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forestbathing

forestbather

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On a Train Leaving Luxemburg

I did not see her get on the train, and so did not see her sit behind me, and could therefore take no blame for how the train ride unfolded. And after all, I'd just flown in from Iceland, landing in Luxemburg with a long train journey ahead.

 

If I remember rightly, and logically as she was behind me, it was her who spoke to me first. However, I was a touch economical with the truth in my opening statement, for of course I had noticed her walk by the train, of course because not one woman is not noticed by me when she walks by a waiting train, for trains and women go beautifully together, and she was anyway far too attractive not to be noticed.

 

But I may not have been aware that she alighted the train. A breeze had somewhat confused me, probably from a departing train from the platform opposite, that had caused her to quickly grasp her white hat with thick dark blue band, as her skirt suddenly flared up. Her underwear, too, were white, and brief. That is, she pressed her skirt down and walked hurriedly on.

 

Therefore I was confused, for want of another word, by such unexpected and exotic sensuality. So when she asked me if she was on the right train, I told her that at least it was impossible she had stepped onto the wrong one.

 

'You have lovely legs,' I added. There is no time like the present for sentences such as those: 'A view I formed by a gust of wind when a train went by,' I finished before she could decide how to deal with my assertion; 'while you were walking on the platform.'

 

She blushed. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Thank you,' I replied. She did not smile, and I asked her where she was from. 'Riga, Latvia,' she said. I knew her city as one with cobblestone old town and tall church steeples,and a market hall where one could drink superb local brews under a large wooden pagan symbol of a local goddess, and the market hall was an impressive set of buildings that used to be zeppelin hangars.

 

I do not remember if she was impressed with my knowledge of her city of not, because I had pulled a bottle of wine from my bag as I talked, and opened it  before dramatically flinging the cork out of an open top window.

 

'No turning back now,' I said, pouring her a cup in one of my two tin mugs attached to my rucksack.

 

Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips very kissable as she sat close, dangerously close in the seat opposite.

 

'Put your legs up,' I said, patting the seat next to me; 'you'll be more comfortable.'

 

Oh she knew. She knew my thoughts, my desires, and was entertained by them, and as the bottle emptied, and we shared travel stories then some food, and a few doses of chuckles from me and giggles from her, and the train left Luxemburg in the night and headed south, and we found ourselves alone in the compartment, she slipped off her shoes and sat astride me, her skirt riding up her thighs and her arms sliding around me, and her lips finding mine.

 

In the tender night as the train rocked comfortably on the tracks she was fiercely passionate. To see her gasp just as the train entered a small tunnel was exquisite, and when she trembled as the train exited the tunnel, she was even more so.

 

'I won't let this moment end,' I whispered, as I caught her earlobe with my mouth, teeth, tongue, 'so you must,' and later, as dawn rose in the patient sky, we remembered how exciting those moments had been, she sat with her back against my chest, her neck inviting and her legs parted.

 

train tracks

have their own stories to tell

of journeys made

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Source: http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.com