“Next stop, Newark, Delaware!” The conductor’s voice crackles over the intercom. “Not all doors will open. Please exit where you see train personnel.”
Frank Morris glances from his laptop to his watch. Another two hours to New York City. The train slows to a stop. An elderly couple rises to leave. Frank might be the only passenger left in business class.
He looks out at the concrete platform. Businessman and vacationers jockey for a spot in line. And wow! A hot blonde in a too-tight, pink t-shirt and ripped jeans exits the elevator and heads toward the train. She’s wearing a backpack and pulling a suitcase. He presses his head against the window, but loses sight of her. Oh well. Frank returns to his spreadsheets on the laptop.
He hears the door open at the front of the car. He glances over the rows of seats to see the blonde. Straight hair to her shoulders, high cheekbones, cherry red lipstick, mysterious brown eyes. And she’s young. Maybe not even twenty. She rocks her hips down the aisle past his seat.
He knows he shouldn’t, but Frank leans across the aisle seat and turns to watch her strut.
But she’s not strutting!
She’s stopped, turned and now faces him, almost as if she knows he was going to sneak a peek. She smiles with perfect white teeth. “Enjoying the view?” she says in a classic Southern Belle accent.
Frank’s face burns red. He says nothing, leans back into his seat and pretends to look at this laptop.
The blonde removes her backpack, glances at the luggage rack above the seats and frowns. “Why don’t you be a gentleman and help a lady out?”
Frank slides out of his seat and shuffles into the aisle. The blonde smells clean and fresh, like a summer day after the rain. He grabs her pack and suitcase and hefts them onto the luggage rack. Without a word, he returns to his seat.
The blonde flops into the seat next to Morris. She reclines and stretches out her legs. Tanned flesh peeks through the holes in her faded jeans. Strappy sandals adorn her feet. Her toe-nails are painted a shiny red.
Frank keeps his head straight forward, but out of the corner of his eye he notices she’s not wearing a bra. Her breasts strain against the pink cotton. He watches her chest rise and fall with each breath.
“I’m Lauren,” she says, her accent as thick as gravy on grits.
Frank doesn’t reply; he stares at his laptop.
“Are you going to spend the rest of the trip trying not to notice me?”
Frank sighs and looks at her. “I’m Frank.”
She smiles and grabs his left hand. “Frank, your married! What would your wife say if she knew you were checking out younger women.”
He takes his hand back from her. “I have work to do.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
Frank sighs again. “I’m a regional sales manager for a popular Internet automobile buying website.”
Lauren frowns. “Sounds boring. Does it pay well?”
“I do okay.”
She grins. “That’s what I like to hear.” She strokes his hand and he moves it away.
“I really do need to do some work.”
“Sure,” says Lauren. “Go right ahead.”
Frank types at the keyboard and opens a spreadsheet for last quarter’s sales in the Southeast Region.
Lauren slips off her right sandal and wiggles her toes.
Frank’s typing slows.
She slides her bare foot across the floor next to his leg.
Frank’s typing slows further.
She lifts her foot, hooking her toes inside his pant leg and strokes her foot against his shin.
Frank’s typing stops.
“I thought you needed to do some work,” says Lauren.
He turns, exasperated. “What do you want?”
“I always love it when boys, men, ask me that.” She laughs. “I want some lunch.”
Frank points his thumb to the rear of the train. “The cafe car’s that way.”
“I want you to get me lunch.”
“Why would I do that?”
She rubs her foot as far up his shin as it will go. She leans close and whispers in his ear. “Get my lunch and maybe I’ll let you do all that work you claim you need to do.”
His heart is pounding. His blood boiling. He can’t concentrate. “Okay.”
“I want a turkey club, apple and Diet Coke.”
He stands. She grins at the bulge in his pants.
He puts his hand out.
“I need money for your lunch.”
She laughs. “I thought you were a successful manger of the Internet or something. Surely you can afford to buy me lunch.” She dropped her voice an octave. “You know you want to.”
He looks her over. She’s stunning, gorgeous. And the way she’s just so confident, makes him want to do things for her. She’s right. He does want to buy her lunch.
Frank is back in ten minutes with her lunch.
She has moved into his seat, and tapping away at the keyboard.
He sits in her seat, lowers the tray table and sets her lunch on it. “What are you doing?”
“Just chatting with your boss and wife.”
“I’m just kidding. For now. But I do have contact information for your friends and co-workers. So after our little train ride together you’ll still want to do things for me. And if you don’t, I’ll be sending out some pretty interesting emails.”
“L—Look, I’ll do whatever you want. J—”
“Yes, you will.”
“Why are you doing this?”
She laughs. “What do you think?”
She purses her lips. “I guess that’s partly true. I do like the way men can’t help but stare at me. But there’s more. Why do you think I chose to sit next to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do. I saw it in your eyes when I first walked by. You have a wife, kids, you know better, but you can’t help yourself. That’s why I do it. Because I can.”
“How do you know I have kids?”
“Trust me. Guys like you always have kids.” She grabs her soda and sips. “And here you are now. You shouldn’t be talking to me but you are. You shouldn’t let me do this.” She turns in her seat, lifts her foot and rubs it against his crotch. “But you will.”
Frank says nothing. He grips the armrests. His body shakes. A drop of sweat runs down his forehead.
Lauren watches the sweat trickle. “Do I make you hot?”
“W—What do you want?”
“Your wallet.” She reaches into his pants pocket and retrieves his billfold.
“What are you doing?”
She grins. “Anything I want.” She continues rubbing her foot against his thighs. “You don’t want me to stop do you?”
“No.” he says in a whimper.
She laughs and sorts through the wallet. She takes three hundred and cash and two credit cards. “Oh, American Express Platinum. I guess you are doing okay.”
She slips the now empty wallet into his pocket and lets her hand linger longer than necessary. “How else can you serve me?”
“Serve?” says Frank.
“Next stop Philadelphia,” says the conductor’s voice over the intercom.
“Guess we’re done here. This is my stop,” says Lauren. She closes the laptop, grabs it and stands.
“Where are you going with my laptop?”
“I need it for school.” Lauren smiles cruelly. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Frank looks at her; he knows he can’t refuse her. “No.”
Frank doesn’t reply. He is confused.
“No, Goddess Lauren.” She says it like a schoolteacher explaining to a child.
He swallows hard. His heart is about to burst out of his chest. “No, it’s not a problem, Goddess Lauren.”
She leans forward and whispers in his ear. “Didn’t that feel good?” She giggles as his body shakes uncontrollably. She retrieves her luggage and slips the laptop into her backpack. She starts to leave, then turns and blows a kiss. “Be sure to dream about me,” she says in a sultry voice.
Frank is certain he will.