Do you believe holiday dreams come true?
The Dream Express
Jenna Fox © 2014
That morning had begun like all the others; pressing the snooze button a dozen times, indecision on which skirt to wear, and waiting in line at the java cart for a cup of high octane. I barely made it to the station on time before I remembered it was Christmas Eve.
I found a window seat on the train, crossed my legs and grabbed a newspaper when he sat down across from me…again. My eyes abandoned the headlines to steal a glimpse of him; the mysterious man with the coal-black hair and decadent, dark eyes. Each day he wore a different designer suit and his coat always hugged his chest in the same way I dreamed of doing. His polished shoes said that he was a man who demanded organization and power. I licked my lips... hmmm, just my type.
Week in and week out, I’d noticed the movement of his mouth as he talked on his cell phone, although I could never decipher what he was saying. If I allowed it, the twitch of his lips could push me right into madness and plenty of times, I’d fantasized they were smashed on top of mine. To collect my senses, I took another sip of cinnamon spiced coffee when he smiled at me. Quickly, I looked away and suddenly I realized I’d been in such a hurry that I’d forgotten to apply my make-up.
My legs, jittery from too much caffeine, carried me along the aisle lined with shopping bags toward the bathroom. Why was I in a rush? There was still plenty of time before the conductor called my stop.
In the restroom, the air grew stuffy as I grabbed hold of the door. Shew, dream on, girl, I giggled in spite of myself. There was no way that gorgeous man had noticed me, a girl with extra padding on her hips from too many Christmas cookies. My hair required some attention, so I pulled out a comb and a tube of mascara just as the door squeaked open. Jeez, there wasn’t enough room for two people inside those cramped quarters.
“I’ll be out in a second,” I muttered to the person behind me.
“I certainly hope not.” A man’s voice, smooth as egg nog whispered into my ear.
“P -pardon me?”
“I’ve been watching you all year and you’ve been a bad girl.”
Our eyes met in the mirror and after a heated pause, the comb fell to the floor. I almost screamed, but when the fabric of my skirt lifted, all I could do was moan. I should’ve been blushing with embarrassment, but instead, I licked my lips and tossed my head back as fingers pushed their way through the honey of my pussy, slipping in and out teasingly. The rising heat between my legs moved northward; self-combustion was about to steal away my control, but I held on, clinging to every sensation, reveling in it.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I sensed him kneel down behind me. I closed my eyes, propped my leg upon the cold counter, and slid my hand down my thigh as he moved his head between my legs. I weakened with each flick of his tongue against my clit. I was losing myself. My balance was slipping, forcing me to grab the sink for leverage. Not even the cold glass of the mirror pressing against my cheek could pull me down from this heaven.
Although in the throes of passion, I somehow managed to breathe out the words, “What if someone walks in?”
I really didn’t care if someone walked in; it would only add to the excitement. All my thoughts and energy were focused on that tiny place his tongue was attacking. He used no pattern; no rhyme or reason to the darting flicks of his tongue as he moved it around my outer lips, then back inside, pulling me deeper into a maelstrom of wantonness. I held my breath in anticipation of the next touch.
I’d long forgotten I was being pleasured by a stranger inside the bathroom of a commuter train. I was a breath away from screaming out a climax over the furious blast of the train’s whistle when he moved away. My body quivered from frustration as I heard the door close. I turned and looked down.
Nobody was there.
It was only a dream.
Good grief, I need to get a grip, perhaps more sleep! Watching those late-night movies had finally taken its toll on my mind. I broke my dazed and confused state with a splash of cold water onto my face. My hair was once again a fright and the reflection in the mirror was of a woman who had probably lost her mind. I gathered my belongings and opened the door, shaking off the remnants of my vivid imagination.
My stop was probably getting close, so I made my way back to the passenger’s area with an erotic ache still throbbing between my legs. Laying in my seat alone and abandoned was an ivory envelope with my name embossed in gold lettering. A curious onlooker had me pausing before I snatched it up and crooked my fingers, lifting the gold seal. It read:
I won’t be back again until next year and if you’ve been a good girl, I’ll let you come.
I felt as if the thousand-watt smile on my face would tell the other passengers what had happened right behind the bathroom door, just a few feet away from the traveling grandmas and unhappy toddlers.
Until that day I never believed in Santa Clause or that dreams really do come true.
I’m getting my list ready for next year!