Seduction on the Train (Travel Gal Erotica)

Copyright © 2013 by Lucy St.Vincent

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at
www.lucystvincent.com
or on twitter at @lucystvincent.

When Leila’s parents died suddenly, they left her a rather hefty inheritance that she decided to spend a portion of on a year of traveling.  She took a leave from her doctoral program at the University of Minnesota, got a state-of-the-art backpack and bought a one-way flight, starting in Moscow.  In the spirit of Paul Theroux, one of her favorite travel authors, she was going to start her expedition on the Trans-Siberian railway, a long cherished dream of hers.

She had lashed out and booked a cabin on
The Golden Eagle
, one of the superior trains for wealthy clientele for her Trans-Siberian journey.  She reserved the option with two beds, hoping she’d meet some interesting people along the way, forge some friendships, and maybe learn a little Russian.  For much of her year traveling she planned to backpack and hang out in hostels with people her own age, but she wanted to start with something a little more sedate, a little classier.  She felt she deserved some luxury and time to unwind in comfort after the stress and grief of burying her parents.  Plus, the amount of money she had been left came as somewhat of a pleasant surprise. 
 

Though Leila was midway through her PhD in comparative literature and was intelligent, hardworking and well read, she had limited sexual experience.  She had gone “all the way” with her high school sweetheart, but had found it disheartening and not very romantic; in university she had dated a few classmates, but they were all too interested in keg parties or jacking off to think too much about what her needs might be. 

At first appearance, Leila was what you would call normal: she was neither fat nor skinny, she usually wore her hair back in a ponytail, and she tended toward minimal makeup, jeans and sneakers.  She wasn’t a showy kind of gal. 

Leila was, in fact, enjoyable to look at once you took the time to notice her considerable pleasures.  She had warm, frank brown eyes with long lashes that you could melt into; her cheekbones were high, her hair lush and long.

She was someone you could lose yourself in if you weren’t careful.  Of course, at this point, Leila didn’t realize her powers of seduction nor did she know how to use them.  As a serious student who leaned toward the intellectual, she’d never spent a lot of time thinking about her sexuality or what she wanted from a man.  She just knew that the furtive fumbling she had had with high school boyfriends and the drunken fucks she had engaged in and regretted with dorm jocks in university didn’t do it for her. 

In fact, she was at the point in her life where she really had no interest in having a sexual relationship with anyone.  None of hers thus far had proved in any way satisfying, and she had no frame of reference for anything different.  The few times she had fingered her own self to orgasm had been far in a way more satisfying than any jump in the sack that she had had with any guy.  And at least she could engage in her own fantasies when she took care of her own needs.  Men?  Who needed them?  She needed some time on her own, a few engaging discussions with some rich intellectuals she hoped to meet along the way, and some time to unwind and read and sleep and just enjoy the scenery for a while without having any obligations.

And so Leila was feeling quite exhilarated as she prepared to enter
The Golden Eagle
on a briskly cold but sunny Sunday afternoon in November.  All of the messy matters of her parents’ estate were cleaned up, and she had said good-bye to her few close friends, knowing they’d stay in contact.  She was free to continue her doctoral program in a year’s time.

She had no ties.  She was free.  Free to do as she pleased.  Free to go where she pleased.  Free to be whom she wanted to be.  This last freedom was what she was toying with.  It was the one she wasn’t sure about.  Who did she want to be?  This trip was where she planned to find out.

Big questions notwithstanding, Leila was prepared to wile away the next several days enjoying the stark, snowy landscape whilst wrapped in her voluminous sweaters and jeans, with accompanying long underwear, as the train made its gradual ascent into the Ural Mountains.  She would ration out her Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy novels so she could finish them upon arriving in Vladivostok.  The Russian novelists have writing styles that lend themselves to long train trips.

She loved the idea of ordering tea and lemon in china teacups and eating the heavy
Tula
gingerbread cakes filled with jam while gazing out the window, with the steady rocking of the train as her companion and the occasional conversation of a bunk mate to break up the monotony.

Leila was good at maintaining silence when need be, but also good at repartee with people.  She enjoyed a solid intellectual debate, she loved listening to others’ stories and she was always keen on cards or spending hours on a
New York Times
Sunday crossword puzzle with no need for any discussion with anyone whatsoever.   She had her headphones, which were an excellent modern symbol of “I don’t mean to be rude, but I am finished talking now,” so she could be conversational or not, depending on how she felt.  It was perfect.

Upon entering her quarters, Leila was surprised by both the coziness
and
the opulence of her room.  The varnished wood and brass accoutrements were reminiscent of another age – the age of the Tsars and revolutions.  A Pullman table and two deep armchairs alongside the picture window looked to be the perfect place to take in the landscape flashing by the window.  Leila sighed with delight only to startle a moment later.  Emerging from the WC, she was surprised to see a 40-something Indian man making his way to the seat-cum-bed across from hers.  She thought she might have a roommate closer to her own age, and perhaps even dared to imagine one or two encounters that might be titillating and memorable if that roommate happened to be male, but she hadn’t pictured a man such as this in her fleeting fantasies.

He was strikingly handsome with salt and pepper hair and a distinguished air.  When he spoke, she was delighted by his formal manner and his English accent that maintained an Indian lilt.  He greeted her warmly, flashing a smile that crinkled his brown eyes and had her flushing.

“I’m Joseph,” he introduced himself.  “To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

“Leila,” she answered.  “The pleasure is mine.”

“Please, make yourself at home, Leila.  I believe we’ll be sharing this compartment for more than a week.  Don’t let me bother you.  We can get to know each other later, yes?”

She looked at his ruggedly handsome face and the slight stubble of grey on his strong chin.  She imagined he was used to wearing a business suit and tie, and he seemed slightly out of place in his still formal-to-her khaki pants and tucked-in button down white shirt.  The sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms and what looked to be a Piaget watch.  He wasn’t wanting for money, she could tell even at a glance.  He wore brown leather loafers and matching socks.

Leila felt a little self-conscious about her own casual, university attire.  She wished she were wearing something a little more attractive than her faded jeans, red sneakers with wool socks and the elephantine blue sweater.  She was aware of her body suddenly.  It felt alive underneath her layers.  It also felt hot.  Was the heat on?  The cozy warmth of the cabin was making her sleepy yet also warmly turned-on.

She took the ponytail holder from her wrist and casually wrapped her lush hair in a loose ponytail, aware that this slight action had sensuality to it she had never thought of before.  It made the back of her neck tingle as she turned away from Joseph’s eyes.  He was watching her, she knew.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” he said.  “I can reach up and close the vents if you want.  Or we could keep the heat on
and
open the window just a tad.  I’ve always loved the feeling of cold air rushing into a hot room.  What do you think?”

She turned around and smiled.  “A man after my own heart,” she said coyly (unaware up until this point that she was capable of coy).  “One of my favorite guilty pleasures is turning on the heat full-blast in my car and opening all the windows.  That mix of hot and cold is exhilarating.”

“So it is,” Joseph answered.  And then he added, “I like you already.”

Leila blushed, but met his eyes and smiled lightly.  She was suddenly very excited about her train trip in a very different way than she had anticipated.  And it didn’t have to do with Russian literature or Russian landscape.

“Oh, excuse me, Leila,” Joseph said suddenly, as if coming out of a reverie.  “Let me leave you to your own devices.  Get yourself settled.  I’m going to the bar car to have a drink.  I’ll be back in an hour or so.  Welcome aboard, Leila.”

And he was gone.

Leila was aflutter.  She had more than a week in a train compartment with a man she was incredibly attracted to, and she thought, possibly he to her.  If she was looking to figure out whom she was, what better way than to be exactly who she wanted to be with a man who knew nothing about her?  She was ready for the adventure to begin, and she was going to let the train ride take her where it took.  She was going along for the ride and was excited to see what would happen.

Meantime, she had some rearranging to do, most notably of herself.  Leila glanced at herself in the full-length mirror bolted to the wall.  She wasn’t used to anything but the most cursory of glances, but this time she paid attention.  She was flushed.  And pretty, she noted with satisfaction.

But sloppy, too, she couldn’t help but notice.  The word seduction had not quite entered her studious mind, but she was aware that she did want to impress her new roommate with something beyond the garb she was wearing.

She dug in her suitcase and found a pair of brown tights, a tartan skirt and a fitted black turtleneck.  Granted, it wasn’t sexy, but it showed off her assets and still gave off an air of schoolgirl innocence she thought Joseph might just appreciate.  Meantime, she was pleased with her cotton panties and bra: pretty, but not flashy.  Just her style.

She hadn’t even brought along makeup for her journey, but she dabbed some lip balm on her lips and pinched her cheeks for good measure.  Then she got out her books, her diary and her fountain pen to place on the table bolted to the wall, all of which proved she wasn’t above impressing Joseph, at least with her intellect.

This took the better part of twenty minutes; Joseph had said he would be gone for an hour.  She hesitated.  Should she linger on her sofa in a come-hither position (later to be made into a bed) or go meet him?  He had, after all, told her where he was going.  Was it an invitation?  A test?  She decided to go: certainly Russian literature was not going to satisfy her at this point.