer completely in his mouth. He forced himself to breathe steadily through his nose, overcoming the instinctive gagging reflex as the beautiful Englishman's magnificent, powerful erection pulsed against the back of his throat and Rayne, in turn, swallowed him totally, sucking him hard until he wanted to cry at the sheer joy of it. 

His lover's probing fingers virtually withdrew as they writhed together on the bed, then Rayne re-entered him with three digits, thrusting them in to the third knuckle, teasing Marc's prostate with insistent fingertips until he threw back his head and gasped with pain and pleasure. This time he came hard and the gasp became a wail of longing as his balls tightened again and Rayne nuzzled their silken weight and devoured the hot, spurting river of semen hungrily, swallowing again and again. A low moan of delight escaped his chest and he eased his fingers out of his lover and turned onto his side, still nuzzling and sucking, but holding Marc to him with a reverent tenderness.

At last he let the young mortal's cock slip from his mouth (losing its rigidity quickly now that his balls were empty) licked his cum-jewelled lips and wiped his chin with one hand, then kissed Marc's stomach fondly. 




California Zephyr Ch. 01



"You are wonderful." His words broke the curious stillness between them and now he wriggled about to hold the dark maned youth in his arms more passionately, kissing his neck and his slim shoulders as they sprawled on the bed. His hands were warmer, and irresistibly powerful, as they spread Marc's thighs so that he could writhe between them sinuously, reminding his lover that he was still hard and needy. 

A shadow crossed the young man's face as he looked up into the singer's unblinking, viridescent eyes; the pupils huge and black with desire. Rayne's lips parted in a hungry smile, drawn back from his neat white teeth and in that moment Marc saw something that he later tried to believe was his imagination and the vodka combining to bewilder him. In that instant, he thought he saw Rayne's upper dog teeth extend like canine fangs until they pricked his bottom lip and drew dark beads of blood there. 

"....magnificent...." the Vampire breathed softly, bending his head to bury his nose in Marc's fine, dark hair, kissing his ear and his temple, feeling the lad resist as he probed firmly, drawing the young man's knees higher. "I want you so much. All of you... totally...."

Beneath him, Marc exhaled a tremulous breath and struggled harder. "Please..." he whispered nervously. "You can't.... not.. not like this...."

"Sshhhhh," Rayne responded almost inaudibly. "It'll be all right. I swear to you. I can't hurt you, sweetheart."

The mortal gazed up at him imploringly. "How many guys have you been with like this?" he demanded in a choked voice.

Rayne smiled, a heartbreakingly sweet expression, or it would have been if not for those incredible fanged dog-teeth.

"Hundreds..." he admitted ruefully. "I lost count a long time ago, sweetheart. But it doesn't matter any more. You see... I'm outside the rules of the game, darlin'. I'm perfectly safe."

"How can you say that?" Marc whimpered helplessly, torn between fear and longing, conscious of the tear which escaped the corner of his eye and trickled back into his hair. 

Rayne bent his head and lapped at the saline warmth tenderly. "Sweetheart," he breathed reverentially. "I can't be infected... because I'm dead. A virus needs living flesh and blood to reproduce... It simply couldn't survive in my system."

Beneath him the boy's darker eyes widened perceptibly and he began to struggle more desperately.

"You're insane!"

"No." Rayne's fingers tightened on his slim thighs and he sank down slowly, pinning Marc under him with the force of his own deceptively slight frame. "I'm more sane than you can know. But I'm not alive in the sense that you understand it. I can't be easily hurt or destroyed. And I have to feed regularly in order to maintain my own immunity." His lips found the boy's neck, where the jugular vein ran down from the brain to the heart, suffused with hot, mortal blood, and Rayne kissed him there hungrily, then let his lower jaw slacken and drop so that he was able to bite deep into flesh and sinew. 

Marc cried out in shock and growing terror, his body quivering like a tensioned rope under the Vampire's hands. He had almost stopped struggling, paralysed by his fear. Now Rayne tried to be gentle with him. The boy had already shown him such tenderness that he rebuked himself for treating Marc this way and fed from him with a careful delicacy, lapping at the blood which spurted from his ruptured vein, even as his saliva glands emitted the compound which would heal the punctures to the boy's mortal flesh before he could bleed to death. Once his hunger had been partially slaked, he realised that his companion had fainted and curled himself around the young man, holding him protectively for a while. Then - when he did not revive right away - drawing his knees higher and spitting into his palm to lube his still-erect penis. Slowly and rhythmically, now, he eased the head of his cock into his mate's unresisting arsehole until he was fully inside Marc and able to pulse smoothly, barely moving more than half an inch in and out of him until he felt the youth begin to stir in his embrace. 

Marc groaned softly, conscious of the urgent thrusting of Rayne's sex inside him as he came slowly to his senses. He was aware that they shouldn't be doing this, but at the same time the feel of the other man's cock within him was intensely arousing and he did not entirely want Rayne to stop fucking him. He was stiffening again as the singer eased under him, on his knees, pressing upward ever harder into his arse. The singer sighed with pleasure as Marc lifted his legs and hooked his knees over Rayne's shoulders riding him willingly; pressing himself down onto the Englishman's magnificent prick. The swaying rhythm of the train enhanced the urgency of their lovemaking, rolling them from side to side as Rayne's strong fingers gripped his hipbones and pulled Marc down harder and faster onto his pulsing cock, moaning with desire as he fucked the boy hungrily. 

Through the dizzying pleasure of sex, Marc recalled fragments of memory - blood and pain and extended fangs. He felt an instant of shock, then amazement. Rayne was a Vampire. He had genuine fangs... Rayne Wylde had bitten his neck and sucked his blood and now they were fucking hard like two parts of the same well-oiled machine. It was the most erotic and intense sexual experience of his lifetime. He would not normally have consented to something this primal, but it felt wonderful. Marc was hard again, and loving every moment.

When Rayne pulled out of him, he found himself sobbing uncontrollably, pleading for it not to stop yet. The Vampire enfolded him in strong arms and kissed him passionately for a little while until his hysteria calmed, then turned him firmly onto his belly and mounted him vigorously from behind. Before long, Marc was crying out at every stab of his lover's cock, pushing himself back to meet the next thrust, delirious with pleasure. 

After a while, Rayne eased out of him again and they kissed some more, then the singer sank down on the bed, his silky hair a sable halo on the pillowcase as he spread his own legs and drew his lover down between them, guiding Marc's throbbing sex into his arsehole, already slippery wet with saliva and cum. He wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the young man as Marc bucked savagely between his thighs, tiny, fragile-sounding whimpers of longing forced from his throat by each thrust of his cock. The mortal boy came inside him with a howl of animal delight; succumbing to a mind-numbing satisfaction so intense that it scoured his brain and left him dazed and shaking. 

Before he was fully recovered, Rayne was back on top of him, back inside him, screwing him again. 

Omaha came and went... and they roared on into the night, heading for Denver, oblivious to anything but their own pleasure. Rayne was insatiable, unstoppable... He fed again during the marathon lovemaking session, and this time his quarry was more than willing. It was as if the bond between them strengthened whilst he was feeding. Marc could almost feel the Vampire's pleasure as he sank fangs and penis deeper into his lover's vibrant, human body. They were kneeling on the floor of the compartment and visible in the narrow strip of mirror on the back of the door, Rayne crouched behind him, holding him and biting him, both bodies streaked with perspiration and dust and blood; hair sweat-slick and disarrayed. Marc admired the stiffness of his own cock and the jewels of spunk in his dark pubic tangle. Outside their window it was growing light and still they were fucking, as they had been since well before midnight. Rayne pushed deeply into him then, with a last, almighty effort and cried out like an animal as he climaxed long and hard, spilling his undead seed into his lover's body, bloody fangs still extended. 

"Oh fucking Christ! I adore you, sweetheart!" 

On the bed, some time later, he sucked Marc slowly and luxuriantly until the young man was equally sated, then curled around his gasping body, holding him close and finally succumbing to sleep in Marc's arms. His mortal lover shared his exhaustion and quickly sank into dreams beside him, wrapped around Rayne Wylde, pulling the Vampire to him as if he would never let go. His deep sleep was peppered with erotic echoes of their earlier passion. From time to time their lips touched again, kissing blindly, or a hand would stray down and cup it's partner's cock and balls, stroking raw flesh tenderly and abstractly. 

Marc was stiff and sore when he woke, in the sweltering heat of midday. In spite of this he still had an erection. Rayne was bent over him, naked and smoothly beautiful, washing him gently with a cold, wet towel. His touch was blissful after the exertions of the previous night and Marc lay supine, sprawled on the bed, just letting him do whatever he desired. 

"Where are we?" he whispered at last and Rayne murmured; 

"I dunno... Colorado somewhere. The corridors are full of hikers."

"I don't think I'll ever move again," Marc told him huskily.

Rayne only kissed his forehead, smoothing aside the tangle of his damp hair. 

"Rest," he exhaled softly at last. "We've a long way to go."

END OF PART ONE

To Be Continued...



California Zephyr Ch. 02



by Josh & Sadie Rose

Part Two LAST CALL FOR THE REAL WORLD

Rayne was curled up on the rumpled, spunk-stained sheets of the bunk with his earphones in and the battery-powered laptop propped against his knees when Marc came back from the shower room feeling quite refreshed for that blast of alternate hot and cold jets. He had been slightly disappointed that the singer did not volunteer to join him but, with hindsight, supposed that the other man was probably dog-tired after last night, and in any case had already taken a shower whilst he was sleeping. If he was feeling as raw and sore as Marc did right now, he could not be entirely blamed for passing. 

Now, as he let himself back into the compartment, still towelling his wet hair, a pair of ice green eyes, so pale they were virtually colourless, flickered upward briefly in acknowledgement. The singer did not speak, only smiled very slightly, and carried on tapping the keys with fast, deft fingers. Marc closed the door and stripped out of his jeans and t-shirt, rummaging in his holdall for fresh underwear and clean t-shirt. He pulled them on casually before coming over to slump down on the bed beside the lean, naked Englishman.

For a while he lay with his damp head cradled in the crook of one arm, watching the way Rayne's fine, sable hair tumbled forward in delicate fronds, framing his fine, angular, alabaster features. His sensuous mouth was relaxed, the full, bloodless lips slightly parted as he hummed almost inaudibly to the song playing in his headphones. Occasionally he smiled to himself as the keys clicked softly under his fingertips. His teeth were small, perfect ivory pearls in the pink, lush warmth of his mouth. The memory of those soft, warm lips wrapped around the shaft of his cock, sucking hard, got Marc semi-erect again, in spite of the cold water. He rolled himself quickly onto his belly to hide the conspicuous bulge in the crotch of his pants.

Almost absently, Rayne's left hand moved off the keys and the backs of his fingers stroked Marc's wet hair; a brief, tender, affectionate gesture which brought a smile to his mortal companion's lips. Even with the air conditioning turned up full it was sweltering in here and finally Marc pushed up the hem of his t-shirt to his ribs, considering that Rayne had the right idea. The Englishman's fingers caressed the exposed flesh of his bare back responsively, although he carried on typing with his right hand as if this was something he did every day of his life. His aqueous, peridot gaze was intent and preoccupied; long black, girlish lashes almost fanning his ashen cheeks as he worked. Through the ragged tumble of his near-shoulder length mane, his tip-tilted nose protruded slightly, adding to the elfin sexiness of his appearance. 

At last, Marc tired of being ignored and tugged on one of the dangling wires which trailed down from his hair. Those enquiring eyes met his own again, silently. 

"What are you listening to?" the boy wanted to know.

Rayne Wylde reached up to his left ear and removed the small, black nodular headphone. Gently, he swept Marc's damp hair back from his neck and put the miniature amplifier into his ear. At once, David Bowie's dulcet, gravelly tones sang; "I've been putting out the fire with gasoline....."

The young man settled down beside him once more in companionable silence, tapping his feet to the song. When it ended, he mused; "What are you writing?"

"My diary," Rayne said, in a distracted tone nearly as husky as Bowie's... the first words Marc had heard him speak all morning. 

"You keep a diary?"

"I have to... it's part of the conditions of my employment. I e-mail it back to my editor in daily instalments, so they can see that I'm working..." He turned his head slightly and winked at Marc in the manner of a conspirator. "Then they decide what gets put in the final article."

Marc looked up at him, intrigued. "Am I in it?"

A wry smile twisted his companion's lips as he bent his head over the keyboard once more. "You might be..."

"Let me see." Marc pushed himself to his knees at once, trying to peer over Rayne's shoulder. At once the other man clicked on 'save' and flipped down the lid of his machine, shaking his head adamantly. Marc made a grab for the laptop, refusing to be denied and the singer wrestled it away from him, setting it down on the far side of the bunk whilst he held the young man off with his left hand. 

"No... Be told..."

"Not fair! If I'm in it I wanna look," Marc protested, still trying to get around him and reach the machine. "You could have said anything! D'you think I like the idea of people reading about what we did last night? Or am I not supposed to matter?"

"It's a monthly English minority rag, not fuckin' GQ!" Rayne snapped at him, losing his temper without warning. "I didn't put your full name... let's face it... I don't even know your last name! Who the fuck d'you suppose is gonna read it and guess it's about you?"

"I wanna know what you said," Marc persisted, making a last game attempt to scramble over him and reach the laptop.

This time, Rayne grasped him by the shoulders and slammed him back down hard on the bed. Marc's eyes went wide, more with shock than pain, but the singer must have registered that tiny instant of fear in his dark gaze as he realised how vulnerable he was. Time stopped for a moment and he was allowed a world in which to regret his reaction. His hands released Marc's slender arms and the young man scrabbled backwards, away from him, almost automatically.

"I'm sorry," Rayne told him neutrally, sitting back and reaching for the machine to turn it off. "I over-reacted. I shouldn't have done that. Sometimes I forget my own strength."

"You're telling me!" Marc exclaimed huskily, rubbing at his upper arms with both hands to dispel the tingling sensation there. No doubt, by tonight there would be more bruises there to add to the dark mottling on his hips and thighs where Rayne had gripped him as he pulled himself deeper last night. Marc made himself think of something else, with difficulty.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," the singer swore with apparent sincerity.

"If that was a love tap, I'd hate to be around when you really lose it." The young man was shaking his head unhappily now. "Look, if having secrets is so damned important to you, just forget it... 'kay? I don't wanna know!"

Rayne lowered his head, looking suddenly contrite. "I was out of order... I shouldn't have written about it in the first place," he said in that mellifluous, lazy, smoky voice that made him sound like the love child of Michael Caine and Marianne Faithful; albeit an adult lovechild, who was busy getting his cock sucked and adoring every minute of it. "Last night was out of this fuckin' world, darlin'. The best thing that's happened to me since I got here! My editor'll love it... but if you'd prefer I can get her to change your name."

When he lifted his head, Marc was gazing at him speculatively. Rayne forced a smile he clearly wasn't feeling.

"Did you tell her everything?" the young American asked him in mildly incredulous tones.

A small shrug presaged his answer. "More or less."

Marc tried and failed to suppress a nervous grin.

"D'you think she gets off on it?"

Rayne's own smile grew more contemplative. "Actually... I reckon she's a lesbian. She probably thinks that I make it all up to shock her."

Across the bunk from him, Marc bent his head, twisting tendrils of his dark hair around his fingers.

"We could send photographs!" When he looked up at the singer, the expression on his face was incontrovertibly wicked. 

Rayne met it with an astonishing, brilliant, fanged smile.

"Fuckin' hell! Why didn't 'I' think of that?"

At Glenwood, many of the hikers departed the train and a new breed of traveller flooded on board, lugging heavy cases and trailing extensive families behind them. The balance of passengers was subtly changing again. It was something which did not become immediately obvious to Rayne or his partner, since they had spent much of the day ensconced in his sleeper, trying out new and increasingly un-photographable configurations of the previous night's experiments. Between them, they figured out the programming for the expensive digital camera which Grant Jackson had provided with the laptop when Rayne Wylde set out from Heathrow. So far he had not used it, which meant that he had no pictures at all of his time in New York or Chicago. That was the least of his concerns right now.

He was leaning back against the dividing wall of the sleeper compartment with his knees drawn up and Marc sitting astride him, reaching back to touch his thighs and writhing down slowly onto his deliberately well-lubed cock. The boy was still pretty sore after last night, and so they had taken their time today and the Vampire had already spent a distracting hour applying lubricant to his lover's naked body and massaging him gently all over.

Now he was trying to work out how to get all of the boy into the frame of his camera lens from such close proximity. In between, he thumbed back through the shots they had taken already, bringing up the tiny, perfect images on the rear-screen viewer and smiling with satisfaction. The young man was very photogenic. They would probably look delicious together, he decided and was obscurely pleased with the idea. In the meantime, he had to content himself with imagination, and the twenty three photos he had already amassed of their current sex session.

It was quite gloomy... he decided, squinting through the viewfinder again then reaching out to release the blind over the window. Last time he had lifted the roller, Colorado had been rushing past his car in glorious Technicolor. Now he came face to face with a concrete wall, and then a man in a long, dark coat and a flat, wide-brimmed black hat. The fellow stared at him in total disbelief for a second or two, then Rayne was snatching for the cord and yanking the blind back down whilst Marc laughed hysterically, falling forward against him, quivering with shock and hilarity.

"Ohh... oh jesus!" 

"When the fuck did we stop?" Rayne demanded.

"I - I dunno..." The young man giggled helplessly against his shoulder. "Ohh... his face!"

Rayne succumbed to the contagion of his laughter at last. It seemed the only recourse, although he felt an undercurrent of anxiety that had nothing to do with the shocked expression of the suited gentleman on the station platform. His instincts were prickling a warning. There was something else going on here that he should be aware of, but he couldn't quite reach it. Instead he buried his concerns by immersing himself in Marc, pulling the gorgeous kid into his arms and thrusting up into him more deliberately until the boy's giggles turned to little moans of need and desire.

 They were fucking hard again by the time the train lurched on its way, the incident forgotten as they twined around oneanother, Marc sprawled on his back with his slim legs wrapped around his lover's waist as Rayne sank down onto him, enfolding him and rubbing himself urgently against his partner's naked body, ramming himself in as deeply as he could whilst the boy cried out hungrily in his fierce embrace.

Rayne and his lover were curled up together more tenderly when Marc asked him; "Do you want to bite me again?"

"No," Rayne lied, burying his face in the other man's soft, dark hair and wishing it were true. "I'm just fine like this."

Marc snuggled nearer to him and made a series of small, contented noises which were oddly endearing, yet plucked at his conscience all the same. San Francisco was still a day away and already he was beginning to get concerned that Marc was too fond of him. Something would have to be done about that, but for now he was happy to hold the boy and lie to him to keep him sweet. He still wanted sex, in spite of their exertions since last night, but his bedmate was sore and exhausted and badly needed to rest.

"You're really a vampire?" Marc whispered sleepily, disturbing his train of thought.

"Uh-huh..." the vampire responded inarticulately.

"And you have to suck blood to survive?"

"Something like that," Rayne said with a grim smile.

"So... am I a Vampire? Now you've bitten me?" 

He chuckled softly to himself. "No, sweetheart.. it doesn't work like that."

"Awww..." Marc nuzzled his collar bone intimately, his breath quick and hot on the singer's neck. "Shame..."

"There's Vampires and there's Food..." Rayne said, more clinically.

"Mmmm?" The youngster pushed himself up onto his forearms, leaning on Rayne's chest with a querulous frown. "Pardon? Are you trying to suggest that I'm nothing more to you than a Big Mac?"

"Perhaps a bit more than that!" Rayne conceded with an amicable smile. "Extra fries maybe?"

His partner cuffed him smartly around the head. 

"So... how'd you become a Vampire then? Or have you always been one?"

"It's a long story," Rayne said non-committally, letting the slap go unpunished.

"We've a long way to go," Marc reminded him.

His companion shrugged awkwardly. 

"Just believe me when I say, I didn't ask for it to happen and if I could change things back so that I was mortal again, I'd do it like a shot!"

Marc's eyes widened incredulously. "You're serious?"

"Yeah... Deadly!" His smile was distinctly humourless. "'Un'-deadly!"

"Why?"

Rayne just looked at him for a long, speculative moment. His myriad personal reasons for hating his existence winked out of sight in the face of Marc's implacable curiosity and enthusiasm. 

"I just am... Imagine living forever, will you? Imagine having to go on and on like this, never settling, never trusting... Always dreading that someone will find out and make your life a misery on the back of it!"

"Sounds a bit like being queer..." Marc bent his head to hide a rueful grin. 

"Oh, believe me... it's a billion times worse!" Rayne assured him. "At least the queer-bashers at my school didn't come round looking for me with salt and sharpened stakes. They were scared... but not as scared as they would have been if they'd known I could rip out their lungs and use them for footballs."

Dark eyes met his own again. "Have you always known you were gay?" Marc asked tentatively.

"I'm 'not' gay," Rayne said, deadpan. 

He got a 'look' in response... a look that said more than a hundred sceptical words. Marc only said; "'kay... Bi then?"

Rayne only shrugged. "I dunno...."

"You must have 'some' idea," the boy pressed him incredulously.

"No... really. It just sort of happened. One day I was fucking girls and the next I was fucking guys... I can't put a finger on it. I was straight til late in my teens... I never fancied a boy until I was about twenty." He leaned back in the pillows and folded his arms behind his head, lulled by the rocking motion of the train beneath him.

Marc stared at him. "I read somewhere that you lost your virginity to a guy when you were thirteen," he said defiantly, at last.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read," Rayne told him.

"So it's not true?"

For a moment the Englishman was silent, staring up at the ceiling of the compartment as if he saw a different scene up there. Marc crossed his hands on the other man's breast and rested his chin on the backs of his knuckles. Finally, in a voice that was no more than a breath, Rayne answered; "No... it's true."

"I don't understand...." 

"No..." Rayne agreed, a little more firmly. "Of course you don't... I would never expect you to. At least.. I would hope that you never, 'ever' have to understand."

He glanced downward, meeting Marc's eyes and seeing the thoughtful expression on his face turn slowly to horror. The boy's lips parted in a breathless gasp of realisation.

"Y-you were raped?" he exhaled, almost choking on the words.

Rayne nodded his head once.

"Oh my god!"

A gentle hand reached down and stroked Marc's hair tenderly. "Sshhh... it was a long time ago."

The young man stared back at him. "You were thirteen years old?"

"Yeah..." said Rayne Wylde levelly. "Just about... it was my birthday present, believe it or not! A coming of age gift from my darling uncle Bryan!"

Bitterness crept into his words and Marc crept around him again, wrapping quick, comforting arms about the other man's body.

"Oh god... no!"

"Oh god, 'yeah'..." the singer nodded adamantly. "Only 'I' got all the 'cum', and I 'aged' about fifty years in the process!"

"Wasn't there anyone you could tell?" Marc demanded, incredulously.

"Sure there was... but how many of them would have believed me? I was a kid with a reputation for being a bit wild... child of a broken home. My parents separated when I was ten. Me and my mum and Skye-Ann were living under Bryan's roof... he was married to my mother's twin sister, for fuck's sake! It was his word against mine, and he was a respected 'pillar of the community'!" 

 He said this last part with heavy sarcasm. 

 "My sister, Skye, ran away to have an abortion because he got her pregnant. She was still at school. When she left he started fucking 'me' instead!"

Marc had turned paler than usual. "It happened more than once?" he queried weakly.

Rayne just chuckled unpleasantly at that. For a while he leaned back with his head in his long hands, gazing up at the roof of the car. At last he exhaled a little sigh. In a soft, almost melodic voice, he murmured; "Every Tuesday night, my mum and aunty Iris went playing bingo in Hythe. They dropped Iris and Bryan's twin girls off at Brownies on the way and picked them up as they were coming back. The house was empty for an hour and a half. I was expected to be home before they left, so that mum could make sure I did my homework. If I didn't come home on time I could expect the Belt for it. 

 "So-o-o...." he breathed portentously; "I was alone in the house with Bryan for all that time. Every Tuesday night, for about a year and a half, Bryan had me, naked, on a towel on the bed in the room he shared with his wife. And there was nothing I could do about it. He made me strip...if I refused he stripped me, then beat me for it. He was twice my size, sweetheart!" 

 Rayne said this in an imploring tone, almost as if he was trying to convince himself of his own lack of complicity. He closed his eyes as though he could banish the memories that way, forcing them out of his head.

For a moment, Marc could only hold him tighter, not knowing what to say. The singer was slight and frail-looking as a grown man. One could only imagine how tiny he had been as a boy of thirteen. He pressed his face into the hollow of Rayne's neck and shoulder, kissing him there softly.

"Oh, my dear... I'm so sorry..." he whispered at last, touching his mouth to Rayne's ear. "That's why, of course... why you were so... reluctant...."

"No..." Rayne told him quietly, folding his arms around the mortal with unexpected tenderness. "I'm just a good old, honest control freak... I'd rather fuck than be fucked... it's nothing to do with 'him'. Although there is one thing in his favour... he taught me to give spectacular head!"

Marc laughed nervously at that.

"I can't disagree!" He hesitated, then ventured; "How did you stop him?"

"It was messy..." Rayne confessed evasively. "Ultimately, I told my mum that something was going on. She didn't believe it at first, but finally she took me to our doctor and the guy examined me and took her out of the room for a while. They talked for a bit and a nurse came out and sat with me. Then the police turned up. Apparently he called them right away. He was pretty sure I'd been sexually abused."

"So they arrested your uncle?" Marc finished for him, hugging him tightly.

"Mmhmmm... although they let him go again after they'd questioned him," Rayne told the boy ruefully. "It's the hardest thing in the world to take to court. 'Apparently'!" A cynical edge crept back into his words.




California Zephyr Ch. 02



The story continues in Galesburg, Illinois

- Prof. Richard W., formerly of _________ University

oo0000oo

The morning after the memorial service, Karen slept late. She awoke in her old bedroom, and a flood of memories filled her mind as she opened her eyes. It was chilly in the room, and she tried to stay under the covers as long as she could. The old grandfather clock chimed, but she ignored it. 

Finally, the aroma of breakfast reached her and she had to get up. When she had washed up, she went downstairs in her robe and found her brother frying bacon. The sizzle and snap in the pan, the coffee dripping into the carafe, the toast burning a bit on the edges, all merged together.

"All of this stuff, somebody says, is BAD for you," her brother laughed. "How much do you want on your plate?"

Karen had to laugh with him. She ignored her diet and filled her plate. Yesterday had been bittersweet, as friends and family had remembered her mother. Today, it felt good to laugh.

Turning serious, her brother reminded her that today they had to go downtown to see the lawyer and sign some papers.

"You'll remember the lawyer. It's Fred Schmidt." He scraped the rest of the bacon onto his plate and sat down at the table. "Didn't you go out with him once?"

Karen's brother was younger than she was, and apparently didn't remember that she and Fred were "steady" for a while. And, reflected Karen, her brother apparently didn't know how far Fred's Chevy had taken them... with the parking brake on.

So many memories were coming back to her on this trip- why not these? As she sipped her coffee, Karen remembered how sweet Fred had been, and how excited she'd been, him being on the football team and so forth. They had been out at the lake on a warm early fall evening after a show, and everything had been perfect. Kisses had turned into caresses, and then she had realized that his hand was inside her blouse. Instead of objecting, she had sighed a bit and pretended that she was too busy kissing him to resist. He had lifted her bra off her nipples, and then unbuttoned her blouse.

She had never let a boy kiss her there before, but somehow it seemed just right with Fred. Her sighs had become genuine as his lips circled and then sucked on her hardened nipples. Their excitement sent warm messages down through every part of her, and for the first time, she had realized how easy it would be to go just a bit further... and further yet. She had slid her hands between his knees and worked her way up, until she felt how ready he was, too.

She had started to picture the two of them tumbling, embracing into a four-poster bed, when a car had driven by slowly behind them. Karen and Fred both had jumped upright at that, did some deep breathing, and somehow discovered that they both had gone far enough. Fred had given her one last kiss on her left breast, and then he had gently covered her up, rebuttoning her blouse (with some difficulty).

"Next time, this is where I'll start," he had whispered.

It was to be her last intimate kiss from Fred. Karen took another sip of coffee, and realized that her hands were clutched tightly around the cup when she thought of it that way.

"Karilee, the bitch!" She muttered the name to herself, and then wondered if her brother had heard her. He did not look up from his bacon. Things had been so wonderful, and then the starting quarterback was injured, and then Fred was moved into the starting slot, and then Karilee, Fall Harvest Queen had moved into Fred's life. The only thanks that she'd gotten was victorious sarcasm from Karilee.

"Thanks for warming Fred up for me," she had purred as she passed Karen at her locker. "He was really great for me at the lake." Karen had already heard from the rumor mill how great it was. Fred's place as quarterback was now complete, with his not-so-Virgin Queen selecting him as her consort.

Now Fred was married to Karilee. Karen had seen them together at the memorial service; to her satisfaction, small town cooking had started to show on Karilee. The breasts, bigger than Karen's, were getting a bit sloppy. The waistline that seemed smaller than Karen's had now overtaken her. It even looked as though she was wearing a larger shoe size. This had flashed through Karen's mind when she should have been thinking Serious Thoughts, and she had shut off these ideas as unworthy.

The thoughts had come back to her as she dressed, however. In her old room, the teddy bear watched as she inspected herself in the mirror. She might not be a beauty queen, but she was staying in shape. Lingerie from one of the City's finer boutiques would add to the effect. She chose a cheering-up bra and panty set with lots of lace, then put on a serious-looking blouse and skirt. She was ready to go downtown. ---

At the law office, Fred was running late, but his secretary had the papers ready. Karen and her brother read them over. She found herself wishing that her mom and dad were still around to do this part.

Finally, Fred showed up. She hadn't gotten a very good look at him at the service. He was more mature looking than she had expected, and must have kept working out somehow, because he had stayed slim. She concentrated on listening to him explain what they had to sign, and on the details of signing, but every so often her memories kicked in.

"And lastly," she heard him say, "there's this note from your grandmother to you, Karen." He handed her a sealed envelope with her name written on it in a familiar old-fashioned hand.

"How odd," Karen blurted out. She reached out in a tentative way, and then took the envelope. Fred handed her a letter-opener, and she ripped into the flap. There was a short message; Karen read it silently, and then aloud:

"Dear K'ren (her grandma's nickname for her), since I do not have a safety deposit box. I have left some papers with Fred, including this letter. There is a ring of mine which I would like you to have. It is hidden behind the molding in the southwest corner of my bedroom.

I know that you will be careful with this ring, but you must not just treat it carefully, but also be careful in how you choose to use it. May it bring you as much pleasure as it brought me."

Beneath the message, she reminded Karen of her love, and then had signed in large, bold strokes.

Her brother started packing up his things, looking a bit miffed. 

"I have to excuse myself now, because I've got to get back into the office. Can I drive you home now, sis?" Karen looked at her watch and realized that more time had passed than she had expected. Fred intervened, and pointed out that his next appointment was for lunch out at the country club. He could drop Karen by the house, and her brother could get right over to his office. ---

In the car, he laughed as he admitted that his real reason for volunteering the drive was to drop in and help her look for the ring. They talked the rest of the way about mutual friends. Karen noticed that he never mentioned his wife. As they rode along, she couldn't help but think of the drive out to the lake so many years ago. --- Their voices dropped to quiet tones as they entered her grandmother's bedroom. Fred knelt at the baseboard molding, and pulled at it every so far into the corner. There was a loose piece in the corner, which he pulled away, and there was an old-fashioned ring box tucked into a spot hollowed out in the plaster.

He handed it to Karen, almost shyly it seemed to her, without saying a word. She opened it and the ring glistened dully in its velvet nest. It needed polishing.

"Try it on," Fred urged. She did. It fit perfectly. She held her hand out to Fred, who took it in his. He held it steady as he inspected the ring. "Very nice on you," he murmured, and he let her hand go.

"I wish," thought Karen, "that he'd held on a few seconds longer." All the yearning from school days was coming back to her.

Fred took her hand again and kissed it.

"You look so good!" he exclaimed, stepping back to look her over fully.

"You do, too!" Karen blurted and blushed.

"I need to get going now," Fred hurriedly whispered. Karen thought that he looked sweet when he was trying to sound like he was in charge.

They went out of her grandmother's room, down the hall, towards the stairs, past Karen's old room.

"Just a minute, I want to show you something in our Senior yearbook." Karen and Fred had disagreed on the first name of a mutual acquaintance from school days in their recollections. She turned and entered her room. Fred stood in the doorway, watching her.

Her head spun with the thoughts of him; she remembered how she had spent nights, afternoons, mornings ("Hell, whole days," she mocked herself) dreaming about him in this room. She remembered Karilee's scorn; how Karilee's whole circle of friends had condescended to her after they took Fred in.

"I want him. Right here, right now! Too bad he's married to that bitch," she told herself, and then she started to reach to an upper shelf for the yearbook.

Somehow, Fred was right behind her now, embracing her and leaning his head over her shoulder to kiss her ear. His hands swept up from her waist and cupped her breasts through the blouse. As his embrace tightened, she felt the urgent pressure building below his belt, nuzzling her firm rear-end. He was unbuttoning her blouse.

She squirmed free long enough to turn and face him; the embrace resumed, two-sided now, as she ran her hands over his muscles.

Tiny, tentative kisses quickly turned into hungry explorations. They tried intermittently to get words out, but their passion carried them along without verbs. Her blouse opened, his hands caressed the mild curve of her tummy, and then his lips were tracing the lace of her bra.

His hands found the fastenings and her top went slack. Smoothly, he caressed his way under it to her left breast. He lifted the bra and kissed her gently along the side, being careful not to rush the nipple. Then he pulled away.

"This is where I'll start," he said quietly. Karen started to cry. Her tears ran down both their faces. This moment was so right and yet it was so wrong. And then she thought of Karilee.

"Let's slow down a bit," she gasped. Fred looked disappointed as he pulled back, still embracing her. He was taking this one way, but Karen had something else on her mind: just slowing things down and enjoying her ascendancy.

"Just sit down on the edge of the bed. I want you to enjoy watching me undress." The sexy City lingerie would finally get a chance to earn its way in the world.

Fred sat down, watching her intently. She had his complete attention; his luncheon was forgotten, but she enjoyed developing the replacement hunger. Her unbuttoned blouse framed her breasts. She leaned back a bit to take it off, letting her shoulders emerge and projecting the hardened nipples toward Fred at the same time. Her blouse slipped to the floor.

With a similar motion, the lacy confection which had held her breasts fell away. She put the eager points within inches of Fred's lips, and teased him by pulling away when he moved to kiss them.

Now topless in her business skirt, she twirled one turn and let Fred enjoy her curves. She knew how visual men are, but this was her first try at a complete strip tease. The growing effect on Fred was becoming obvious, as he moved to "straighten himself up."

She lowered the skirt slowly, watching his eyes follow it down her legs. They weren't "model" length, but they were long enough to be an asset, and she remembered that Bernard of long ago had loved to compliment them.

She stepped out of the skirt. His eyes ran back up her legs, and she smiled as he saw how eagerly he tried to make out her shape through the panty lace, all while he wanted to seem suave or cool. As she removed each stocking, his eyes followed the same path, always returning to his goal, and he blushed when he knew that she saw through his studied casualness.

"Now, I'm going to undress you," Karen purred. She moved close to him, letting him feel her warmth, and she unbuttoned and unzipped him as slowly as she could.

His briefs swelled up as the zipper went down, filling the gap she had opened. She let her hand graze over the cotton covering and saw his mixed reaction: the joy and pleasure of her touch, and the betraying fear of prematurely ejaculating from the thrill.

She worked her hands into his pants and pulled them away. They were down to their last coverings: his plain white briefs masking the male power building up beneath them, and her elegant lace radiating the feminine warmth that was about to capture all of his excitement.

She gently placed herself beside him on the edge of the bed, so that he could feel that warmth. They embraced, and his hand slipped over the lace, tracing it with his fingers, then holding the source of the heat in his hand.

It felt so beautiful, that Karen forgot Karilee for a while, as she accepted his kisses offered everywhere. Then the image of scornful Karilee flashed into her head one more time, and for a moment she found herself hoping that Karilee had been Fred's one and only bedmate- partly for health reasons, but really to make this moment especially thrilling... for both of them.

Karen leaned back on the pillows of her childhood, and raised her pelvis slightly. Fred's hand followed to the waistband of her panties. "Now, take me!" she whispered urgently. Fred responded with a quick tug of the elastic around her waist, and then trailed her last covering with kisses down those long legs. Karen lay there in her warm glory, her blonde hair showing against the pink flush of her skin.

He pulled away. She looked up at him, saw him outlined against the frilly curtains as the afternoon sun hit the window. He stretched the band of his briefs and stepped out of them. Now unrestrained, his penis swung upwards in a powerful movement, assuming the shape that she yearned to see. Initially, she had formed the idea that this would be a simple act of revenge on her part. She would fake excitement and bring Fred to a climax as quickly as possible, getting the deed done. But now, as he moved toward her, she realized that faking it would be unnecessary.

"Make this last, Fred!" she thought to herself. He knelt on the bed, and they again exchanged kisses, caresses, and whispered urgencies. Just when she began to want to get Fred into herself, he moved down and began kissing from her toes up. Leaving a cool, wet trail with his tongue, his kisses focused her mind on his approaching entry. Higher and higher along her legs, inside her thighs he kissed, and then his tongue was deep into her vulva, penetrating, swirling her senses, taking her to the edge. His kisses came back to her breasts, and then her lips again, as he positioned himself. All of the excitement which he shared with her had perfectly whetted her appetite for his entry. Her warm wetness merged with his own silvery flow to bring him smoothly in.

Nothing in her schoolgirl daydreams in this room had matched the glow that spread over her. Karen found herself visualizing the room from many angles, looked down from above the bed and saw her legs and arms wrapping over Fred's rippling back. His hips flexed in strong waves, moving in ancient rhythms, and she saw the warm colors of passion flow out from him into her.

The orgasm which she had told herself she would have to fake was there, stalking her, moving in on her, she realized. A part of her still did not want to enjoy this, wanted to gloat about Karilee, but suddenly the feeling of being a part of Fred, and him a part of her, overcame her, became more important than a victory celebration. She looked over his shoulder and saw her teddy bear looking blankly down, then she looked into Fred's eyes and saw his coming climax shining in them.

She blinked and closed her eyes and surrendered to the waves that washed over them. Fred exploded inside her. ---

They were drenched with sweat as Fred pulled himself from her. She held him in her vagina as long as she could, savoring the intimacy. Finally, he slipped out and lay beside her, their bodies cooling like sprinters laying on the grass after a race. Occasionally, one or the other of them carried the analogy further and stretched a leg muscle that threatened to tighten up. Karen kissed his chest, and Fred responded by tracing her shape with one hand, gently cupping her breasts as he passed them.

His fingers rested for a long time in the moist tangle of blondeness below her waist.

"I wish..." his voice started strong and trailed off.

"You wish what?" she asked. "Tell me."

"I don't know." He paused. "I guess that I wish that I had known you better a long time ago."

Karen smiled, wanted to cheer. But she stayed calm.

"It's just the ring," she said dismissingly.

"The ring?"

"Sure, didn't my grandmother's letter say that it would bring me pleasure?" 

"It did. It brought you!" She was saying this to turn the conversation lighter, but on second thought, things had gone so very well. She looked down at the ring. "It must have been magic," Fred laughed, because I didn't believe that this would all happen so beautifully. I was going to suffer terrific performance anxiety with you." "With me?" now Karen laughed. "Yes, I had so many mixed feelings about you, about how I treated you back in school, about what would happen now...."

"Shhhh!" Karen raised her finger to his lips to silence him. He had said enough. "It really must have been the ring."

They both laughed again.

Just when it seemed that this moment could last forever, the grandfather clock chimed. Fred sat upright.

"My meeting!" he remembered.

"Can you call them and reschedule it?"

"I'll see." He stepped over to his coat and fished in it, pulling out a folding cellular phone. In a moment he was talking with the hostess at the country club, finding out if he could get word to his luncheon host. Karen watched him standing there, looking a bit incongruous - his naked body glistening, his voice all business on the phone. Suddenly, an idea occurred to her.

"What if the ring were kind of magic? Everything that I asked him to do, he did," she mused. It was a schoolgirl idea, of course, but it seemed easy to think that in this school days inner sanctum. She looked down at the ring and idly stroked it with one finger, enjoying the smooth metal.

"If it is going to be magic, I'd like to have him stay here a little longer." Her brother would not be back for quite a while. "This kind of revenge, if that's what it was, is sweet." She realized then that his abandoned host was now on the phone. If the ring was magic, it would have to work fast.

She sat up in the bed, and gave him her best effort at a come-hither look. 

His male equipment hung loosely, but she tried to visualize it as being erect again. Was that how the ring had worked? She tried to visualize him saying that he'd have to make the luncheon another day.

And it worked. He looked up and smiled at her, acknowledging her presence for the first time since he had plunged into the business discussion. He must have thought that this was all that he was doing, but Karen saw his penis make a tentative, involuntary move, and then it began to struggle upward.

Karen grinned, climbed from the bed, and walked slowly toward him. She realized that her own body was doing more than acting. Her skin flushed and her excitement showed. He blinked, and the far-off telephone expression in his eyes changed suddenly, as he saw the dangerous weapons approaching him.

She circled him, as he tried in desperation to speed up the long-winded caller. Then she knelt at his feet and took kisses up his thighs, bringing his voice to a tremble as he realized where her lips were headed.

The target of her trail of kisses was not cooperating with the now frantic lawyer. She kissed its frantically working balls, and continued over their hairy curves. On her first contact with the base of his penis, it ignored his obvious mental order to behave, and the lazy erection shot up into the beautiful arc that she had seen earlier. She worked her kisses to its tip. Finally, after what seemed like ages, he had extricated himself with an urgent excuse, and disconnected the caller. They playfully raced to the bed, Fred reaching it first.




California Zephyr Ch. 02



"This time, you can relax. I'll do all the work," she murmured, as she indicated to him that he should lay down.

She knelt over him, letting her hair brush over his body, and then she knelt over him. His hard staff went easily into her, and she felt the thrill of being able to position it in just the right spot, moving around him at just the right pace.

His hands rested at her waist; she could see that he was enjoying being able to look her over, that he was enjoying her enjoyment. She laughed out loud from the sheer pleasure. Fred grinned, and told her to do it again, that he loved being inside her laughter.

As instinct began to control her movements, he slid his hands up her side, caressing, cupping, gently squeezing her breasts. He asked for her rosebuds, and instead of it sounding corny, it was perfect. She leaned down for his kisses on their tips.

As his tongue swirled over them, and as her circling muscles stroked her captive, she began to envision a huge ring, surrounding them, floating in a warm sea. The ring was closing in on them, but that felt good, not frightening.

She blacked out for a moment at the climax, but Fred's strong arms kept her upright. She came back as she realized that he was now driving deep into her, and then, with a near groan, he flooded her with the pure whiteness that, as he pointed out after, was truly made for her.

"Perhaps this ring IS magic," they both said in unison afterward, and then they laughed in intimate enjoyment one more time. He slipped out quickly as she pulled herself away. Karen thought of her brother coming home soon, and this time she did not try to hold Fred longer.

She no longer felt a burning need for revenge, but she did have one last thought, and it seemed to close that chapter. She hoped that Karilee would feel horny tonight, and try to get Fred's interest up.

Then she wondered whether the ring MIGHT be magic, and whether it would work long-distance. She evened the score by visualizing Fred enjoying himself with Karilee sometime off in the future. She did not want to think of herself as ruining his life, or maybe even Karilee's. ---

Karen did not try to follow up on this too-special day. She went about her remaining business in Galesburg in the days that followed. Fred called that next morning, ostensibly on business, and they chatted about school days for awhile. The ring question kept popping back up in her mind, but it seemed so silly an idea. ---

Her brother took her down to the Burlington station. The train was a few minutes late because of signal trouble, the agent told them. A snow storm was starting to develop.

Finally, just after 6 p.m., locomotive headlights stabbed through the fat white flakes now coming down, and Amtrak Train 5, the westbound California Zephyr slid to a halt.

"Car 0535?" the conductor looked at her ticket. "The sleepers are down that way." She and her brother grabbed her luggage, now heavy with family souvenirs and heirlooms, and hurried down the platform. She handed the bags to the car attendant, kissed her brother goodbye, and headed up the steps to the upper floor of the Superliner.

The car attendant showed her Deluxe Bedroom #E. It would cost her credit card statement dearly, Karen thought, but it was all that had been available. The train began to move.

As she packed her things into the various nooks and crannies of the room, she paused for a moment to look outside. Galesburg was starting to fade into the snow, but there was one more crossing left.

A car was pulled to the side of the road, and a man in a parka was standing in the snow next to it. Fred's face was lit in the flash of the red crossing signal, as he watched the train pass. He squinted in the flying snow, trying to look into the windows, but the train was moving too quickly, and Karen's room was too high above him. She tried visualizing an intimate, farewell embrace with him.

oo0000oo

[To be continued. Karen will try to resolve the ambiguities surrounding the ring on her homeward trip on the California Zephyr, conducting interesting experiments, in which the narrator found himself deeply involved.]



California Zephyr Ch. 02



"He got off?" Marc demanded, horrified.

"No... ultimately he went down. But only for interference, in the long run... and possession of indecent materials, namely some of the pictures he took of me, or bought from other guys into young kids!" The disgust was evident in his voice, but he remained incredibly calm. "It's amazing how easy it is to 'lose' vital evidence. I didn't find out until years afterwards that the JP who tried the case was a personal friend of a personal friend... He couldn't very well let Bryan off but he made sure the bastard didn't go down for the Life stretch he deserved!"

Marc sat up, staring at him, open mouthed. "Can't you do anything about that?"

"Like 'what'? It's too fucking late, sweetheart! Like I said... it was a long time ago. Bryan's back inside now for groping some other poor little sod! The Judge is long dead! What's to do?" Rayne sank back in the pillows shaking his head again bitterly. "I'd like to get my hands on the fucker now... that's all I can say! He ruined so many fucking lives...."

His voice trailed off and, after a while, Marc leaned down into his embrace again, cuddling up to him and trying to treat him gently. In spite of himself he gradually drifted into uneasy dreams though.

Marc was still sleeping when the Vampire pulled on a shirt and pants and made an expedition into the outside world. He was concerned about the kid, in truth. It was impossible for him to go on like this (not to mention unfair on Marc) taking and taking from one source without letting the young man replenish himself. Sooner or later he was going to have to let the boy go. To his surprise, that was a disquieting thought. Rayne Wylde rarely even remembered the names of his one-night stands, let alone felt anything more than lust for them. And he felt plenty of lust still for the young man curled up naked and well-fucked in his bed. But first he needed to feed and clear his head.

It was dark outside the window as he stood in the corridor letting the cooler night air spill over him, blowing though his tangled hair and billowing the soft, dark material of his shirt as he sucked in a deep lungful of smoke and held the nicotine down there for a few moments, amazed at how much pleasure this simple, self-destructive act gave him. Even now when it could no longer harm him.

The sounds of iron shod wheels clattering over the tracks felt like a post-industrial lullaby to the singer and he was leaning against the door, nodding slightly on his feet, when something disturbed him. It was a sharp, imperious little voice to his blissed-out ears, utterly impervious to the fact that he was a stranger and far older... 

"Your inside of your chest will go black and you'll explode up like a bomb!"

Rayne turned his head very slowly and lowered the filter from his lips briefly to exhale a blue-grey stream of smoke, whipped away by the slipstream of the train. Standing behind him in the corridor was a small, dark-haired girl with long pony tails and a blue and white checked gingham frock which made him think of Judy Garland in 'The Wizard of Oz'. She had on white knee socks... one rumpled around her left ankle... and dark blue patent leather shoes (not ruby slippers, he noted). It was tempting to think that he was dreaming, but something in her solemn, admonishing expression reminded him so much of his precious Sadie that his heart ached.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, sweetheart?" he asked her quietly, ignoring her remark.

"No... we're getting off the train soon," she replied coolly, in an ambiguous, upper-class, mid-western accent, surveying him as if he was a particularly repellent insect she had discovered in a chocolate milkshake. "We're going to stay with my Grandmother. She's very sick. The doctors think she might die and then she'll be with Jesus."

"Lovely..." Rayne said mellifluously, drawing on his cigarette again.

The response did not seem to satisfy her for she frowned at him contemplatively.

"Are you a reprobate?" she demanded at last.

Rayne smiled in spite of himself, exhaling another long streamer of smoke. That was so much like his own inimitable daughter that his next breath caught in his chest. Sadie Rose would be nearly twelve by now... virtually grown up. 'No', his inner voice reminded him soberingly; 'Not quite'.

"A Reprobate? Oh yes, 'absolutely'!" he told his inquisitor with a little nod of his head.

The child seemed to think about this for a moment.

"You're a foreigner," she said at last, with crushing magnanimity. "It's only to be expected!"

Rayne's ice-green eyes widened slightly, incredulous beyond words at such a statement from a child so small: and certainly she was not as old as his wise and precocious Sadie. At that point, the door into the next car shushed open softly and a dark, bearded man leaned out and called; "Katy... come back inside now... put on your coat. We're nearly there!"

He looked up once, warily, into Rayne's eyes and his features paled abruptly. Rayne too registered an instant of shock. The guy was the same one he had seen standing on the platform when he opened the blinds earlier in the day. The one who had briefly assimilated the scene of unbridled, gay male passion in the stationary sleeper car before Rayne yanked down the blind again, shutting the mundane world out.

The child went obediently back into the car without another word, but her father stared at him for a moment longer, fear and disgust warring in his hard, dark eyes before he turned and followed her. As they went back inside, he heard the man say; "Did he touch you, Katy? What did he say to you?"

For a moment, Rayne was too angry even to think. He inhaled the life from the Benson between his trembling fingers and stubbed it out viciously against the wall, then dropped the butt and ground it under his heel.

"Bastard!" he hissed to himself. "Smug, smarmy, god-bothering, tight-assed bastard! How fucking 'dare' you?"

Out of a perverse enmity, he made himself stay in the corridor watching the lights of Salt Lake City shimmer by as the train made its approach and slowed gradually on its run into the station. He was conscious of people congregating behind him, waiting to alight, and finally stepped aside as the California Zephyr squealed and screeched to a hissing, clanking halt in the darkness of a Utah night. They had to squeeze past him to step down from the train and as Katy and her family wriggled by he swore that they avoided his eyes deliberately. Katy was holding her father's hand and as she stepped down into his arms on the platform, she looked back at Rayne quickly.

"You shouldn't smoke. It's bad for you," she said.

He mellowed for a second, caught in deja vu, remembering Marc's words to him in the corridor yesterday. The words left his lips like ghosts; like something not connected to him.

"I know, sweetheart."

Then her father whisked her away and turned back with a glint of hatred in his gaze.

"You'll burn in hell, you miserable faggot!" he declared, in a monotone, just low enough that only they two could hear it. "Satan and all his demons will shaft your ass 'til you scream for mercy."

Rayne folded his arms across his chest and puckered his lips at the man insolently. 

"They'll have a fucking long wait, darlin'!" he flashed back, deliberately pitching his voice to carry. "But it'll be 'worth' it, I expect! Which is more than I can say for 'you'!"

He slammed the door between them and turned on his heel, sashaying back down the car towards the lounge in a fine temper, ignoring the protests of those new boarders he elbowed out of his way en-route. The little voice in his head declared; 'Toto.. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!'

The bartender in the lounge car was not the same, lean, dark, bedroom-eyed youth who had served them last night. This young man was shorter and stockier; a pugilisitic frame. ('Built like a brick shite-'ouse!' as dad would once have put it.) Dark blond hair was shorn close to the scalp in a classic, number one buzz-cut, but he had the mild, unscarred features of a school teacher. Soft, blue-grey eyes twinkled slightly as Rayne sagged down on the stool in front of him and ordered a double vodka on the rocks.

"Coming right up, sir."

That was something he did like about this train. The service was first class. After a lifetime spent travelling the world with the Whipsnade entourage, in featureless buses, never knowing where he was (or why he was there, half the time!) it was good to rest and relax whilst other people called him 'sir' and fetched him things. He decided he could easily get used to it!

"What happened to the other bar-keeper?" he asked, when the amiable, moon-faced young fellow brought him his drink. "The black-haired kid... about so high..." He held his hand up demonstratively over his head.

"On leave, sir. He's going back to Chicago on the next train east."

"Hmm..." Rayne sipped his drink to cover the irrational surge of annoyance that resurfaced at this news. He had let himself get too inflexible, he told himself, sternly; the young bartender was not his only option. In deciding that the boy would be 'the one' he had set himself up for just such a disappointment.

"Is that a problem, sir? Can I help?"

Rayne's lime-cordial gaze slid back to him, lancing through the dark tangles of his hair directly into the smilingly expressionless face across the bar. The stress had been on the 'I', he thought to himself, not the 'help'. A smile twitched his own mouth and he took a longer swallow of vodka to soothe his rattled nerves.

"We-ell.... I dunno... What time d'you get off?"

The train stood in Salt Lake City for around an hour whilst supplies were booted on board and staff changed shifts. The bar-tender, Cory (according to the badge on his lapel) did not finish until 1am, so when Rayne's glass was empty he took a walk down the platform taking time out to smoke and turn things over in his mind. It was a pleasantly cool night and his mood was lifting, right up until the moment he spotted the black-suited, irate father from the train once more. 

 This time the guy was haranguing some uniformed rail official and had not noticed Rayne watching him. He kept pointing off towards the sleeper cars now and the Vampire had a sudden grim sense of foreboding. He could guess what the guy was telling this official, and instinct made him drop his cigarette and stub it out under the toe of his boot before he ducked back onto the train, racing up the corridors towards the compartment where Marc was still sleeping, all unawares.

The young man stirred and moaned with dreamy pleasure when Rayne put gentle arms around his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck tenderly through his hair until he woke. More firmly then, he pulled the boy upright, ignoring Marc's protestations.

"You've got to get dressed and get out of here," he whispered in an urgent tone.

Marc blinked at him incredulously "I'm 'sorry'?"

"I don't have time to explain. Get something on, get your bag and go take a shower or something, then I need you to lie low for a while. I'll meet you later in the lounge car."

The young mortal just stared at him blankly. "I don't 'think' so!"

Rayne administered a consoling kiss to the end of his nose.

"Please, darlin'. I really can't explain.. it might be something and nothing. But I swear I'll tell you everything later. You've just got to get out of here. 'Now'!"

He snatched up the boy's jeans and t-shirt, thrusting them firmly into his hands. "Get dressed."

For a moment, Marc's lower lip trembled as he stared up at the Vampire, then he was on his feet, pulling on his clothes without a word. He ran both hands through the tangles of his long, dark hair, tugging at the snarls and pushing the whole mess back from his face. He was still gazing perplexed at the singer when Rayne took his hand and put the strap of the holdall into it, then nudged him gently towards the door.

"Go," he said, more softly.

He saw Marc pull himself together, drawing himself up more resolutely, and wished he had more time to reassure the kid. Then his companion slung the bag over one shoulder, turned away and was gone, stalking out into the corridor and slamming the door violently behind him.

Once he was alone again, Rayne stripped down the bed and turned the sheets, remaking the bunk neatly and fluffing up the pillows. He grabbed up spilled clothing and rammed it into his own overnight bag with the vodka bottle (almost empty now). Quickly he changed, rubbing himself down with the discarded shirt and spraying his lean body liberally with CK1 before yanking on a pair of dark, loose-fitting suit trousers with a very fine pinstripe and a dark green shirt which had a paler, metallic sheen. 

 He pulled a comb through his sleek, dark hair and ran the battery razor from his laptop case over the twenty-four-hour stubble on his cheeks and chin. A glance in the mirror confirmed that he looked less like a criminal on the run and he blew it a kiss and stashed the razor and his camera back in the sleek, black, rubberised case, tucking it under the bed as a knock on the door made him start.

Deft fingers flicked up the air conditioning and he snared a magazine and slumped artlessly across his bunk, calling out; "Come in... it's not locked!"

At the very last moment he spotted a pair of Marc's underpants on the floor by the bed and snatched them up, stuffing them into his pocket as the door opened and he was confronted by his zealous nemesis and a rather youthful, blond-maned, anxious-looking station attendant. The official's cheeks flushed slightly as he glanced around the room, taking it in, clearly comparing the scene to the one obviously described by the older man who accompanied him. The protective father also looked around suspiciously, then glared at Rayne with narrowed eyes. 

With a sigh, the singer closed his magazine and said; "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir. We received a complaint... you'll understand that we're obliged to look into any allegation of misconduct on our trains." The attendant blushed more hotly, trying to avoid Rayne's eyes.

"Misconduct?" Rayne looked back at him with a bemused smile. "What am I supposed to have 'done'?"

"Uh..." The kid cleared his throat and glanced at the older fellow pointedly. "Uh.. Mr. Hoffman, can you leave this with me now? Clearly there's nothing to see. I'll handle it from here on in."

When the guy did not initially move, he nodded towards the door and added, more firmly; "Mr. Hoffman, 'please'..." 

Rayne wriggled his fingers dismissively at the bearded man and grinned. "'Bye!"

At last the guy left them alone, unwillingly, and the young official closed the door. He remained standing there for a moment, unsure of himself now that he was alone with Rayne. The singer leaned back on the pillows again with a casual grace and looked up at him almost coyly.

"So... what the hell is this about?" he demanded, rather more firmly.

"Uh... Mr. Hoffman has made an official complaint. It's a serious allegation. We're obliged to look into it. I'm sorry."

"You already said. What I want to know is, 'what did he say?'" Rayne smiled tolerantly, then sat upright, making deliberate space on the bunk and daring the boy with his eyes to make use of it. "You see, that guy has been making my life a misery since he got on board. I've been a virtual prisoner in this compartment trying to avoid him. He even suggested that I might have molested his daughter, if you can believe such a thing! As a father myself, I resent that."

The attendant's baby blue eyes widened slightly. Clearly this was a different tale to the one he had been expecting.

"He said 'that' to you?" he asked, sounding almost outraged. His voice was little more than a squeak of sound.

"Not directly, no... but I was meant to hear what he was inferring." The Vampire sat forward, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on one knee, arms loosely folded, long hands hanging down unthreateningly on either side of his slim thighs. 

The youth cleared his throat again, then edged closer so that he was standing before the Vampire. His expression was wary but fascinated.

"You're the singer, aren't you? I've seen you in the magazines..."

"Sure," said Rayne cautiously. "I'm public property... that doesn't give people the right to make up complete bullshit about me. 'Does' it?"

"Uh-huh... no sir," the boy said quickly, shaking his head.

Rayne moved towards the far end of the bunk and patted the covers beside him with one hand. 

"Don't be scared. Come and tell me what he's saying about me. I do have a right to know."

His interrogator half-turned and sank down nervously on the edge of the mattress, still casting fearful looks at him.

"He... uh... he alleges that when he boarded the train there was an... uh... there was an indecent act taking place in this car. He alleges that... uh... you indecently exposed yourself to him whilst in the course of... uh... coupling... with another man." He blushed scarlet and looked down. Within the snug-fitting crotch of his uniform pants, his cock stirred, betraying him.

"Fascinating!" Rayne said mildly, keeping one eye on his groin. "What a stunning imagination! I can only conclude that he must've had a chronically repressed childhood."

The official glanced up at him with sceptical eyes and the singer met his gaze squarely at once.

"You're saying that it's not true?"

"I'm saying that I'd 'love' it to have been true, but it most certainly was not," Rayne told him evenly. "Do you 'see' this other man? Do you see any 'evidence' of this other man?" He cast a hand around the compartment and smiled vividly.

The young attendant shook his head nervously, leaning back although he still watched Rayne with an almost rapt expression. That hard-on had to be getting uncomfortable, the singer decided.

"Right," he declared, still smiling impassively. "Now what I suggest is that you go back to Mr. Fucking Righteous out there and tell him that he's got a wasp in his arse about this whole business, and if he repeats allegations like that to anyone else, I will sue him for defamation of fucking character. D'you think you can remember all that?"

Helplessly, the young man nodded his head and made to stand up. Rayne closed a hand firmly over his wrist before he could move.

"First, though..." he whispered, his voice barely audible so that the boy had to sit forward to hear him. "I want to share something with you." 

 He flashed a fanged smile that made the kid start and pull away before his hand clamped down tight over the mortal's soft, moist lips and he pushed the youth down onto his bed. It was an uneven struggle, the young man was no match for his deceptive strength and Rayne quickly forced his blond head back and bit deeply into his throat, letting the blood fill his mouth over and over whilst the kid struggled and made muffled noises of protest underneath him. 

 The Vampire took his fill quickly and economically, spilling very little of his companion's precious blood. He took less than he wanted, but more than he would have dared to take from Marc after the last twenty four exhausting hours. The blond was a stranger, which made it easier still. The Vampire felt less guilt at bleeding him. His hot blood tasted rich and metallic on Rayne's tongue and he licked at the youngster's slender neck for a long while after he had finished feeding properly, letting his saliva heal the deep, savage bite marks so that the young man did not bleed to death.

When he finally released the lad, his victim was dazed from the rapid exsanguination but he did not wriggle away as Rayne had expected him to. Instead the mortal's arms came up around Rayne's neck and he pressed his mouth hungrily to the singer's bloody lips.




California Zephyr Ch. 02



As they kissed more intensely, Rayne grew increasingly conscious of the blond's stiffening cock, nudging against his thigh. He too was still hard from the pleasure of feeding so deeply and savagely. Now he kissed his way steadily down the young man's slim, trembling body, unzipping his flyer with one hand as he did so and burying his face in the boy's hot, naked crotch. 

 He swallowed the lad's tumescent cock almost greedily and sucked on him with relentless hunger. For as long as Rayne could recall, ever since Bryan first taught him to get down on his knees, giving head had been a quasi-religious experience for him. Even as a youngster, he could remember a curious thrill that ran through him at the thought of taking another man in his mouth. On tube trains or buses he would sit opposite complete strangers and run a practised eye over their bulging packages, wondering what each guy looked like naked; how long he was fully hard; what that gorgeous dick would feel like resting on his tongue?

His current incumbent jacked off almost too soon and Rayne swallowed him down with a little moan of pleasure that matched the tremulous groan escaping the boy's own throat. It was almost enough. Almost, but not quite.

Rayne' hand did not release the youngster's blond head until his own cum was running down the kid's downy chin. The boy sank back from him, panting and gazing up at him with wide blue eyes. In response, the singer kissed him again, licking his face and whispering tender obscenities.

"I should go... the train pulls out in a few minutes..." His lover looked apologetic, but also scared again now they were virtually done.

"Then you should," Rayne agreed with a little nod of his head. "Thank you. That was.... indescribable!" He grinned fiercely.

Suddenly abrupt again, the young mortal pushed himself to his feet and zipped up, straightening his clothing and checking himself in Rayne's mirror. His cheeks were flushed as he hurried towards the door, glancing back just once. The singer winked at him and he managed a nervous, blushing smile, and then was gone. Afterwards, Rayne lay on the bed for a long time, gazing at the ceiling and wondering what his life had come to. It was a question he could never satisfactorily answer.

It felt good to just stand under the hot jets of water, letting the shower steam away all the sweat and grime of the last twelve hours. Marc threw his head back and closed his eyes, soaking himself and trying not to cry. At least it was private in here and no one would see him if he did. And the water would wash away the tears with everything else.

'And since when did he ever say that you were anything more than a one night stand?' he asked himself, rather more firmly. But that was no comfort. It was not so much the ending of their brief, satisfying liaison, more the manner in which it had been ended that troubled him. He had hoped that he meant enough to Rayne to at least merit a thank you for the sex. Never before had he been hustled out of someone's bed in such a peremptory fashion. He refused to let it hurt... but it was so-o-o humiliating.

His fingers turned the control dial and the water grew steadily cooler until the blast was icy cold. Now he presented his back and let the fingers of water knead his shoulders and the crown of his head. That was utterly delicious and he put his head back further, catching the water in his mouth and letting it run down his neck. The train was moving again, which meant that he had been in here for a good twenty minutes but he did not care. It was late and he doubted that anyone else was going to be frantic for a shower.

Muscles relaxed gradually under the pounding of the jets and he stroked his hands lazily up and down his cold, wet body, remembering the touch of other hands. In spite of his anger, that roused him and he turned again, splashing his face and letting the icy streams trickle down his chest and belly to his groin until his erection subsided, reluctantly, and he felt defiant enough to turn off the water and towel himself dry. Scrubbed and dressed, he brushed his hair slowly and towelled more wetness out of it, then brushed again, staring at himself in the mirror contemplatively. Running a hand over his chin and neck, he decided to shave again and then he would see about some sustenance.. and a drink. He needed a stiff drink, badly. 

"Fuck you, Rayne Wylde!" he said grimly to his reflection. "You think you're so fucking special, do you?"

He was nearly at the bottom of his vodkatini, curled up in a corner of the virtually deserted lounge car, when an achingly familiar, English-accented voice behind him greeted the bar-tender amiably by name and requested a double vodka. Marc had to force himself not to look up. He stared at the ice in the bottom of his glass and hardened his heart.

At the bar, Rayne quietly said; "Get yourself something... and whatever he's drinking." He said something else, but too quietly for Marc to hear. Then, moments later, the singer was standing at the foot of his table with two glasses in his hands.

"Mind if I sit down?" he asked, in a voice that suggested he was conscious that Marc would mind. 

"It's a free country," Marc said neutrally.

His companion slipped into the seat diagonally across from him and put the tall glass in front of the mortal deliberately.

"Peace offering," he explained gently. "I'm sorry... I handled that business back there really badly, didn't I?"

"You could say that." Marc refused to look at him, but he pulled the glass towards him and sucked half-heartedly on the straw protruding from it.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"If you wanna replace me in your bed with someone else, you could just say so," the young man told him miserably.

"I don't want to replace you," Rayne replied ardently. 

Marc looked across at him, eyes widening. The singer offered a crooked smile and reached out to touch his hand with the backs of his long, white fingers.

"I got a bit freaked, that's all. This train is crawling with Morons. Religious bastards always make my hair stand on end!"

"Mormons..." Marc corrected him, laughing softly in spite of his resolve. "Although, actually, I like your version better!"

"That guy on the platform... the one who saw us fucking... He complained about it. I figured they'd want to look into it and I didn't want them to find you in my bed. That's the honest truth. I didn't want you involved in any way. It's not fair on you." 

Marc glanced down at his hands, suddenly flushed with relief and perplexed by it.

"Did they find incriminating evidence?" 

"No... I hid the camera and the lube!" Rayne grinned, he could feel it in the other man's voice, even without looking up. "Although it's a good job they didn't search me physically. I have your underpants in my pocket!"

His partner met his eyes and laughed helplessly with him. Even as they did, he was aware of someone approaching their table. The young man from behind the bar was in his shirtsleeves now, clearly off duty. Rayne grinned at the kid and shifted over so that he was sitting facing Marc and the end space was free.

"You don't mind if Cory joins us, do you?" he said magnanimously.

Marc fired a 'look' at him and the blond hesitated just fractionally.

"I'll go if I'm in the way," he said anxiously, although the disappointment was evident in his voice.

"You're not in the way," said Rayne, touching Marc's hands again, drawing his lover's attention back to him. "I thought it would be interesting," he added, directly to Marc.

Dark green eyes stared frankly back at him. "A threesome...?"

"Yeah... if you like." Rayne grinned. 

"And if I don't...?" Marc's lips twitched slightly.

Rayne Wylde leaned across the table and kissed him softly.

"I think you do," he breathed between Marc's slightly parted lips. "I think you're loving the idea! Just think about it, for a moment. Both of us... having him."

Marc drew back and looked up sceptically at Cory, who was still watching them nervously.

"What does 'he' think about that?"

"Ummm..." Cory actually flushed a little. "I... uh... I don't mind, if you don't."

Rayne looked triumphantly from one to the other. 

"See..." he declared.

Marc sighed and shook his head incredulously. "Okay then... you win."

"I always do," the Vampire told him, kissing his nose affectionately.

They had another drink, whilst Cory told them a little bit about himself. He was twenty one and a phys.ed graduate from St. Louis, working the railways until he could get a position training in a gym somewhere. Marc surveyed the display of biceps with a detached expression which he had practised on jocks of all shapes and sizes since his teens. Still, at least the kid was muscular and not merely plump! Rayne applauded the flexing session with touching cynicism whilst his lover kicked him under the table and fired another warning 'look' at him.

"I bet you're popular in the showers, aren't you?" he asked sardonically when Cory fastened his shirt again. 

"I'm sorry..?"

"Never mind." Marc drained his glass and pushed himself to his feet. "Are we going?"

Rayne hustled Cory out of the booth and followed him back up the car towards the sleepers with a broad, feral smile on his handsome face. 

Alone in the compartment with them, Cory began to look nervous again. Marc put his lips to the Vampire's ear and stage-whispered; "He's a virgin."

"Yummy!" Rayne Wylde said, his eyes glittering as they roamed over Cory's body. "I love first timers! They're so cute!"

"I've been with guys..." Cory stated defensively as Marc stashed his bag and unfastened his jeans, toeing off his boots. 

The dark-haired mortal looked up at him through his hair with a supremely cynical expression.

"Oh yeah.... what'cha do with them?"

Rayne put his arms around Cory's shoulders and nuzzled his neck, then began to unfasten the boy's shirt. Cory rested a hand against his chest in the open collar of his shirt but did not push him away.

"Y'know... stroking... blow jobs... all sorts."

The Vampire kissed his earlobe and nibbled there teasingly.

"You ever had a guy up your arse?" he wanted to know.

Cory blushed. "...No."

"There's a first time for everything," the older man told him with a chuckle.

"I dunno..." Cory still looked nervous, he was watching Marc undress and as the other boy slumped down on the bed in a sleeveless t-shirt and tight little black underpants that left nothing to the imagination, his own prick stiffened noticeably in the crotch of his black trousers.

Rayne's deft fingers unfastened his fly one handed in response. The other hand was still curled around the back of his head and he kissed Cory slowly and passionately now, stroking the velvety texture of his close-cropped head.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered into Cory's open mouth. "Marcie has a lovely smooth action. Don't you sweetheart?"

On the bed, Marc's lips quirked in a knowing smile as he registered what Rayne was saying to him. One hand slipped down his belly into his pants and he stroked himself whilst he watched the Vampire prime Cory skilfully. The boy's shirt was off now and Rayne was kissing his smooth, muscular pecs and the superbly defined ridges of his perfect six-pack. Cory's pants rippled down around his ankles and the Vampire shrugged out of his own shirt as he slipped both hands into the youngster's shorts, easing the elastic over the head of his cock with both thumbs and pulling them down as he sank to his knees.

"He is so-o-o good at this," Marc told Cory with a satisfied smile. "You're gonna love it."

The boy had the most tightly muscled ass he had ever seen. He was ridged like a racehorse.... clean lines and smooth, hairless curves. A little golden baby-hair shimmered around the base of his prick, which was short and stocky like the rest of him; not long like Rayne's gorgeous cock, but making up for it in sheer girth. The singer's lips closed around the bulbous head of that muscular little prick and he laved the boy with his tongue until Cory put his head back and cried out tremulously with pleasure. 

"Oh god!! Oh my god!"

Marc shivered with delight as the singer stroked Cory's tight little ass and thighs, swallowing him deeper, sucking on him slowly and tormentingly until he thought that the boy would lose control of his knees and buckle to the ground with Rayne's dark head still buried in his crotch. He stroked himself slowly, fully hard now, aroused by this free peep-show and conscious of just how good Rayne's mouth must feel. A part of him was insanely jealous, but he suppressed the feeling. His own turn would come... it absolutely must! 

"Oh my god... I'm gonna cum!" Cory's words released Rayne and he lifted his head slowly, shaking it at the kid admonishingly.

"Not yet, sweetheart!"

"Oh.. don't stop!"

"You're not done yet," Rayne Wylde whispered up to him. "Not by a long shot! Now go help him get his clothes off." He nodded towards the bunk where Marc was still watching them with bright, dark eyes.

The other boy writhed and giggled with delight. 

"You heard him, my dear," he said, crooking a finger at Cory. "Come and get my pants off."

Cory actually blushed again, but he did not disobey. The mattress subsided as he came to kneel astride Marc and slipped his hands into the slender youth's briefs pushing them down and leaning over him to kiss his neck and torso whilst he was pulling them down. 

 Marc rubbed up against him insistently and sought out his mouth, kissing him hard whilst Cory wrestled with his clothing. Out of the corner of his eye he was conscious of Rayne fiddling with the camera again and he chuckled to himself and pulled Cory closer, having helped the kid to remove his t-shirt. His hands explored Cory's nude body minutely whilst the kid sucked on his tongue and bruised his mouth with the ferocity of his kisses and Rayne snapped them making out whilst he was taking off his own pants.

Marc thrust himself upward demandingly, rubbing himself hard between Cory's powerful thighs and the tight little cheeks of his sun-gilt arse. When the kid let him come up for air, he gulped a great double lungful and gasped; "Oh Ray... I have gotta have him. I want him now!"

Rayne Wylde grinned like a savage and set the camera down, coming to perch on the edge of the bunk where he could kiss the nape of Cory's neck seductively. From there, he moved around to press his mouth to the blond boy's lips. Marc wriggled onto his side, watching them for a moment, then scrambled up to let Rayne lie in his place. 

 The singer was still stroking his fingers gently over Cory's shorn head and gently, now, he guided the boy down to his cock and urged the blood-gorged head between his lips. When Cory was sucking on him hard, Rayne twisted about, seeking out Marc's lean body and pulling the other youth into his mouth. Marc exhaled a little 'ohh' of sound as Rayne swallowed him and nuzzled deeper against his groin, his hands exploring them both as if he would draw them into him and possess them completely. 

It took all of his will to withdraw from between the Vampire's soft, encouraging lips, but he was on fire by this time and Cory's twisting, writhing body beckoned like the holy grail made flesh. Rayne, generous to the last, had left the well-squeezed tube of KY on the pillows when he retrieved his camera. He had returned his attention to Cory now, stroking long, cool hands over the boy's velvety skull and powerful shoulders as his blond head nodded urgently in the singer's lap. 

The few droplets of lube felt cold and slick on Marc's fingers and he touched his lips to the hollow of Cory's back above those magnificent, firm little buttocks, then applied the tips of his fingers ever so searchingly between the boy's cheeks. Not unexpectedly, Cory was hard to get inside. His sphincter muscle was as tight as the rest of him and Marc had to caress for what felt like a long, deliberate time until he finally yielded and allowed the other man even an inch within him. Marc did not allow him respite, although Cory twisted and moaned in protest, he quickly eased the searching digit further in until he felt the boy relax fractionally, realising perhaps that it did not hurt as much as he had been dreading it might. 

"Shhh..." Rayne was breathing now, still massaging his scalp and upper body intimately. "Try to take it easy.... It's gonna be fine, sweetheart. I swear to you."

His pale green eyes had the intensity of acid when they lifted to meet Marc's darker, hungrier gaze. Slowly, the mortal withdrew his finger and eased another in beside it. This time Cory twisted like a spring and cried out softly at the intrusion. Rayne moved to hold him, sinking down lower, kissing every inch of him in reassurance, although the singer had a firm hold on his muscular young lover which Cory seemed to sense, for he fought them harder. 

"Ahhh....aooowww... no!" he protested softly, as Rayne's mouth worked his neck and throat and the singer's hands snaked lower to caress his groin. "Oh.. o-ohhh..."

Rayne's lips found his mouth and they kissed more passionately. Marc nuzzled the boy's back and shoulders and gave him a third finger, more roughly this time.

Tease! he thought bitterly, although he did not say as much. See how you like this then!

Cory pushed back against him abruptly, riding his invasive fingers and yielding so abruptly that for a moment, Marc worried that he had torn the youth internally. Then Cory was moaning and begging quietly; "Oh... please... please... I'm so close!" 

Beneath him, Rayne put his head back into the pillows, still touching and milking the blond boy's cock, although his eyes were closed and he was smiling with supreme satisfaction. Something in that knowing expression spurred Marc on and he withdrew his fingers, sticky with the wetness of Cory's own body as much as the lube. 

 Decisively, he squeezed a little more gel into his left hand and stroked it firmly over the head of his aching sex, rubbing himself slowly, even as he nudged himself between Cory's ass cheeks and probed the boy hard. He was already sweating and there was a sheen of perspiration on Cory's golden skin too as the other man thrust into him firmly, gripping his lean hips tight in both hands. Marc was ready for his attempts to pull free and knelt across the blond boy's calves now so that Cory could not buck him off.

He was aware that Rayne was also holding the kid tightly, kissing him once more but whispering; "Relax... relax... It'll be just fine.." into his open mouth. 

Cory whimpered under him but he was also writhing against Rayne, giving in to the other sensation which threatened to blow him away. Marc could feel from the fragility of his cries that he was becoming increasingly turned on. Rayne exacerbated the situation now, by slipping out from under him and writhing down to suck the boy again. Cory's head was bowed and he leaned all his weight into one elbow; the other hand was running through Rayne's hair, encouraging his mouth whilst he gasped and swore alternately and Marc pulsed more fiercely inside him.

"Oh fuck... oh fuck!" Cory panted, then threw back his head and cried out incoherently in his pleasure. 

Rayne emerged from beneath him, moments later, with a vivid smile on his sharply handsome face and pearly rivulets of cum on his lips and chin. Cory slumped on the mattress, still panting like a marathon runner whilst the singer wrapped his arms around Marc's shoulders, kissing him as he fucked the blond youngster hard. Rayne's tongue was salty-sweet with the taste of Cory's semen and Marc was suddenly torn between the pleasure of being inside Cory and the desire to lie with Rayne again.

"I want you," he gasped when the Vampire's lips released him.

"All in good time," said Rayne Wylde with a wicked smile.




California Zephyr Ch. 02



His climax, when it came, was captured digitally, for posterity. Rayne was indulging all his hobbies at once, lying comfortably in the pillows with the camera whilst Cory sucked him off, idly watching Marc screw the blond kid with a savage urgency he had never believed himself capable of. 

 Marc no longer cared what Rayne was doing with the pictures... it hardly seemed important compared to the massive orgasm he was struggling towards. When he reached the moment of ejaculation he barely had the breath in his body to even moan, let alone cry out. A vast shuddering sob escaped him and he sank trembling with electric passions onto Cory's hot, sweat-slicked body, his face buried in the tangle of his own, long dark hair; rocked physically by the thundering of his heart. 

Rayne Wylde threw back his head with a delicious, fanged grin and laughed softly and fondly as he stroked his hands over their exhausted bodies. Finally, he drew them apart, kissing them each in turn as they drowsed in his embrace. Marc's last coherent memory was of the Vampire crouching over Cory as he watched through half-shuttered eyelids, biting deeply into the blond boy's neck as Cory slept and feeding long and hard on the younger man's blood until the lower part of his beautiful face was a glistening, sanguine masque.

END OF PART TWO

...to be concluded. 



California Zephyr Ch. 03



Part Three

TIMELESS MOMENT



The hiss of water through the shower nozzle sizzled like static as it discharged a silvery spray of water over the two glistening bodies beneath. They pulled closer together for a moment, joined at the hip and mouth, searching hands gliding slickly over smooth wet skin, then dipping lower, groping and rubbing harder and more urgently. Cory’s blond head tipped back and the Vampire’s lips parted, taking possession of his throat as he gasped with delight. Rayne’s hand kept on pumping as his fangs extended and he bit deeper, letting the hot, rich spill of his lover’s blood fill his mouth and run down over his tongue. He gulped and swallowed, then suckled harder, rubbing faster, feeling Cory buck against him keening and panting like an injured animal. 

The boy was impossibly randy. He should not have been able to stand, by rights, after the things they had done to him last night. Rayne Wylde was supremely impressed that he could even get it up again, let alone be so very close to climax. The Vampire fed for a few moments more, timing his withdrawal from Cory’s neck to perfection. Hungrily he kissed the boy for a little longer to be sure the vein was properly closed, then, as the muscular little blond began to sob with pleasure and desire, he sank slowly to his knees and swallowed the boy’s chunky, circumcised cock deep into his mouth, sucking slow and hard and caressing between the kid’s tight young cheeks with his knowing fingers until Cory exploded with a long, shivering moan of relief. 

The youngster was still gasping and sobbing when he rose, licking his lips and grinning like a wolf standing over a fresh corpse. For a little while he kissed the boy again, sucking on his tongue to quieten him, still working his fingers vigorously between those tight young buttocks. During last night, Marc had monopolised the boy’s arsehole almost exclusively. Before Cory went back to work, Rayne Wylde intended to redress the balance slightly. 

“Oh Christ..!” Cory exclaimed softly as Rayne turned him and spread him firmly against the wall. Then, as the Vampire’s long, hard cock eased into him without preamble (or lube) and began to fuck him slowly and rhythmically; “Holy Jesus! Yes!!”





It felt peculiar to wake up alone with no concept of the time or even where he was. The swaying of the train beneath Marc was so familiar now that it had become a curious, techno-lullaby and he stretched deliciously sore muscles and rolled over to lie on his back in order to look around him. Initially he was unconcerned at the idea of being on his own, but as time progressed it felt more and more awkward and he made himself sit up, searching for something to occupy himself until the others returned. Rayne had put the camera away, but he knew where it was normally kept and convinced himself that, since he only wanted a reminder of just how he had come to be so wonderfully sore and exhausted this morning, surely there was no problem. A little diligent rummaging under the bed produced the black, rubberised laptop case. Fortunately it had not been locked and he flipped the catches and pushed back the lid. As expected, the glistening camera nestled in beside the Vampire’s travelling Notebook, packaged with rolled up socks and other personal items. Tucked in beside it was a fat, black, leather-bound organiser. 

Marc hesitated, his finger hovering over the filofax. It occurred to him that he knew very little about his lover. They had shared intimacies that would make even committed partners blush, and yet he knew next to nothing about the man who had shown him so much pleasure. The temptation made his fingers itch. 

Ever so softly he let them brush the matte leather surface, hesitating for a second or two to listen for warning footfalls in the corridor outside. When no sound came to him over the steady clacking of ironbound wheels on the tracks below, he lifted out the organiser and unfastened the small, elaborate buckle that fastened it. 

It wasn’t really prying, he told himself adamantly, flicking his way rapidly through pages of detail that meant nothing to him. There were names and numbers and e-mail addresses for a selection of record companies, bars, publishers, travel firms; a plan of the London Underground system; a quick reference conversion table; a pocket containing travel documents; an A-Z section with more personal looking addresses, in which only the name ‘Simon’ followed by an 020 number meant remotely anything... and it was not necessarily the drummer of Whipsnade, Marc reminded himself solemnly. 

He was on the verge of closing the file and putting it back when he found the photographs. They were tucked away right at the back and he almost missed them; a handful of mismatched snaps from the past twenty or thirty years. One black & white shot, tattered and crumpled from time and constant handling, showed a man and woman in their mid-twenties, perhaps. The girl was taller than her dark, hirsute companion, with long, straight, black hair and the tiniest, belted mini-dress. Her huge, pale eyes were made up like Liz Taylor in 'Cleopatra' and her full, rouged lips were not quite smiling, in an expression he found touchingly familiar. The man was beaming through his bushy beard, one arm around her waist, clearly proud and possessive of his beauty, as Marc supposed any straight guy would be. 

There was another photo of the woman, this time more casual, smiling, sitting on a beach towel in a blue and gold bikini, in a faded colour print from the early seventies. Her hair was still long, but pulled back in a tail that cascaded down her back and her huge eyes were hidden behind large, owlish, turquoise sunglasses. In front of her a little, naked, sun-tanned boy; round-faced with thick, dark, bobbed hair; made sandcastles with the earnest concentration of the under-threes. By the woman’s side a slender girl of around five, with a single long, black plait held in bobbles, played with a doll and gazed into the camera seriously.

The third made him smile... it was clearly taken in the early eighties and showed two young lads who reminded him of his own teens, decked out like mannequins in ruffled shirts and huge, dark, pleated trousers replete with zips and buttons in obscure places, tucked into soft, suede-leather pixie boots. Their painted faces gazed back defiantly at the camera, bleached out even more by the flash that picked out the razor lines of their rouged cheekbones and pouting lips, and the dark, imploring pierrot eyes that made them look more girl than boy. The kid on the right had dark, reddish hair, cropped close at the back, but longer and spiky on the top. His companion was leaner and blond, with a tumble of pale fringe, which obscured half of his sharp-featured face. His visible eye was wide and pale, in a ‘Boy George-esque’ stare and his royal-purple shirt was half open, almost off one shoulder. A studded belt clung to his skinny hips for dear life. 

Marc was chuckling so much at this delicious little period piece that at first he did not even realise that the blond was Rayne and his companion had to be Whipsnade’s drummer, Simon Hathaway! When it sank in he sat gazing at it for a while. His lover must have been about fifteen... possibly younger. Innocence masquerading as outrage. He smiled more ruefully for his own childhood then and looked on at the rest of the pictures.

The others were more recent. Two featured a little girl whom he initially thought must be the child from the second shot. The fashions realigned his opinion... these pictures were only taken in the last few years and the girl wore pale blue jeans and a brightly coloured ‘My Little Pony’ tee-shirt in one, where she was seated on a stone wall stroking a black and white cat. Her heavy black bangs were pinned back from her round, pale face with butterfly grips and she stared at the camera determinedly as if schooling herself not to smile. Her eyes were slightly screwed up against the sunlight but he could see that they were pale as ice, like the beautiful woman’s eyes.... and Rayne’s. In the other snap, the child was standing beside a small, curvaceous female whose waist-length hair was slightly curling as though it had once been braided or dreadlocked. She wore it pulled back in a tail from the top of her head and her long, hippyish skirt blew against the curves of her body in the breeze. The child wore pink shorts and a black tee shirt with a silver motif. Her hair was pigtailed and she had dark sunglasses perched on her nose. 

He stared at this for a long time. The woman also resembled the classical beauty from the first pictures but he thought that she looked more like Rayne. Slowly he was beginning to piece the shots together. The woman in the last one was his companion’s sister… which meant that the first picture was of Rayne’s parents... and the baby on the beach... 

Marc smiled again... so absorbed in his detective work that he did not look up until the door of the sleeper compartment clicked softly shut and he found himself looking up into Rayne’s quietly perplexed face. The singer’s wet hair was pushed back from his sculpted face; fine brows were drawn down like the wings of a distant bird in flight, touching the bridge of his nose and arching back over his coldly-colourless, unblinking gaze. The Vampire stood, barefoot in a loose shirt and pants, touchingly vulnerable yet coldly outraged, and licked his lips tentatively.

His voice was little more than a breath of sound.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Automatically, Marc dropped the photographs, trying to fumble them back into the case without looking down. His heart had begun to pound again as he edged away, conscious of the other man’s disturbingly quiet anger. The conspiratorial feel of the last few moments shattered irrevocably. 

“I’m sorry....” he said defensively. “I was looking for the camera... I thought... y’know... last night... the photos... I wanted to look... I didn’t mean to...”

He backed off as Rayne came to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress, picking up the snaps and glancing at them as he restored them carefully to their proper place. He closed the fastener then tucked the organiser away in his case without a word. Somehow that was worse. Marc put a hand to his mouth and curled up feeling guilty and miserable with his back to the panel wall. Rayne closed the lid and put the laptop back under the bed. Without looking up he said; “Put your clothes on and get out.”


Marc swallowed against the lump in his throat. Helplessly he shook his head.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to...”

“I don’t care what you meant to...” Rayne lifted his head, looking back at him with such a wounded expression that his companion wanted to curl up and die. “My private life is none of your concern, d’you understand that? That’s what the word ‘private’ means! Now put your things on and just go, will you!”

Trembling, Marc wriggled to the end of the bed and searched for his things, wishing he had just ignored the filofax and concentrated on the camera. Maybe, if he had, they would now be curled around each other again, looking at last night’s pictures and exploring a few new options, perhaps. He thrust the idea away and bit his lip to stop it quivering as he pulled on his shorts and jeans unhappily. 

“I only wanted to know more about you,” he protested when Rayne did not say anything else. 

“You could have ‘asked’,” the singer flashed back without looking at him. He was sitting back against the pillows now with one knee drawn up, rubbing his forehead with the long fingers of the opposite hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Marc said again, in a small voice. He pulled on his tee shirt and sat down to wrestle his arms into the sleeves of his shirt. “They’re nice pictures though... it’s not like they’re something you should be embarrassed about. Just family... Your mom’s very pretty.”

Those glacial green eyes met his own again briefly.

“She ‘was’, yeah.”

Marc buttoned his shirt slowly, assimilating this. 

“Who’s the little girl? She looks like you.”

He risked a glance when there was no immediate reply. Rayne was looking back at him contemplatively as if measuring his words, deciding what he could and could not say.

“Her name’s Sadie Rose,” he answered at last, atonally. 

“’s a pretty name. Is she your sister’s kid?” Marc figured he was chancing it, but perhaps... just perhaps Rayne was mellowing. He seemed very protective of his family. It was true that he kept them very private. In questionnaires, he never revealed much about his home life... Until today Marc had not even known that the Whipsnade vocalist had siblings.

“Mmmm...” Rayne responded non-committally. He lowered his head, interlacing his fingers in his lap.

“You must be very fond of her... to carry her picture with you.” Marc pulled on his boots and glanced up again.

Rayne met his eyes briefly then tilted his head back, looking upward wearily and exhaling a long sigh of impatience. He lifted his hands to the nape of his neck and sat for a while in silence whilst Marc hunted for the rest of his belongings. At last he said; “Will you just leave. Now!”

Marc stood up a little straighter and faced him, fighting down the rising hysteria. He knew that he had done a particularly stupid thing, but if he walked out of here like this then the chances were that he would never see Rayne Wylde again and he hated to think that the singer’s memories of him would boil down to this single, acrimonious scene. Not after the last couple of wonderful days.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” he said as levelly as he could. “I mean that. I really like you Rayne. I’ve really... enjoyed... being with you. I don’t want to.... I mean... I can’t stand the idea that you....” Words choked him and he lowered his head dejectedly.

Silence closed around his words for a moment, broken only by the steady rhythm of the wheels on the track. Then Rayne murmured; “I think you’ve read more into this than you were entitled to, sweetheart.”

Marc looked up at him hopelessly. Pale lips twitched in a slight, sarcastic smile on the singer’s handsome face.

“It was just a fuck,” Rayne Wylde said impassively. “That’s all! Just sex. Fucking ‘great’ sex... but that’s it. Two nights on a shared mattress does not give you conjugal fuckin’ rights, darlin’! I don’t hate you. I don’t feel ‘anything’. I just want you to go... okay?”

His companion looked down again, crestfallen. At last he nodded, but made no effort to move away.

Rayne sat forward on the bed.

“Do you understand?” he demanded, more firmly.

In a small voice, Marc responded; “Yeah. Yeah... I understand.”

Apparently satisfied, Rayne slumped back against the pillows again. After a moment or two, he added; “All right... fuck off!” and Marc grabbed his bag and fled before he could possibly embarrass himself more.





Rayne let him go at finish. For a while he leaned against the pillows, staring at nothing, running those parting words over his tongue again and again. He could not help the disquieting feeling that maybe he had been too hard. For a moment or two as the kid stood there like a kicked dog, refusing to back down, he had come close to relenting. Acknowledging it did not make it easier to bear. It was one of those stupid things. He had once supposed that as he got older things would get easier; life would make gradually more and more sense until he was seamlessly in tune with everything around him. Instead, his world had become increasingly chaotic. 

He was a musician and writer without a band. His bassist, and founder member, Ciaran, was currently painting vast, abstract canvases for a gallery in Kerry, Eire, where he lived with his wife and two young kids. Sean Courtney, his guitarist and co-writer was running a bar and rock venue in King’s Cross. Simon Hathaway divided his time between his ungrateful wretch of a boyfriend and the charms of Jabez Evermann, Rayne’s Vampiric mentor, back in London, and seemed quite content to be unemployed. For Rayne it was harder; he had never done anything else but sing and play. This was an exercise in how well he could adapt to the world outside his private shell and right now he was wondering if he had done the right thing in coming out here. 

It was incontrovertible fact that Grant Jackson had hired him because he wanted a known Face; someone with that inherent shock factor that would make people want to read his magazine. He wanted someone whose style could grab readers by the brains and the bollocks simultaneously, and Rayne certainly had that gift. So far there had been no complaints from the editorial team, but he was on the other side of the Atlantic, they were hardly going to send a hit squad after him for taking the money and spending it on drink and sex. Not when they wanted an article out of this adventure that was heavy on those particular attributes. 

He laughed humourlessly to himself and shook his head. It was not as if ‘Zipped’ was a heavy piece of social commentary. ‘Fuck’, it was hardly even on the same level as ‘Hello Magazine’ when it came to serious journalism! Nevertheless, the rag had a certain cultish credibility, which had attracted him in the first place. That and the fact that it’s founder and Editor-in-chief looked good in a combat jacket and black bondage pants, and even better out of them! Grant appeared a young thug with his pierced eyebrows and shaven head, but he was a sweetheart in real life; a complete pussycat. Rayne had not quite been seduced... the kid was barely his ‘type’ after all, but Grant was persuasive enough to sell him ‘any’ line he thought might push his magazine onto the shelves of the major retailers. If Grant Jackson had proposed that he should cycle nude across Alaska then Rayne would have taken him out to dinner to discuss it. He wouldn’t have agreed but ‘Hell’, he would have enjoyed Grant’s attempts to convince him! 

None of this was any help in his current situation. They were still miles from San Francisco and he was feeling suddenly very solitary. An Englishman abroad, in ‘every’ sense of the word; stranded on a tourist island several thousand miles long and only about fifteen feet wide! Twisting about, he let the blind up from the window and sat back against the wall, watching the sunlight gilding the red-gold plateau outside. 

This morning he had woken in a town called Lovelock, which seemed hopelessly appropriate to the delicious tangle of human bodies on his bed. Now he was waiting for a halt called Deadloss, since that was how he was feeling. Rayne Wylde, the man who screwed up a thousand potential relationships! He had the idea that there should have been tumbleweeds billowing past the window, but there was only the hot, red-gold landscape, like a painting of something not quite real. Air conditioning hummed softly over his head and beyond the toughened glass Nevada hurtled by, burning up under an uncaring sun.

Reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes he pulled out a crumpled, empty packet and swore virulently to himself.





“You okay?” Cory enquired a little mazily as Marc perched himself on a bar stool and asked for a coffee. 

The blond kid looked pale and rather bleary-eyed but his companion supposed he could not be blamed for that. Last night had been a marathon, and if ‘he’ ached everywhere, Marc dreaded to think how Cory was feeling. His memories still showed him intermittent flashbacks of the last twenty-four hours and he rubbed his forehead as he tried to block them out now.

“Uh... tired I guess.”

“Yeah...” the barkeeper laughed weakly. “Totally fucked!”

He winked and turned away to wrestle with the caffetiere. Marc shook his head, giving in to a morbid chuckle. 

“How was he, this morning? When you got up?” he asked when Cory came back with his double espresso.




California Zephyr Ch. 03



Train 5, Car 0535, Bedroom E

[I had never experienced such an emotional involvement with my research before. Therefore, parts of this are written in the first person. - Richard ___________, PhD formerly with the University of _______________.]

On the evening that Karen had left Galesburg, she sat in her sleeping car compartment for awhile with the lights off, watching night fall over Iowa. She enjoyed the sight of glowing farm kitchens, a farmer working on his truck, children playing on a porch, a shade-pulled bedroom. Occasionally a bright light would shine into the car, illuminating her blonde hair. When this would happen, she found herself looking at the dull-colored, old-fashioned ring on her right hand. An observer, had their been one, would have seen her serious expression. In the corridor outside her room, muffled voices came and went.

As the panorama streamed past, she tried to put together the events of her trip, especially the events since finding the ring that her grandmother had left her. It seemed as though the metal band had some magic to it, but Karen had a scientific bent, and that did not seem believable. Her whole body still tingled and there was a warm feeling deep inside her when she thought about her experience with Fred in Galesburg. But perhaps that was just Fate? Perhaps it was just coincidence and horniness? She laughed at herself.

Just then she was interrupted by a knock on the door. It was the train passenger services chief with dinner reservation slips. She selected one for the 7:15 p.m. seating. That was really the only convenient one left by this time, but she had also learned that few families with children took that seating. Not that she didn't like kids, but.....! "Who will I be seated with?" she found herself wondering. Science. If something was going to be proved, she'd have to be able to reproduce it again. Karen smiled at the idea, but it made sense. A plan formed in her mind.

The thought of picking up a man in a bar had never seemed very attractive to her before. This was different, however. People didn't head for the dining car to get picked up. They expected pleasant conversations at the best. If the ring really had some magic power, based on what had happened in Galesburg she would find the experience enjoyable and worth remembering, and the conversation would reach beyond pleasant.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the compartment and looked at herself. She was dressed casually for the night, wearing a blouse and designer jeans. She unbuttoned the blouse and slipped out of the jeans, and stood again in front of the mirror.

"No, not quite right," she murmured to herself, as she stripped off the comfortable underwear. The train lurched momentarily, and she steadied herself. The strange sensation of her bare hip on the carpeted bulkhead reminded her of how odd this moving world was. Out there in the night, strangers were looking after her safety, moving her toward her goal, waiting to serve her needs.

"All but a few needs, anyway!" she laughed to herself. She rummaged around in her bag for a minute, and then picked a matching, blue lace set that would set off her blondeness. Her City lingerie purchases served her well, she thought, as she laid out the cloth confections. It would be an exciting discovery for some man, no, THE man, on this train who would be right for this night. She took a washcloth and cleaned off the dust and perspiration of travel, and then applied her favorite body lotion. Its fragrance filled the tiny room.

"In the interest of science," Karen smiled to herself as she slipped into the blue lace and then re-dressed in the casual clothes. She took the ring and placed it on a chain, and lowered it over her head, enjoying the cool feeling as it slid down to nestle in her bosom. She went to the dining car clean, without makeup. No one except the man that she would select would know the excitement which her choice of lingerie symbolized, she thought. She was waved into the diner as the train rumbled over the long span into Burlington, crossing the Mississippi. There were several singles and couples waiting, and the steward was grouping them into what he hoped would be compatible table seatings.

[Author's notes: In my interviews with her later, Karen told me that she had anticipated that the dining car supervisor might try to seat her with someone NOT in her objectives for this evening.]

She was pleasantly surprised to see that the supervisor was a woman, just a little older than herself. There had been a bit of a wait in the lounge car while the previous seating finished up, and during that time, she had focused her thoughts on the small, but energetic Mexicana, and what she hoped she would do.

Karen was pushing the ring idea to the limit, picturing three "eligible" men sitting at her table, with an attentive waiter and good conversation. She also tried picturing one of them tipping the supervisor quite well for the opportunity to be seated with her, something that she knew was rarely done on trains. The ring was warm now from her body's closeness, but she imagined that it responded with greater warmth.

Despite these hopeful and purposed thoughts, she was pleasantly surprised and then thrilled to see the supervisor smile knowingly at her, and then be seated at a table with three single men. I was one of them, and the oldest. As you know, I am a college prof, out in the job market at this time. There was Cam, a diamond-buyer who was about 31, and quite good-looking, and Hans, a German tourist who was about 24. We were all pleased to see Karen being seated with us, although each of us wished that the others were somewhere else.

If the ring worked, it would be helping her to pick someone for a wonderful evening, she supposed. That carried over into a glow that made her even more alluring than she already would have been. Each of us found our thoughts turning away from food, and our minds were filled with lovely images of Karen. Tearing the cellophane wrapper off of a package of Club crackers became a sensual act. Wine glasses were raised in rollicking toasts, as each of us men tried to top the others' brilliance.

I was squeezing Ranch dressing out of one of the little plastic packages onto my salad when I realized that Karen was watching me. I squeezed more slowly, and left the opening smaller than I should have. The white liquid creamed out in a potent spurt. Karen laughed and licked her lips. Then we all laughed, and I felt my manhood stirring as her attention focused on me. But Cam and Hans had their moments, too. Golden Hans had exciting stories to tell about his travels, and he was definitely in shape for the Colorado ski trip that he was ticketed for. Cam, I learned later, reminded Karen of her former boyfriend, except with the rough edges smoothed away. And he had an original and penetrating sense of humor that she found intriguing. His thoughts stuck in her mind. She found herself thinking more and more about his part in our scene.

As her mind zeroed in on Cam, she found herself still wondering about the ring. She still did not completely believe that this was not all psychological. Yet, here she was, sitting chatting with a man who seemed to be everything that she wanted. She must have blushed thinking about him, she thought, because he gave a quick and knowing grin in her direction. He cooperated in the conversation, she noticed, making sure that she was a part of it.

Their legs brushed each other's beneath the table. Really it was accidental, the motion of the train, she thought. But she did not move her leg, and they both found that the comfortable vibration of the train gave them a cozy feeling. 

"Did you know that our engineer tonight is a woman?!!" we heard an outraged muttering from another table. The train ride didn't feel any different to me. "Some sort of New England name, Sara-Jane something-er-other. A woman with a name like that shouldn't BE in a man's job!"

"And where are you headed, young man...." an elderly lady asked a child. All around us there were conversations going on. I could have been part of one of those, and would have enjoyed them or been amused by them, or argued in them. But now I was feeling like a third wheel.

Karen was not a cruel person. Her sense of experiment did not extend to leaving Hans and I high and wet for the evening, fortunately for us. She wondered how she could focus on Cam, without ruining the wonderful camaraderie at this table.

The waiter was smoothly removing the main dish plate when he nearly crashed into a handsome, young blonde, who tried to duck behind him. He deftly swerved, missing her, but she fell toward our table. As Hans caught her, her low-neck t-shirt gave us a wonderful view of well-shaped breasts, especially easy to check out because she was braless.

"Oh! Excuse....." she started to say, and then she stood bolt upright. She reminded me of one of my coeds, looking so fresh and full of energy. Her freckles were highlighted by the tan which she had acquired in some outdoor recreation. Her fingers, clutching the edge of our table to steady herself, showed signs of chapping.

"Hans!" she exclaimed, with a German accent. He looked blankly at her for a moment, and then a big smile crossed his face.

"Katherine!" This 19-year old woman was the little girl from next door in Zehlendorf, he explained to us. He hadn't seen her since her early teens, when she was "sehr schlank!" I let my eyes cruise lazily over the "little girl" with the big curves. She looked somewhat boldly back at me, but then turned her high beams on Hans.

Their conversation spilled excitedly back and forth between German and English. Katherine was in America on a scholarship, but she was now on her way to ski in Colorado, too. They were both ticketed for Winter Park! Cam offered to move, so that Katherine could sit down. Karen gave him a hard look, which he did not notice. Hans suggested that he would love to stay with us, but he and Katherine had many things to talk about. She had come in late and had been seated by herself. Hans would move to her table. The waiter showed no surprise.

The train slid to a stop in Mt. Pleasant. I saw one passenger waiting to board, bundled against the cold, likely an adult woman, but otherwise hard to make out in the snow and darkness. My thoughts drifted to my own situation, how much I yearned for the company of women my own age. In my college teaching I had continually met lovely young partners, and had kept telling myself how great that was, but now, forced into time to think, I had begun to realize how empty that was. But the women that I longed to meet now were as remote as the one whose shape I had just seen on the station platform.

Karen looked out on the same scene and seemed to focus her thoughts somewhere outside the window. I saw her smile, and then our attention turned again to our smaller circle around the table. The ice cream on my apple pie came in a firmly packed scoop. It rolled around a bit, round and creamy. Everything was making me think of sex, and I looked up from it at Karen's chest, and then into her eyes. They were sparkling, and she smiled.

"You are thinking of something that distracts you, professor?" She chuckled. Was I that obvious?

Cam, Karen and I had somehow become old friends during dinner. She had learned of my academic interests (note to myself: other than my extra-curricular activities, but perhaps the ring knew of that part?). Cam was an executive in a diamond importing firm in San Francisco. He had been pressured by colleagues to take the plane on this trip, but he apparently had an independent mind, and had wanted take some time off. I realized moments later that Cam was expressing his delight at being among the select by caressing her knee under the table. I squirmed uneasily, beginning to feel like I might be needed elsewhere. Karen half closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself take in the soothing sensation, imagining that waves of warm feeling were emanating from her secret treasure, and then she pulled herself up and looked squarely at me.

"In a few minutes," she asserted to me, "that woman who was waiting in Mt. Pleasant is going to walk in here to get something to eat. You will meet her, and you will find that the two of you are terrifically compatible. You are going to use all of your talent to make love to her tonight." Karen seemed stunned herself at her boldness. I gave her a skeptical look, and said nothing. I wondered how I would meet the woman, since she would be seated at a different table.

"I can't picture myself coming up to her and reporting that to her," I finally told Karen. Cam's caresses had migrated to her inner thighs, and while she looked comfortable, I was feeling less so.

"I don't know how it will happen, but it will," she sighed. The sigh might have been reflective, or it might have been from enjoyment. Her stocking-clad foot was out of her shoe, sliding it up Cam's leg. I started to look over my check, preparing to pay my bill and exit from my new three's-a-crowd situation.

Almost on cue, a dark-haired woman in her late 30's walked in, and was shown to an empty table. Without the bundling, and in the light of the dining car, she was quite lovely. Her black hair was nicely styled, and she wore more jewelry than my coeds did. It looked just right on her, especially her necklace, which rested on the wonderful, large curves of her decolletage. She caught my glance, and gave me a direct, warm smile back.

Karen watched, then grinned at me, enjoying her secret of the ring. The woman ordered coffee and then concentrated on selecting items and filling out her dinner check. Still disbelieving, I started to leave, but Karen shook her head at me. Suddenly my thoughts overflowed with images of Karen, of Cam, and of this stranger, thoughts of us all in various sexual poses!

I sat at my place for a moment, and as I tried to think of what to do next, the train chief came into the car and headed straight to the dark-haired woman. He had a sheaf of print-outs in his hand, and a disappointed look on his face.

"Sophia ___________?" he addressed her by her full name, reading off of his notes. The dark-haired woman acknowledged that she was Sophia. "I'm sorry to report to you that all of the sleeper rooms are sold out tonight. There were no last-minute cancellations. Thanks for considering an upgrade, though." Sophia looked very disappointed. As the crew chief left, I made my move. Karen gave me a thumbs-up sign. Cam's eyes never left our blonde tablemate: she could have waved a railroad flare and he never would have noticed.

Filled with a new boldness, I stepped over to Sophia's table, introduced myself and admitted that I had overheard her problem with the sold-out sleeping car space. You reading this probably would not have been surprised if she had laughed out loud at my proposition that she spend the night in my two-berth deluxe bedroom, rather than spending the night in a coach seat. I would not have been surprised if she had called for the dining car supervisor and had me tossed off the train in Creston.

Yes, she did laugh, but it was a warm laugh, full of appreciation for the unlikeliness of my suggestion. She wasn't sure about my offer, but she invited me to sit down and chat a bit. I learned that she WAS the lone passenger who had boarded at Mt. Pleasant.

I told her a little about my work. It was not glamorous sounding, but as we talked, I felt a bridge being built between us. Sophia was genuinely interested; she asked good questions.

On impulse, I looked back at Karen and Cam, meaning to let Karen know that she had been right. They did not notice, having progressed to what an anthropologist colleague of mine had called the "copulatory gaze". Both of them were feeling that their clothes were becoming very uncomfortable at that point. They were ready for the check, NOW.

Sophia noticed me looking at them, and suggested that perhaps it was time for all of us to head back to the sleepers. There was a certainty in her voice that increased my excitement about her. Was this prediction of Karen's really working?

"Sophia, wait a moment. There's something I have to tell you." I stopped her as she began to work out her check. Karen and Cam had paid up and were walking quickly back to her car. Sophia looked up at me expectantly, pencil poised. I told her a sketchy outline of my thoughts about how I would never meet the mature woman that I now knew that I needed, and about Karen's prediction that things would work out between Sophia and me.

Sophia was fascinated, rather than being turned off by this news. She took a deep breath, which moved her breasts in an enticing way.

"And this is just in the interests of developing a friendly relationship?" she queried. A smile flitted across her lips. I assured her that it was, as I shifted to let my hardening penis fit more comfortably in my briefs. The waiter interrupted her before she could comment, taking away her payment.

She arched an eyebrow with lascivious humor at me, smiled her dazzling smile, and led me in the opposite direction of the sleepers.

"We have to get my things," she explained. In the coach, some passengers were already trying to get to sleep. A college couple shared a beach blanket in one pair of seats, snuggling close to each other, all four hands out of sight. A mother and child fussed with a favorite kiddy blanket, getting set for the night. Shades were pulled by most seats, but where they were open, crossing lights streamed by in the darkness. I helped Sophia carry her stuff up from the baggage shelf and back down through the diner to the sleepers.

As I followed Sophia through the corridors and aisles, the engineer was getting a high green signal. "Sara-Jane" slipped her gloved hand down over the erect throttle, moving it firmly into the top "Run 8" notch. The diesel vibration in the engine's cab pushed through her as the train surged forward on the straight track of America's heartland.

Hitting switchpoints as the train accelerated, the car swayed, and an athletic-looking man coming toward us struggled to keep his balance. Sophia gracefully kept her poise, swinging her hips aside so that he never touched her.

She must have read my mind. As I steadied myself by grabbing at the corridor bulkhead, she turned back and flashed that smile, "I go back and forth from Mt. Pleasant to Denver on this train a lot."

"You must be quite a dancer, with that ability!" I didn't think that her fluid motion came from train-riding alone.

"Maybe? I love folk dancing! I'm in a club that performs." She turned her head forward again, and I followed her with growing excitement.

Katherine and Hans were in the lower level of Sophia's coach. The German students had found one of the coach doorway windows open, and were un-Germanically breaking the rules by riding in the entry vestibule, enjoying the racket and breeze. They did not see us as they embraced, with Hans' arms holding tight to his home-town discovery. He caressed her bottom, as her soft lips played music over his mouth. We kept going, but the thought occurred to me that it was a good thing that they were so near the well-upholstered uni-sex dressing room.

When we reached my room, we made another amazing discovery. I opened the door and stepped inside to hold it open for Sophia. There in the place where one wall of my room should have been were Cam and Karen! Karen was leaning against another wall, with Cam pressed tightly against her, his hands stroking her, her leg wrapping lustily around his.

I started to back out hastily, but Sophia, with a chuckle, pushed me back into the room. Karen and Cam separated, straightened their clothes, and blushed mightily. In their intense excitement, we learned, they had not even noticed that one "wall" of Karen's room was gone.




California Zephyr Ch. 03



My room was adjacent to Karen's and the two rooms were set up "en suite". I didn't know that certain rooms could be opened up that way by removing the partition between them. Apparently, neither did Karen or Cam. [Later we asked the car attendant about it.

"I got this note from the crew chief said that there'd been a booking error, and that I should make up the rooms as a suite," he explained. Later yet in my investigation, I found that the crew chief had never written a note about this. The source of this instruction remains a mystery.]

We plunked down on our respective sides of the combined rooms, feeling a little awkward. Karen smiled, and suggested that if we agreed, that both sides could switch out the lights and enjoy the stars over the prairie while we chatted for awhile.

I jumped for the switch in my half of the car so quickly that Sophia laughed.

"Professor!" she exclaimed. "You are in too much of a hurry." Cam was quick to find the light switch on Karen's side of the rooms, too.

Believe or not, we did watch the stars from the lower berths. We did chat, and learned a great deal about each other as the Zephyr devoured the last miles of Iowa.

Karen was cautious enough not to tell us everything at first. She did not describe the ring specifically, but confessed that she was wondering if she had acquired the ability to arrange seductions. She blushed furiously as she explained, but there was no anger on our part at hearing this, only amazement. My mind kept visualizing her blush extending down over her breasts, not realizing then that my thoughts were being drawn toward the ring in its nesting place.

In spite of these sensations, I reverted to being the professional skeptic and asked her how she was going to prove that all of the evening's events were not just a pleasant coincidence.

Then, Karen filled out the story of the ring, pulling it out from its nestling place in her bosom. The ring itself looked to me as if it was Japanese; I pushed my memory to think of what its style might signify, but it did not ring a bell with me.

After that stunning news, which none of us could top, we turned toward learning more about each other.

Cam tried to be modest, but we gradually learned that he should be celebrating on this trip, as he had outfoxed his business competitors in the eastern transaction, particularly a well-advertised Denver firm. When I remembered their obnoxious radio ads, I began to like Cam, instead of thinking of him as a rival.

Sophia had ended an unhappy marriage in Denver, and had moved to a part-time college administrative job in Mt. Pleasant. But she had business interests in the Mile High City, so was headed for work and relaxation space in the Oxford Hotel across from the Union Station. By traveling overnight, the train schedule gave her two work days for the cost of one night in the hotel. I came to realize that this independent businesswoman's taste exceeded her income, so she had worked around that problem to gain the prestigious hotel address at a reasonable cost.

Karen told about her anguished trip east after her grandmother's death, and filled in more details about the crash of her relationship with Jim.

I answered questions from all three of them about my reasons for leaving the university. The validity of my research work into parapsychology was being questioned, but the real problem came when I was accused of taking advantage of some of my female students. There had been no complaints from them, it was more a case of the department worrying that there could be problems in the future. Or perhaps it was the department chairman bursting in on student "slut" Cindy and I - he had wanted her for himself, I believe. But that is another story.

Now, in the darkened sleeper suite, I admitted that I should have seen that coming. Buried in the academic world from my own undergraduate days, I had enjoyed the easily available sex, but somehow I had failed to notice that as I grew older and was promoted, that the situation was changing. Someone like Sophia had stories to share, a life already established. Answering a question from Karen, I had to admit that I mourned the passing of the young women from my life. I had honestly enjoyed exchanging ideas with them, introducing them to new worlds. And that had somehow led to them sharing my bed. Their infinite variety had intrigued me; each had different thoughts, different ways of expressing themselves.... and a different body, to share.

As the intimacy grew, each of we couples cuddled more closely together. These were people that I really liked! I felt secure with them. And that feeling seemed to circle around us in the protective steel cocoon of the Zephyr.

Then, the conversation faded, and we watched the occasional passage of a farm house or a road crossing in silence. In the flashing red of a crossing signal, I saw that Karen and Cam were embracing, his hands running through her blonde hair, hers caressing the muscles of his shoulders.

I looked over at Sophia. She was watching, too. We grinned at each other, embarrassed, but enjoying the moment. She stifled a giggle, and I kissed her. Her lips went from smile to softness in a beautiful second, and shaped themselves to me, brushing gently over mine.

A series of short sighs interrupted us, turning our attention again to the other side of the rooms. Cam was unbuttoning Karen's blouse, and the sighs were hers as he kissed her-- and his as the lovely lace outline of her champagne glass breasts emerged. In the occasional light we did not see his hand move to her jeans zipper, but we heard the familiar sound in the darkened bedrooms.

The Zephyr's engineer pulled long and hard on the whistle cord for Creston. I definitely was not getting off yet.

--- to be continued---

The help and suggestions of hsx200 members in preparing this chapter is gratefully acknowledged.

- Professor Richard W.



California Zephyr Ch. 03



“Ray? I dunno... a bit playful, but not pushy. He was okay.” The boy frowned slightly, guiltily even. “Why, what’s up?”

“I think we’ve had a falling out,” Marc said mildly, shrugging his shoulders as if this was only to be expected.

“I sort of got the impression you were an item,” Cory acknowledged, a little shyly. His smile suggested that he was uneasy about something though. “Is it my fault?”

“I only met him the day before yesterday,” the older man replied, sipping his coffee and pulling an appreciative face.

“’Jesus’!” Cory kept his voice low but the admiration was plain in his eyes. “You’re a fast mover. I figured you’d been together for ages. He seems really... I dunno... ‘easy’ with you. I don’t mind saying... I was a bit jealous.”

“Yeah... well... when you’ve been shagging a guy for forty eight hours I guess you get a bit familiar!” Marc said bitterly, then put his cup down. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Jeez... you’re taking this bad, aren’t you?” Cory murmured sympathetically. 

Marc fired a look at him and muttered; “Forget it!” 

He fished in his pocket for change but the blond kid waved his money away. 

“I’ll sort it... it’s the least I can do,” he said rather awkwardly. 

Marc shrugged again, and left him to his duties.





At Lake Tahoe the train shed some of it’s walkers and sight-see-ers and gained a handful of extreme sports fanatics, decked out in the kind of baggy shorts and lurid tee-shirts you could happily promote psychedelic drugs with. They all seemed to communicate with one another in a private language cobbled together from watching the Bill & Ted movies and Wayne’s World, repeatedly, until their brains melted and fused into the dialogue direct. Marc watched them for a while over his paperback until the ‘Awesome’s and ‘Yo Dude!’s got insufferable, then he put his earphones back in and pretended not to notice them. Not even the blond who looked like Kurt Cobain on steroids, with a tan, and the longest legs he had seen outside of a zoo or a freak show stretched out into the aisle. The hem of his shorts kept riding up to his hip as he shifted ingenuously in his seat, exposing the innocent whiteness of his ass beneath. 

From time to time Marc’s gaze wandered back along that expanse of bare, honey-coloured flesh, admiring the way the sunlight glinted on the fine dusting of golden hair spread evenly down his thighs and muscular calves. Until the moment he lifted his eyes and found the kid staring back at him with a small, perplexed frown on his face. 

At once, Marc dropped his head into his book again and stared at the blurry typeface blankly, unable to make the words out at all. For a little while he kept his face lowered, not even risking an artless glance back down the car for some imagined companion, which might allow his eyes to brush casually over the blond boy. When he finally dared to look up again the kid had moved across to the seat on his side of the aisle and tucked his feet in under the table as he shared a can of Bud with two other guys. They were laughing suggestively at something and this time the boy met his glance more defensively between the seat backs. 

Marc started to feel uneasy and tucked the book back into his bag, pushing himself to his feet, intending to take a little walk and clear his head. One of the guys from the booth in front also got up and looked back in his direction. The blond said something quietly and rose with him. Marc’s heart was thumping as he turned casually and walked back towards the top end of the car, nearest to his seat. He did not dare to look back this time. The mood around the table further down had sobered and darkened and he suddenly felt vulnerable. 

Beyond his car there were private compartments and a corridor that ran up the outside. He kept walking, trying not to hurry obviously, and heard the partition door shush open and closed behind him. Laughter rippled and male voices conferred in hushed tones. 

“Hey!” someone said. 

At first he did not look back but then the guy spoke again, closer this time, and more softly. “Hey... you deaf?”

Swallowing dryly, he stopped and turned his head. “No.”

The blond was watching him, a shade uncomfortable still, from the end of the corridor. His companion hovered nearer, closer to Marc than he was to the blond kid. He was a little older, and not so tall, although he still stood over Marc by a good half-handspan, and was nearly twice as broad. Small, dark, suspicious eyes looked him up and down now.

“What?” Marc prompted quietly, determined not to let them know he was intimidated.

“My friend wants to know, was you lookin’ at him?” the kid demanded in a thick, New Jersey accent. 

“Then he can ask me,” Marc said, glancing back defiantly at the blond. “Can’t he?”

The two exchanged a look and now the darker youth, who looked like some Hispanic prizefighter, took another step towards him, eyes narrowing. 

“Wha’da’ya think, Chet? D’you think he’s a fag?”

Marc seethed inwardly, refusing to step back from him. It could get nasty, he had no doubts about it. Brief scenarios flashed through his head in which his battered body was retrieved from the trackside some days later, but he stood his ground and held the dark lad’s challenging gaze. 

“He was looking at my legs.” The blond had a softer, almost childish-sounding voice. Marc re-assessed him and decided he couldn’t be much more than fifteen, in spite of his height. 

“You were... kind of... drawing attention to them,” he pointed out now, cynically. “If you don’t want people to look...” Letting the sentence trail off, he glanced down again and shrugged his shoulders.

A hand grabbed him by the neckline of his shirt and he found himself pushed back against the wall of the nearest compartment. His lips parted but no sound came out; for a moment the threat of violence paralysed his vocal chords, then he cleared his throat quickly and hissed; “Take your hands off me!”

“Not until you admit to me what you are, you dirty little fag!”

“Go and fuck yourself!” Marc spat in his face.

The young guy backhanded him hard. Marc felt his head roll and a moment of blindness swallowed him before he recovered his full senses. The rush of pain concentrated behind his nose and under one cheekbone and he tasted blood on his lips and felt sick.

“Tony...” the blond was imploring in a wheedling voice. “What if someone comes by? Leave him, it doesn’t matter.”

“He was lookin’ at your ass. You think that doesn’t matter?” the dark haired boy snapped back at him. 

“He cain’t do nothin’ about it!” Chet protested. “Look... you’ve showed him, Tony. He won’t give us no hassle...”

Powerful hands gripped Marc’s shoulders and shook him. 

“Not until he admits it! C’mon faggot.. tell us whatcha are! Tell us what a dirty little ass-fucker you are and I might let you keep your pretty face!”

In that instant, Marc lashed out, bracing himself against the guy’s arms and kicking at him in a desperate attempt to break free and run. The element of surprise gave him a moment of leeway and Tony practically let him go. In that fleeting instant, Marc pulled himself clear and stumbled for the stairs. He made it into the lower corridor and pushed his way through the first door he found, into a dark, empty, windowless chamber; some kind of storage bay. At once he turned, but Tony was already in the doorway and he laughed cruelly now, shoving his quarry back into the darkness of the room and following. Beyond him, Chet hovered in the doorway, radiating anxiety, like a gangling human scarecrow surrounded by carrion.

Marc backed right up to the wall catching his breath, conscious of the hammering in his chest. Tony followed, unbuckling his belt.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson, fag!” he said maliciously. “Shut that fuckin’ door, Chet!”

“Tony...” the blond protested.

“Shut your hole, Chet! Jist do it! You started this, remember... You wanted to see him beg. Now you gotta help me out here!”

“Don’t be stupid...” Marc warned in a voice that quavered even as he forced himself to be brave. “This train is packed with people.”

“Not the baggage car, queer boy!” Tony began to unbutton his 501 cut-offs.

“I’ll yell!”

“You c’n yell all you like.” His pursuer looked back at the tall kid hovering by the wall, he was still just visible in the light which filtered through the cracks between the door and the jamb. “Chet... git him on the floor and keep him quiet.”

“Tony...” the boy protested unhappily.

“D’you want me to tell the whole posse you’re an ass-bandit too?” the stocky lad warned him.

A shake of the head was his only reply.

“Then keep the little fag quiet!”

The blond edged past him like a whipped dog and cast a resentful look at Marc through the gloom. 

“You asked for this,” he pointed out.

“You don’t have to do everything he tells you,” Marc retaliated, forcing the quaver out of his voice.

“Shut the li’l fucker up!” Tony barked, over his words.

Chet was biting on his lips as he struck out inexpertly. Marc put up both hands to shield himself but the next blow still knocked him to the floor and a cry was forced from his lips as he hit the bare planking. A hand closed over his mouth almost at once and he kicked out ineffectually, creeping terror taking hold of him. In the back of his mind it was starting to sink in that this was really going to happen and there was nothing he could do about it. Until now the threat had been almost dreamlike... he had watched it happening from a distance as if to someone else, even after Tony hit him. 

By his head, a scuffed sneaker stirred the dust on the boards and he focused on it as Chet pinned him to the floor with the weight of his lean, young body, staring at the blue and gold lines and the Nike insignia, memorising them, as if that would do him any good once they had killed him and thrown him off the train. He could smell Bud on Chet’s breath as the kid huffed nervously in his ear, and the rank stink of stale sweat on the hand over his mouth. Then there was a little hiss of sound and the foot by his shoulder was gone, swinging back into the darkness. When the sneaker connected with his belly he curled up instinctively, trying to protect himself and whimpering under Chet’s hand. A whoosh of breath escaped the dark, burly kid, then he kicked Marc again, harder this time, and grunted; “Git his pants down!”

“Mmmf... No!” Marc struggled wildly, in spite of the dull ache in his gut. His lips parted in a moan of combined frustration and pain and, as Chet’s fingers slipped between his teeth, he bit the kid hard and took advantage of the moment of shock to writhe out of his grip, scrabbling for the door. Rougher hands caught his shirt and shoulder ungently, yanking him backwards like a puppet, then throwing him to the floor. He slipped in his attempt to regain his feet and went down on one elbow and both knees, screaming for all he was worth and kicking out as Tony’s hands moved lower, grappling for his waistband. Chet pressed him to the rough boards, leaning all his boyish weight onto Marc’s shoulder blades as his partner popped the button of their captive’s flyer and unzipped him, yanking Marc’s jeans and cotton boxers to mid-thigh. Rough fingers spread his ass cheeks even as he bucked and struggled in vain to get away from them. 

He was gagged again, this time with a scrunched bandana. Chet held him by the hair, panting harder as his companion spat between Marc’s roughly parted buttocks and rubbed the makeshift lube into his tight hole with the pad of his thumb. He pushed one finger in, then another, loosening his victim up roughly. Marc writhed and moaned incoherently under him, trembling with fear and humiliation as he heard the sound of a zipper being lowered. Tony’s fingers withdrew and he spat again.

“Reckon you’re busting for a Real Man in your ass, huh, Queer-boy?” he grunted, probing Marc’s rectum until the prostrate youth moaned a protest. “Well, let’s see how you enjoy havin’ your fag hole ram-raided!”

Light flooded over them in that instant as the door opened, and Marc sank to the floor, blinking and shielding his eyes. Tony’s hands released him almost at once and he was conscious only of the soft click of booted heels on the rough, planking floor. Relief was his first emotion, then embarrassment. Still driven by a sense of self-preservation, he scrambled towards the doorway, still wrestling with his dishevelled clothing and pulled himself into a sitting position, conscious that he was trembling uncontrollably. He rubbed at his face with both hands and they came away blood smeared. For a moment his gut churned again.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw Tony backing away involuntarily from the intruder. He even saw the reason why. The lean, black-clad Vampire was not tall and certainly no physical match for Tony, but he was smiling with the sort of cruel self-confidence only trained killers and madmen ever possess. The long, white fingers of his left hand were wrapped around Tony’s throat and raised slightly above his head. Already the bigger guy had stopped trying ineffectually to prise them away and was concentrating on not choking to death. The toes of his sneakers barely scraped the floor though. 

On the ground beyond him, Chet was trying to scrabble clear, terror bright in his huge, blue eyes. He was crying; snot dribbling from his nose and mouth whilst Tony kicked and struggled above him and the Vampire observed him with a fanged grin of amusement.

“Not such a tough guy now, are you?” Rayne suggested at last, a hint of cynical amusement in his soft, cockney-accented voice. “Come on then, Mr. Macho. Give me your best shot... Show me what a ‘big’ man you are.” He shook his head as Tony whimpered and struggled, wetness darkening the crotch of his unbuttoned jeans as he pissed himself uncontrollably. A humourless chuckle escaped the Vampire’s lips and he exclaimed; “’Sad twat’!”

At last he released the boy and let him crumple to the floor in a pool of his own urine, almost blue in the face. Tony rubbed at his neck with both hands, panting and moaning incoherently. Chet was crying in a corner, trying to make himself as small as possible. Rayne set hands on his hips and looked down at them both disgustedly. 

“‘Two’ of you to get the pants off one skinny boy, and ‘still’ you fuck up!” he mocked, derisively. “Looks like he doesn’t ‘fancy’ you much, boys!”

“Our... our friends’ll come lookin’....” Tony wheezed, struggling to his knees, which were already soaked through. 

“I’m shit scared!” Rayne Wylde told him in a softly sarcastic tone. “Besides... we’ll be long gone by the time they find you wallowing in your own piss, sweetheart!”

Tony scowled up at him, recovering a little, although he made no attempt to get nearer to the Vampire. Marc watched him dazedly from the doorway, his head starting to spin a little. 

“I’ll git you you nancy-lookin’ fucker!” the little tough warned huskily. 

“No you won’t darlin’,” Rayne told him more solemnly, crouching on the balls of his feet to look Tony squarely in the face now, taking care not to step in the spreading circle of his opponent’s urine. “Because you’re gonna get off this train at the next fucking stop... or I’ll make sure that ‘all’ your fucking friends know how much you like buggering other guys, okay?”

There was a long, weighted silence, broken only by the constant rumble of the train-wheels beneath them and the creak of the carriage. Tony glared back at Rayne for a moment but, when the Vampire did not flinch from his gaze, he was the first to drop his head.

“‘Okay’?” Rayne Wylde prompted again, insistently. 

Reluctantly, Tony nodded. 

Marc let his chin sink against his chest and closed his eyes with a small, involuntary groan of relief and exhaustion. He heard the click of booted feet come closer, then cool, gentle fingers touched his jaw line tenderly, soothing the heat in one side of his poor, battered face. It felt so good that he kept his eyes closed, afraid that he might cry otherwise.

“Come on, love,” Rayne said softly, at last, sliding one arm beneath his shoulders with infinite care. “Let’s get you out of here.”





The bed felt blissfully soft beneath him as Marc was set down in the familiar gloom of the sleeper car. The blind was still lowered and Rayne moved quietly about the small compartment as he lay with his eyes closed, still trying not to cry. His heart would not stop thumping and his head ached mercilessly now that his panic numbed senses were returning. He felt the mattress subside a little and cold fingers touched his cheek and the corner of his mouth and eye tenderly and briefly. 

“Did they hit you anywhere else?” the Vampire’s familiar, smoky voice asked softly, close to his ear. 

Marc touched his fingers lightly to his belly, feeling that if he spoke his eyes would probably bleed. In any case, the lump in his throat was already choking him. 

Rayne’s gentle hands unfastened his shirt and drew up the fine, jersey material beneath. He laid his hand flat against the hot skin of his patient’s stomach and made a small, non-committal noise, which sounded like an expression of pain. 

“I can’t do anything about this,” he whispered at last. “But the cuts I can at least help with.”

Marc winced a little as he felt the singer’s cool, gentle breath on his cheek, then Rayne’s lips brushed his skin wetly and began to kiss him. It was nothing like the unchecked passion of the previous two nights. This time the Vampire ran his lips very slowly and deliberately over his lover’s battered face, stroking with his tongue and paying particular attention to the areas where Marc’s face was cut and bleeding. At first the mortal believed he was merely feeding, but after a little while the soreness began to ease, and he found that he could move his lips without so much pain when Rayne kissed him on the mouth. His hands rose up to cup the Vampire’s face and finally he opened his eyes to look into Rayne Wylde’s acid-green gaze. 

The Vampire leaned back from him with a little smile, so peculiarly tender and admonishing that he could not check the sob which rose from his breast. At once, strong arms were around him and Rayne pulled him close, murmuring quiet nonsense until he was able to control the tears once more. He did not say anything, only kissed Marc once more, deeply and tenderly until the mortal reached for him and held onto him as fiercely as he was able to. 



They lay together quietly for a long time, feeling the train sway gently beneath them. Rayne buried his face in the softness of his companion’s tangled hair. Marc was curled in his embrace like a child; still now and less frightened, although his terror had been almost palpable when Rayne first brought him back here. The horror of what had very nearly happened back there in the baggage car was just as sharp to the Vampire, who soothed him without words, knowing full well how useless talk was under such circumstances. All he could give in a situation like this was security and tenderness and he offered both without question. 

At last, his lover’s quiet voice broke the stillness between them, muffled by the softness of his shirt collar; heavy with hurt and weariness.

“How did you know where to find me?”

“You were lucky, I guess. I was just passing.” He smiled as he spoke, putting as much of that expression into his voice as possible.

“You were strolling around the baggage compartments?” Marc tried to sit up and the Vampire did not restrain him.

“I wondered if I had any more cigarettes in my hold bag,” Rayne lied easily. 

“And you knew I was in there?”

“I heard a scream...” Rayne shrugged his slim shoulders fluidly and leaned back among the pillows. “I opened the door and there you were. Honestly, if you ‘wanted’ another threesome you only had to ‘ask’!” 




California Zephyr Ch. 03



Marc sank down, embarrassed, wincing slightly at the dull ache which reminded him of the kicking Rayne’s gentle mouth had not been able to ease. He touched his fingertips to the smoothness of his lips and cheek again, a little bewildered.

“I’m not bleeding...”

“Vampires have their uses,” Rayne told him mildly. “Whatever it is in my spit that heals up a bite after feeding is just as good for other kinds of puncture wound.”

Marc looked up at him, still perplexed.

“I kissed you better,” Rayne elaborated bluntly, with a little grin that exposed tiny, perfect fangs. “You wanna look after that pretty face a bit more, sweetheart.”

For a moment, Marc looked away, his expression awkward and unhappy, as if at some darker memory. Then he lifted his dark gaze to Rayne’s impassive features once more.

“You ‘knew’ I was in trouble, didn’t you?” he demanded, more firmly. “You came to find me?”

Rayne’s fingers ruffled his hair affectionately. 

“Whatever!” the Vampire said, with infuriating ambiguity.





This time, when he removed Marc’s clothing he did it slowly and with such exquisite tenderness that the young man almost wept again out of sheer joy and yearning. There was a sense of inevitability to this act of lovemaking that set it apart from the frenzied bouts of passion which had already preceded it on this rumpled bed. Both were aware of the passing of time... the inexorable ticking of the clock which carried them ever closer to journey’s end. In Oakland they would both step down from the train, strangers once more, and head off about their respective business in the city as if nothing had ever passed between them. Maybe they would never see each other again. But for now, nothing could part them, nothing could halt the steady magnetism which pulled them together, joining lips onto soft flesh and urgently caressing hands to hungry bodies seeking solace. 

Rayne kissed him with intense, deliberate passion, on every inch of his naked body, undressing him as if he were the most fragile and precious thing in the world and staking claim to him with his fingers and his tongue until Marc was gasping helplessly with a desire that almost saw him pass out. His own hands fluttered longingly over Rayne’s dark, silken head and slender back, drawing the other man against him, clinging to him and urging himself upward into the Vampire’s seductive embrace. Soft lips caressed his neck and throat, his earlobes and the hollow of his breastbone. Sharp, white teeth teased his nipples and nipped at the flesh of his wrists and the crook of his elbows, before that gentle mouth buried itself against his palms, kissing his hands and sucking his fingers. 

His own hands explored Rayne’s beautiful face wonderingly as he was kissed and seduced from head to toe. Those tender lips whispered tormentingly across the flatness of his belly and down into the dip of his groin, kissing but not sucking until he wanted to cry out, imploring the Vampire to swallow his painfully erect cock. Instead, Rayne turned him very gently onto his belly and kissed his lean thighs and the backs of his knees and his calves and ankles and the smooth inner arches of his feet, lifting each leg in turn to nuzzle his lover’s sole and draw Marc’s toes into his mouth whilst the mortal writhed against the bedclothes and moaned with longing. Down one leg he roamed and back up the other, kissing the softness of his lover’s buttocks then the sensitive hollow at the base of his spine, worming his tongue seductively beneath the tail of Marc’s backbone, toying teasingly with the pucker of his asshole whilst his hand cupped and caressed the other man’s balls, squeezing and fondling him. Under him the mortal cried out with greater urgency, but Rayne was not done with him yet. 

Slowly, and lingeringly he kissed a wandering path up the other man’s naked back and rubbed his lover’s slim shoulders with both strong hands as his mouth explored the nape of Marc’s neck through the spill of his dark hair. The Vampire was intensely aroused by this steady circumnavigation of his bedmate’s naked body and he rubbed his erect sex firmly between Marc’s thighs as his mouth worked on the mortal’s neck and shoulders and his hands travelled down again to stroke the young man’s belly and his cock. 

“Do you want me?” he whispered huskily into Marc’s ear now, the first words he had spoken since this seduction began. 

“‘Yes’...!” There was barely a moment of hesitation. His partner’s voice was virtually inaudible but the assent in every tense line of his body cried out to Rayne, demanding satisfaction. “Please...! Oh ‘please’!”



There were no more words. Rayne lubed him with deliberate care and attentiveness, then entered him slowly feeling the lovely youth push back against him. Marc writhed in his embrace as the Vampire’s hands snaked down between his thighs, touching him and rubbing him fiercely until his cries of encouragement lost their coherence, muffled in the pillows. Sinking down on him, Rayne kissed him, then bit gently on his shoulder, and more firmly on his slender neck as he fucked the young man harder. The blood spilled between his teeth and he groaned with pleasure now, pressing himself deeper into the beautiful mortal’s yielding body as he fed. 

Marc exhaled a sharp little breath, then a moan of astonished affirmation and Rayne’s fingers were suddenly slick with his lover’s cum. Under him, his lover murmured his name over and over, the words catching in his throat. Rayne pulsed a little faster and lifted his head, sighing with intense satisfaction at his own release. He shuddered with pleasure, letting himself sink down again onto Marc’s sweat-soaked body, sucking the stickiness of his partner’s semen from his fingers with peculiar delicacy, then after a few moments, he began to kiss the boy once more. 



Each time they made love, Marc found himself wondering how it could possibly be better than the time before. Each time, Rayne took him to a more satisfying peak. One time he did so with his god-sent lips wrapped around the shaft of his lover’s cock and his fingers buried deep in Marc’s ass. Another, he spread himself and let the mortal take him, willingly, in return, until his bedmate was burning inside with a cold fire that exploded upward from his crotch, blazing through his gut and searing his brain like a lightning strike. That in itself was a gift; he already knew of the singer’s general unwillingness to play the submissive, but at this stage of their lovemaking, with Rayne having just reached a second climax within him and Marc still hard and needy, it seemed a natural progression. The Vampire offered no resistance when his mortal lover wriggled down between his thighs and pushed his knees back to his chest urgently, nudging his cock rapidly up into Rayne’s asshole.

The singer was perfectly tight and wonderful to ride. He wrapped his legs around Marc whilst they made out and pulled him close so that they could kiss, sloppily, as the young man bucked and thrust between his thighs, his lean body rising and falling like a seal in water, undulating smoothly in the Vampire’s eager embrace. He sank down, crying weakly in Rayne’s arms when the moment of climax came and the other man held him in wordless empathy, swaying him back and forth until he felt he could breathe without sobbing.



The drowsy gold of a late summer’s afternoon lay thick over the small, shadowy compartment, melting into the heavy atmosphere of mingled exhaustion and resignation that pervaded in every fold and corner. The two beings at the heart of this rich, sun-gilt silence observed one another with the detachment and finality of people who are not quite friends and not quite strangers, consumed by the knowledge that soon even this small intimacy will be denied them. Leaning back against the pillows, the Vampire drew his legs up close to his lean, naked body and wrapped pale, slender arms about them. His chin rested on his knees and his brittle, chartreuse gaze was distant beyond the fine, sable fronds of his long, silken mane.

Beside him, his mortal lover sprawled among the sweat-damp, rumpled sheets, head resting in his loosely folded arms, prone and disarrayed, still gasping in the lingering warmth of their recent passion, all too reluctant to let it go. He lay watching Rayne for a long, reverent while, fixing the image of his lover in his head so that he would remember it for all time. The thought occurred that he had never seen the Vampire inactive before; Rayne was always doing something - reading or playing with his laptop, or just stretching out on the bed with a cigarette balanced between his long, dextrous fingers, blowing streamers of blue-grey smoke towards the ceiling. Gently he stroked the backs of his own fingers over the cool, sleek, hairless flesh of his lover’s lean, naked thigh. 

The roll and clatter of the train beneath him and all around him, so familiar by now that it barely disturbed his awareness, served to lull him into a half-dream so that, when he spoke, the Vampire’s words seemed to reach out to him from another lifetime. At first Marc did not even hear the question, drunk on pleasure and comfort and the smoky, tenor cadences of his lover’s musical voice. 

“It’s getting late,” the singer murmured again, without looking down. His hand brushed softly through Marc’s hair and rested briefly, like butterfly wings, against his moist, flushed cheek before taking flight once more. “You should start getting ready. We’ll be arriving soon.”

Beside him, Marc’s spirits sank a little and he closed his eyes, shutting out the ugly reality for a while longer but, try as he might, he could not keep the spell whole. Beyond the fragile walls of their cocoon the mundane world was waiting for him, talons outstretched. In less than half an hour his life would return to the ordered normalcy he had known for so long. It was ridiculous, he had been looking forward to this visit for ages and adored San Francisco, but a part of him felt sad to acknowledge that the journey was over; that in so short a time he and the Vampire would go their separate ways. Maybe he would never see the other man again. It surprised him just how much that idea brought a lump back to his throat.

“D’you think they’d notice if we just stayed here?”

A mellow chuckle was his only response. Unwillingly he opened his eyes and glanced up to find the other man observing him with a fond smile.

“Have you had fun, sweetheart?” Rayne Wylde asked, with apparent sincerity.

“Oh lord... ‘yes’!” Marc nodded almost at once. “I wish...”

A finger descended, and touched his lips, demanding silence. After a moment the Vampire whispered; “Is anyone meeting you?”

Emerald eyes widened perceptibly. In all the heady passion of the last few days, Marc had forgotten almost why he set out in the first place. Now he nodded, struck dumb by the cold blast of reality.

“Uh-huh...” he forced out at last. “I’m staying with friends. I... I guess someone will come down for me.”

“You’d better get yourself dressed and cleaned up then,” the Vampire suggested wryly. “Time’s running out.”

“What about you?” Marc asked him as he reached down for his jeans, automatically, wriggling into them. It felt outlandish to be clad again after so long in the embrace of tangled sheets and sweat-slick flesh. “What will ‘you’ do next?” 

A faint smile twisted the Vampire’s generous mouth and he hugged his knees a little tighter. “Who knows?”

“Are you planning to stay in San Francisco for a while?” 

“I might,” Rayne said elusively.

Marc swallowed, conscious that he was shivering, in spite of the heat. “Will... will I see you? You know... Around?”

The black-haired man turned a gaze like melting ice upon him and he half imagined drowning in that unblinking stare, swallowed up by the intense sadness and passion in Rayne Wylde’s beautiful eyes.

“Marc... I don’t think that’s a good idea. Do you?” he said frankly, shattering myriad half-formed hopes and dreams.

The young man looked away. Deep in his chest the lump hardened and turned to ice. He closed his eyes, determined not to shame himself by crying but it seemed criminally unfair to him all the same. He had hoped, after Rayne swept to his rescue like that, to find that the Vampire’s feelings had mellowed. Okay... he could understand that someone like Rayne couldn’t possibly adopt every boy who fell head over heels in love with him, but during the last few hours they had seemed so incredibly, insatiably close.... 



“Marc?” the other man prompted, more gently, and he realised that the Vampire had expected an answer.

Sitting up slowly, he pushed the hair from his eyes and shook his head, not trusting words. Soft, cold fingers touched his cheek and neck briefly; a gesture of consolation more than desire. It occurred to him that the Vampire was never warm, not even now, after all they had shared. A little shiver coursed through him.

“I’m a nomad, sweetheart,” Rayne said quietly. “I come and go without warning. I’m bad tempered and unpredictable, and chronically unfaithful. You can do much better. You ‘will’ do much better, I promise you!”

When the young man reached for his discarded shirt and vest, pulling them on carelessly, without a word, Rayne said; “So you have friends in Oakland?”

It was small talk; the Vampire made no attempt to disguise it. His partner shrugged, still buttoning the shirt in injured silence. In his imagination, he saw the half-stunned faces of his companions when they recognised the beautiful, black-haired man stepping down from the car on his arm. 

“Perhaps we should say goodbye now, then.”

The dream dispersed as quickly as it had arisen. For the first time since Rayne had turned to look down at him, Marc found words. His lips trembled but he forced himself to speak.

“I hate goodbyes... Do we ‘have’ to...?”

The Vampire smiled ruefully.

“Not if you don’t want to,” he conceded, but he leaned forward all the same and touched his lips softly to Marc’s. It was the briefest of kisses, but it melted the ice around his heart and as the young man turned away, pulling on his boots, he felt the tears rise to his eyes and stumbled quickly for the door not wanting to weep like a child in front of the impassively handsome Vampire.

Behind him, Rayne said; “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Hesitating in the doorway, Marc did not dare to look back but, in a voice barely audible to mortal ears, he echoed; “Thank you?”

“Your company made this journey one I won’t forget in a long time.”

He swallowed the tears long enough to lift his head, his dark eyes glittering through the tangle of his mane. From the bed the Vampire smiled back at him warmly and Marc knew that he would see that smile in his dreams for years to come. As an old man he would look back on the memory of that fond and lovely face and his heart would swell with longing. He came back to the bedside, cupping Rayne’s head in his hands and drawing the singer’s mouth onto his own one final time, then murmuring; “Oh lord... nor will I.” 

Then he turned and walked away, and this time he kept walking. 





In the bathroom he splashed his face and hands repeatedly with cold water before steeling himself to return to the lounge car for his belongings. He made himself wait until the very last moment, until he could be sure that the train had stopped and most of the passengers alighted, not actively seeking another confrontation with Tony and Chet. A ghostly pale face peered back from the mirror at his own, features he barely recognised. He felt as though he had been aged and transformed by the experiences of the last few days; that they had left him drained and empty of substance. It was not a comforting feeling. 

The air was cooler and cleaner than he had known for days when he finally stepped down from the train and walked along the platform to the barrier, moving like a spirit among the other travellers and their trolley-loads of baggage. He did not look around him; not wanting to break the peculiar dream-like sense of being an extra in the movie of his own life. He felt almost as if he might run into himself by accident if he dared to look anywhere but directly ahead. If Rayne was watching him, he thought, it would not do to look as if he was actively seeking someone out. 

As he neared the barrier and recognised familiar faces; bright, welcoming expressions turned to greet him, the dream shimmered and melted and he experienced a surge of emotion that was almost relief. Warm, real, human arms embraced him and he was caught up in the pleasure of greeting his old friends. Bit by bit he came back to life, remembering who he was and why he was here, but as they drew him away, across the concourse and out towards the waiting car, he caught a glimpse of a lean, black-clad figure gliding unhurriedly out into the day, the warm, west-coast sunlight shimmering off his raven’s wing of sable hair, holdall slung casually over one slim shoulder and laptop case over the other. 

A cab moved between them and the Vampire raised a commanding hand to hail the driver. As they paused to climb into the waiting vehicles he lifted his head, breathing in the copper tang of the coastal air. Across the sunlight-shimmering car roofs peridot-pale eyes met darker, emerald ones for a timeless moment, and the world stood still. Then Rayne Wylde flashed a fanged, feral smile and ducked into the cab and the sea winds swept them apart on their respective ways.



:FIN:



California Zephyr Ch. 04



Copyright 1996, All rights reserved

Train 5, Car 0535, Bedroom E somewhere west of Creston, Iowa

[Author's note: the following continues Karen's story.

Readers will note that I was unable to maintain the scientific detachment which I achieved in the earlier files, as this file covers the period where I myself was swept up by Karen's "magic" ring. I had never experienced such an emotional involvement with my research before. Therefore, parts of this are written in the first person. - Richard ___________, PhD formerly with the University of _______________.]

Afterwards, Karen told me how perfectly important Cam's attention had seemed. She lost all consciousness of Sophia and I at this time. And his hand on her zipper was so welcome! She felt herself stretching out to aid his progress, without even thinking to do so. He caressed each part of her as he removed her clothing, touching with firm fingers that reminded her of the very best times with her ex-boyfriend. She felt worshiped, though, in this moment.

His contact at once created a wildness in her that made her want to get their clothes off instantly, but at the same time, there was no way that she wanted to miss an inch of this experience. He made her feel as valued as one of the precious gems that surrounded him at work, but she realized that he never had said anything as corny as that.

They were no longer aware of Sophia and me, who were watching, kissing, cuddling, enjoying the younger couple's beauty. I began to massage Sophia's back.

"Mmmm!" she exclaimed. "How did you know that I needed that?" I didn't know how I knew that, so I tried to look enigmatic. It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.

Karen sat on the edge of the bed to remove her jeans, Cam assisting. He knelt before her, visibly savoring the scent of her favorite body lotion, and kissed inside her thighs, taking these kisses up to her panties, over her panties; then his hands were at her lacy waistband. Spontaneously, she raised her hips from the bed, and in a flash, her last covering was in his firm hands, slipping down over her knees to the floor.

Cam's eyes were drawn by this motion toward the triangle of curls his action had revealed. Karen's blue lace had done as she had hoped, emphasized her natural blondeness. Work done, the panties lay in a relaxed, crumpled heap, no longer identifiable as a thing of beauty. Fired by the sight and the situation, Cam's kisses returned to Karen's thighs and then rose to her triangle of Venus. Sophia and I were both breathing harder, and as my massages turned to caresses, I felt the warmth radiating from my partner's breasts, and then from her vagina. Sophia turned, smiled at me, and let her hand slip to my fly.

"Voyeur!" she whispered to me, laughing softly.

"Let's think of something that will take our minds off them," I offered. I stood up, facing toward Sophia and away from Cam and Karen, and began undressing. It was a risky move, I suppose, but Sophia saw it as the right thing to do. She stood beside me, and followed my example.

"Here, let me!" she insisted in a loud whisper, and somehow we were undressing each other. We carefully laid each other's clothes out on the upper berth. As we deliberately took our time, we could hear Cam and Karen's growing passion.

Sophia and I took one last long look at them. Karen leaned back against their pillows and a rolled up blanket, lost in a reverie of colors, once-forgotten lovers, and excited nerve impulses from every part of her body. The ring seemed to me to be glowing in its resting place between her now deliciously taut breasts.

Cam's muscles rippled as he swept his hands over her, issuing commands to each part of our friend's body. She tasted his kisses as if they were wine. Her nipples, her clitoris reached out, rivaled each other for his touch, for those kisses. He felt the warm blood swelling her vulva, and her body signaled joy in their joint preparations. Her scent surrounded them as her blood pounded against her skin.

"Yes... yes, firmly now!" she whispered hoarsely, as her clitoris won out in the contest for his caresses. Suddenly, we roared past a standing freight train, sidetracked for our passage. The headlight of the parallel engine lit our room in a blaze, and in that moment we saw their perfect readiness.

Karen stretched out her lovely legs to accept him, and Cam moved to enter her. In the dimness that followed the headlight's flash, his hardness was barely visible to us. Sophia admitted later that, colored by her imagination, it looked very large. We saw his hips and thighs flexing as he slipped into the magic circle that Karen had prepared for him, his muscles working not to ram his penis into her, but to ease in gently, savoring each centimeter of her open gift. She folded her legs over him, and drew him tight to herself.

Karen felt his insistent, loving pressure, and felt the joy of welcoming him, her body perfectly prepared for his entry. His strength came down surrounding her, yet he did not lay leadenly upon her. They began to move in ancient rhythms.

At that moment, Sophia sucked in her breath at the beauty of this tableau, and Karen glanced over at us. Somehow, we had broken her concentration. We looked at each other. I thought she might suddenly be angry or embarrassed. Instead, she smiled, and then I saw her running a finger over her ring. In the distance, we heard the train whistling.

Karen's eyes returned to Cam. They caught the reflection of the tiny nightlight, and we saw the concentration return. Her lips were half-parted, murmuring words indistinct to us.

Suddenly, Sophia and I were jointly swept up in a wave of sexual desire that overwhelmed our sense of time and space. Karen was beautiful physically, no doubt, but now I yearned to be a part of this woman, wonderful Sophia.

I hope that Sophia doesn't mind my comparison to a man drowning, but in the moment that passed in that sleeping car compartment before I dedicated myself totally to her pleasure, I took one incredibly clear mental picture. Then I let myself go.

Her white teeth set against dusky skin dazzled me as it caught the light of a passing station. Her smile was genuine, warm and inviting; dark eyes twinkled with enjoyment, with anticipation. I pulled my gaze down, with what must have looked like a stupid grin, when I really wanted to be suave. Her anticipation was real, it flushed her chest with a dark rose tint, emphasized her full breasts; it brought her nipples up, ready for kisses.

Sophia was not the slim or dieting coed that I had once been accustomed to having. Nor was she the 30-something woman who had drawn me to her lounge car table this evening. I had thought I would be spending the night with that blonde, Karen, but events had taken a twist. WE were spending the night with that blonde, and Karen's eyes, I suppose, could have been focused on us. Or perhaps they had turned again to Cam, the fourth person in this scene.

Before this night, I might have thought of a sleeping car room as being too small to contain all that was happening. Now our wonderful evening together was approaching its climax in the darkened rooms, so to speak, as we hurtled across the landscape.

I had never experienced anything like this. Before the trumped up harassment issue, I was a professor, and a good one, too. I had taken advantage of many situations, that came my way. And come they did! I had thought that I could savor sex as an intellectual exercise, but now I realized that my head was beginning to spin with excitement, as this full-grown woman moved toward me.

We had laid our clothes out on the lowered upper berth. Her fingers had nimbly worked their way through my buttons and down my zipper. There had been no coy hesitation, the only pauses having been for kisses which grew more and more intimate. Now we embraced, our nude bodies pressing for every advantage of contact. She raised herself on tiptoe, bringing her feminine warmth around me, measuring my erection with her swelling lips. The Superliner lurched on a curve, and we tumbled onto the lower berth, laughing as we fell into each others' arms. We were side by side, with our legs hanging over the edge. She rose, brushing her black hair over my thigh, as she ducked to avoid hitting her head on the upper berth.

"Stretch yourself out and relax, dear Richard," she directed. That was me, Richard, I couldn't object. I pushed the blanket aside and stretched out on the sheets. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly in a way that made her breasts hang deliciously toward me. They moved lazily with the massaging motion which she began on the balls of my feet, a motion which brought me a feeling of peace and contentment, even as my penis waved for her attention.

"Roll over, sweet professor, you're distracting me" she said, with a bit of a chuckle in her throat. Her voice wrapped around me, gave me a good feeling inside. I lay face down, burrowing my hardness into the sheet. She brought the skillful massage up my ankles, around and between my thighs, and then she knelt to follow up with kisses. As if urging it upwards, she took all the tension of my day and stroked it toward my erection.

There was no line drawn, no barrier. Her massaging hands arrived at my hips, kneading them, stroking them, easing toward nerves that carried the sensation around to my balls. They rolled wildly in preparation. All the while, she let sweet, sexy words slip into the closed atmosphere of our compartment. I began to picture the words hanging there, floating at different levels, grazing us as they floated past.

Her massage reached my sacs, a firm and loving exploration of them. I jumped at first, but mostly from the new sensation. There was nothing frightening in her commanding touch, it was a loving feeling, and I told her how their excitement was her creation, how much I wanted to return the favors that she was giving me.

Sophia moved aside, her head bowed under the upper berth.

"Richard," she hung on the "d" in my name, making it soft. "Yes, please roll onto your back. Am I making you happy?" The last question was with a laugh. She wasn't insecure about it, she just wanted to hear me say it. And if she had been holding any doubts, my hardness was now graced with a sparkling flow.

"You are making me very..." the obvious last word that I meant to say was lost as I groaned with deep pleasure. She had knelt to kiss the shank of my penis, and at the same time, cupped my balls in her hand. Caressing and kissing, she filled me with dreamy thoughts, grazing her lips up towards the shiny head, chucking it in the sensitive spot under the head with her tongue, then seizing it in her lips.

She sucked hard on me, drawing out the fluid, caressing me with her tongue. My hands, my lips, moved over her, touching the muscles that were working so beautifully over me.

"Let me kiss you, too, Sophia!" Her cunt was grazing me, and it was wet with excitement. I wanted my kisses to be there, building her feelings toward our ultimate goal.

We squirmed around in the berth, as the train rocked and rolled a bit. Now it was my turn to kiss down over her smooth belly, over her mount, and then to explore the moist valley. I loved the sensation of her thighs moving around me, as she tilted to expose her sensitive tip to my probing, circling tongue. I avoided its peak and took my kisses into her opening, tasting the moistness, touching off a spasm of excitement. I worked back to the tip-top.

Sophia's powerful hips tightened as her body telegraphed her desire. My hands found her full figure absolutely alive in every muscle, every nerve. I loved the sensation of response as my fingers trailed over each part of her round softness. With each kiss, with each swirl of my tongue, I was feeling her emotional waves freely expressed.

"Richard!" She pulled away, and sat up as best as she could in the berth, which meant that she was slightly bent over, her torrid breasts pointing at me. She strung out the final "d" on my name. "Come into me, now.... NOW." It was a request that I could never have refused, given our preparation, given the moment, and given the flower opening, as she knelt over me.

We met like two streams joining. I flowed upward into her easily, wonderfully, warmly welcomed as she closed around me.

She moved around to find the perfect way to hold me, as my hands moved from her hips to her breasts. Smoothness, softness, warmth were in my grasp, swinging into my lips. The excitement from my kisses traveled back down through Sophia and turned into beautiful circles around my manhood. Each move we made took us higher. Sophia bumped her head on the berth over us, but just laughed. I felt the laugh from deep inside her.

"Let me sit up" I suggested. We squirmed around and I was able to sit up, with her on my lap. We looked down at her breasts, and then I held each up to kiss. She leaned back in ecstasy at the complete sensation, and then moved to press her clitoris against me again.

Our eyes traveled down to our entangled hairs, stuck like Velcro to each other. Only the base of my shaft was visible, the rest buried deep within Sophia. I pulled back as best as I could, and she moaned pleasant words as we watched its returning thrust, joyful in seeing our union.

Now our attention turned back to kisses and caresses. Sophia had focused her strength in her vagina, and as I kissed, she squeezed on my hard penis. I pushed back, and in our joyful struggle, I began to feel her readiness to climax. Her skin tightened, my hands felt her every nerve winding up. My balls were hurting now, ready to release the load that they had prepared. They suddenly were sensitive to the rumbling vibration of the sleeper bed as the train raced across the dark prairie.

She leaned into me, pressing her large breasts flush into mine, and then leaned back, beautifully tensioning my hardness. She told me afterward that gold and yellow and red colors had danced around us in the darkened sleeper room at that moment. I felt an electric power seize my penis, my balls; in the distance I heard a crossing bell clattering, and it grew louder as we came closer to it. I exploded inside her. I heard the train whistling. Sophia's short breaths turned into a long sigh; the gold and yellow and red colors faded into a pleasant glow.

Sophia held me inside her, as our hands continued a lazy exploration of each others' bodies. Our eyes, however, turned almost in unison across to the other side of the sleeping car suite.

Karen and Cam were holding each other in a gentle, loving embrace, watching us. The lights of wayside homes and farms were flashing past more frequently now, and it was easy to see the afterglow in their flushed skin and gentle touches.

Cam rose from the 40-inch wide berth and with no appearance of self-consciousness, in one step, moved smoothly to the windows, pulling the shades against the pending arrival of Omaha and its bright lights. I felt Sophia tighten around me, and saw Karen's admiring look, as Cam's masculine lines took center stage in the suite.

Karen rose from the berth and motioned for Cam to take her place on the pillow. She moved with as much grace has had Cam. Afterwards, Sophia and I agreed that it had seemed to each of us to be a ballet.

Kneeling beside him, Karen caressed him with such gentleness that in the nightlighted room, we could not be sure if she actually was touching him or not. The train rolled gently to a stop in the Omaha station, and in the quieted car, we could hear Cam's murmurs of drowsy pleasure.

Cam drifted in and out of a dreamy sleep, aware, catlike, of his lovely surroundings, but with his body recuperating. Karen looked down at him lovingly, felt his presence inside her, and drank in the beauty of his resting body. She traced his muscles with a finger, feeling the cooling moistness of his skin, outlining the sinews that had projected his being into herself. She glanced over at Sophia and I, who also were drowsily caressing, but her eyes returned to the man at her side.

She felt an overwhelming urge to kiss Cam, even though he might not be awake enough to be aware of it! Karen took her lips from his chest down over the firm muscles of his flat stomach and into his damp curls. His tired organ lazed to one side, as if trying to ignore her attention. Even though she felt the gnawing need inside herself to possess this beautiful creature again, Karen enjoyed his moment of passivity. It gave her time to enjoy going over the past few minutes, hours, days in her mind. She had headed east from the Bay Area in sadness over her personal life and over her grandmother's death. Now everything had changed! These thoughts whirled around her, and as the last sense of adrenaline overload from their lovemaking drained out of her, Karen began to cry. She wasn't sad, she told herself. But she felt the need to cry. Too many things had happened.

The tears started out as a glint around her eye, and then swelled into a stream. She didn't want to cry, she was sure that Cam would be depressed by it if he saw her crying on his night of celebration. She reached over to grab at a washcloth, tried to dab at her eyes. Runaway tears escaped the cloth, however, and ran down her face, dripping onto her breasts, and then onto Cam's chest.

Sophia was the first to notice. She left me, creating a cold spot on my side where her warm hip had pressed against me in the tight berth. I watched her sensuous walk across the room, and saw her hug Karen. I had never seen two women hugging like this, without clothing, I mean! It was a moment of beauty, in this case. Sophia said nothing, just embraced Karen. Yes, the cynical will note that as a man, I enjoyed watching two pairs of breasts, two pairs of lips, two sweet triangles, and (honestly!) two approaches to life. At the same time as my mind was telling me that Sophia was wonderful to offer this sisterly embrace, I felt my hormones signaling. I shifted my position, to let my balls move more freely. They had suddenly become uncomfortable as they were.

His partner's tears on his breast must have awoken Cam. The jeweler's eyes opened, and he pulled himself up on an arm.

"What's the matter?" he queried. A puzzled look crossed his face. Sophia released Karen from her embrace, and patted her on the shoulder. Karen's tears had ceased. Cam watched Sophia retreating to our side of the room, and I felt a twinge of jealousy as I saw his enjoyment in watching her movement. Sophia managed to exude an air of sexuality that in a younger woman would have looked trashy.

"C'mon, Karen," Cam tried to console her. Crying women were apparently a mystery to him. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Karen began to cry again. "Everything was right. Everything was beautiful!" Her tears again ran down her breasts.

Cam was at a loss as to what to do. And then he did what came to him. He kissed her.

He kissed her on the cheek at first, and the salty touch on his lips distressed him more. He kissed her on her lips, and the salty taste filled his mouth. Karen was still crying, but her lips and his pressed together with more and more determination.

Sophia and I saw his muscles flex as he held her tightly, rocking her in those powerful arms, as he whispered loving words to her, told her how beautiful this evening had been. Wonderfully, he never said a word about sex, just filled Karen with his kind thoughts and warm expressions.

We only saw the outline of this moment, across the dimly-lit room. But in his arms, Karen felt a purpose that was stronger than the explosive sex that had brought them together. He was so concerned about her that he was unaware that the physical symbol of his manhood had begun to assert itself again. Lazily, it moved up a little and then Karen noticed it draping back onto her thigh.




California Zephyr Ch. 04



His kisses followed the trail of her tears down her breasts, and approached her nipples. As he did so, she felt his penis slip across her thigh, this time moving upward with certainty, with authority. Karen shivered with a surge of excitement. His lips reached her nipple, and his caresses were welcomed by every part of her now hypersensitive body. Cam felt the same surge as a powerful wave sweeping through him, and looked down to see his penis rock hard with an erection that surprised him! He looked sheepishly at Karen, thinking that she would be offended by his obvious interest in more than comforting her.

She chose the perfect response. Words would not have reassured him. Within herself, she felt strong and sure. She wanted to have Cam inside herself again. Every part of her being reported readiness. She took his shaft in her lips and swirled her tongue around his tip, then moved it eagerly into her mouth.

Any doubts now were erased from Cam's mind, as her tender ministrations brought him to the last millimeter of erection, ready again for Karen's pleasure. She paused, as if to admire her handiwork. In the dim light, we saw no tears now.

The train lurched, and then began to roll deeper into Nebraska. Karen bent over Cam, the ring dangling from the chain around her neck. They whispered urgent messages into each other's ears, and then the well-muscled young man stretched out, taking up most of the 6-foot-6 length of the lower berth.

She looked down at him for a moment. The sway of the train over the switches between Omaha and Lincoln moved her body sensually; she felt his eyes following the movements of her curves, and then his gaze moved to the ring, swinging with the roll of the sleeper.

Karen eased herself over him. Cam smiled and flexed his muscle, moving his penis snakelike. Glistening fluid caught the nightlight as it spread out over his tip.

Karen grinned at his snake demonstration; teased him in words we could not hear; she fingered his hardness, and then guided it in. He moved easily upward. She marveled, though, at the difference in feeling, as she controlled his passage. She moved slightly to one side and then the other, savoring each sensation of his entry, bringing him deeper and deeper into the power that had built within her loins. Closer and closer, she felt, to the trigger that would set them both off.

As she cast her loving circles around him, a cloud of passion enveloped them. They were oblivious to Sophia and I, neither concerned about anything else in the world at this moment. Perhaps they were not in this world.

Cam told Karen afterward that he had never experienced a moment like that, as his response to her tears seemed to have opened up something inside both of their hearts. Karen at the same time had visualized a key in those clouds of passion, turning in a lock, opening a treasure chest of sparkling jewels.

"You're a dirty old man!" Sophia interrupted my awestruck staring at the enchanted younger lovers. She laughed at my startled return to reality, but she admitted that Cam and Karen's passionate rejoining had been exciting to her, too.

In our embrace that followed, we found that we both were prepared for each other. I remember little else specific about that night. Bits and pieces of information came my way, but mostly I remember Sophia!

I did take a peek around the shade when we stopped in the middle of the night. We were in Hastings, a college town that I knew, and I saw the two kids who had been in the coach seats under the blanket. They were walking off toward a car in the station lot, arms intertwined, stealing little kisses along the way. For a moment, I mourned my times with the coeds, and then I felt Sophia's intimate fingers moving over my back. I turned from the window, and lost myself in her embrace, utterly satisfied with the depth of her possibilities.

Sophia and I never really finished, in the sense of being ready to walk away. Neither did Cam and Karen. By morning, as the train was entering Denver, we were all ready to use the berths for sleeping.

I was headed to a conference in Denver; Sophia had business in the Mile High City, as I mentioned. Karen and Cam joined us during the servicing stop for the Zephyr. As we walked up the ramp into the grand old station, we saw the warm brick colors of Denver's LoDo district. Karen felt a sudden link with her history, with her grandmother, with family who must have walked up this ramp before her, in their travels.

The four of us stood in the main waiting room as the crowd swirled around us. Karen said what we were thinking.

"We don't ever want this story to end, do we?" She smiled wistfully. The bold sun poured down through the thin, dry air, through the big windows, and lit her glowing face. Sophia and I told Karen and Cam how lucky they were to be going on into the snow-covered Rockies this morning, while we faced the renewed demands of our careers.

In spite of the urge to go on with them, we said goodbye to Karen and Cam, with tears all around this time. Sophia held Karen's hand for a time as they whispered in a sisterly way, their blonde and dark coloring setting off the beauty of each in unique ways. Their hands separated reluctantly. I imagined a spark passing between them: perhaps a little of the ring's supposed magic for Sophia, a little of the older woman's sensuality for Karen?

We watched them go back down the ramp to the train. Then we turned toward the bustle of 17th Street, ready to combine business with pleasure in the lovely rooms of the vintage Oxford Hotel. From McCormick's on the corner, the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee washed toward us on the chill breeze. Sophia turned to me and smiled as she spoke.

"This really does feel like the beginning of something new, doesn't it?"

###############

These characters appear again in the 'Hans' files. Sophia and I continue our adventures in the 'Summit Conference' series of reports to be added in this site in the future.