No NO don’t leave me yet!! This post isn’t as dull as you’re possibly thinking 🙂 .
A recent blog Titled ‘English language rules and why they can/should/must be broken (sometimes)‘ captured my imagination.
The correct use of English language, where and when to apply correct grammar rules, increasingly fascinates because I’ve been ‘writing’ on WordPress for over a year now and who wouldn’t be! Though I’ll add one important caveat, the question ‘do I consider myself to be a ‘writer?’ Definitely sharpens the mind, hmm jury’s still out on that one, however Holly once described me a ‘conversational writer’ which I quite like 🙂 .
Now putting to one side a fun pet tale, she elaborates on her current choice of reading Titled Dryer’s English ‘An utterly correct guide to clarity and styleby Benjamin Dreyer.’ which is quite possibly my next Amazon.co.uk purchase, and quoting from her own words,
‘This man is my new-found hero. Basically he suggests we can, and should, break all the English grammar rules we have learned in school. Unless we can’t or shouldn’t.
His writing style is so conversational, you’ll absolutely forget immediately that technically you’re reading a guide to English grammar, and he’s so funny. I was instantly captivated.’
NOW for me this is where our tale gets really interesting, apparently Benjamin Dreyertalks briefly about a challenge he recommends all writers take part in. For one whole week he suggests readers eliminate the following words from everything they write, omg talk about laying down a gauntlet!
(Queue an accompanying drum roll)
Pretty (not to describe something or someone, but to say ‘pretty tedious’)
On the last one he recommends, “feel free to go the rest of your life without another actually”.
And you’ll guess exactly what I’m going to say next!
Well I read that list and thought to myself ‘Holy crap I’m a Serial offender, I regularly and repeatedly use every single word from that list and quite possibly almost certainly within all 195 posts on this my WordPress!’
I’m not joking for effect either and whilst I’m here I’ll add ‘Anyways’ to Benjie’s list, ‘anyways’ is my goto word for realigning returning a meandering train of thoughts ‘back on track’, without fail if my thread of consciousness has veered off topic the following paragraph will always begin with Anyways, perhaps you’ve noticed?
Anyways where was I? Oh yes my fascination with grammar rules, now I’ll share with you my one and only self editing rules, that before publishing this post I’ll check (then double check) I haven’t used the words ‘it’ and ‘it’s’ though I will use ‘its’. “Why so Andrew?” Well in my humble opinion the word ‘it’ is an irritatingly non descript meaningless word, not tooo dissimilar to teenage girls and their addiction to the word ‘like’. Incidentally I have this theory that because girls converse far quicker than their brain’s are processing, the word ‘like’ is ‘scatteredhere there and everywhere’ so allowing thought processes to catch up!……………. 🙂 In my opinion ‘like’ is a meaningless conversational fill-in word however absolutely adorable ❤ to listen to when you overhear teenage girls chatting.
Here’s a ‘fabulous’ anecdote I happened across recently and apparently a TRUE story, anyways it (lol) made me laugh 😀 revealing how intelligent thinking stops an ignorant stupid person in his/her tracks.
Picture this. The phrase ‘NIGGER’S OUT’ is written in spray paint across a large expanse of virgin wall.
Only later a sharp thinking passer-by adds their own brilliant observation: ‘NIGGER’S OUT (but he’ll return after his dinner)’.
Don’t you think that’s priceless insightful and an awesome reply?
(My apologies to Victoria for ‘woosing out’ on Chapter 14, and I know I owe Darnell a post sharing the reasons I don’t use writing Apps such as Grammarly………….. lol no one can say I don’t try to interact here, that’s half the fun don’t you think?)
(As promised I’ve a literary historical photography post for you today, yes the Great man himself Charles Dickens.)
13th APR 2019 I day-tripped to London by bus, changed onto the Underground taking the train to visit the Home lived in by Dickens for two years of his life, years later in 1925 the home was purchased then transformed into a museum, and now a ‘time capsule‘ revealing how Victorian homes actually looked inside.
The front door of 49 Doughty Street, now entrance to the museum in Dickens time owned by solicitor Henry Pickards, is a magnificent terraced residential home only 5 minutes walk from Farringdon Tube Station, comprising three floors, a scullery kitchen basement, and also a ‘loft’ we tourists weren’t allowed to ‘peek’ inside.
Read my ticket date above, “just sayin”. The map I’m also holding is printed from the internet, a free publication describing in detail ‘walking tour’ directions from Dickens Home all the way to St. Pauls Cathedral (a British jewel of historical architecture), incidentally showing a ‘route’ considerably longer than I’d first imagined!!
Alas virtually all of Dickensian London has been lost to years of redevelopment, both progress also a consequence of rebuilding this great City after 4 years of Hitler carpet bombing homes, buildings and factories by his Luftwaffe……….. what was the point to this monstrous vandalism? You tell me, on second thoughts please don’t! The truly surprising no unbelievable fact is Christopher Wren’s St. Pauls cathedral survived intact, incredible!
(There is a reason why, long story.)
On first walking through the front door to number 48, I was under no illusion I would be staying no longer than 1 hour, Dickens little known Museum is strictly for quiet thoughtful souls who wish to experience the Victorian atmosphere knowing this great man shared meals with his wife and children, wrote tales at his desk in the drawing room, endlessly climbed three flights of stairs the entire day (two up one down) and yes made love to Catherine in the master bedroom……………….. well come on yes he did!
Belowyou see amap essential to making ‘head and tale’ of today’s post, look carefully and both a floor showing three levels including the basement, also the various rooms inside 48 Doughty Street London, incidentally I was charged a very reasonable £9 entrance fee. Enter through blue door number 49, then once inside walk through a door into number 48 their family home.
1 Entrance Hall
The busy household passed back and forth on errands and social visits. Dickens often made, sometimes nightly, walks through the City he called his ‘magic lantern’. His neighbours were professionals, architects, writer and artists. yet the law courts, workhouses and slums fuelled his writing were but a short walk away.
(Remember Dickens was both a social and prison reformer, his father had been earlier locked up in a debtors prison, and Dickens would himself demonstrate outside Newgate Prison situated a mile up the road, in fact he was instrumental in having prisoner hangings moved to behind prison walls to the public’s disappointment!)
2 Dining Room
The location and grand architecture of the house was ideal for launching Dickens socially. This elegantly curved room played a key role. As a rising author enjoying his first flush of success, he entertained many leading figures here.
Pictured above, a dining table and bowl displaying any number of ‘plastic fruit’, Dickens bust hanging from a wall, and a lovely young lady tour guide wearing a very becoming ‘black and red’ check shirt! And yes I made a point of chatting to her 🙂 because I’m very friendly that way 😛 .
Remarking “you seem very tired” as she yawned 😮 , the young lady smiling answered “yes I am”, then standing one foot on the bottom staircase, hand resting upon the banister about to climb up, I turned grinning and said “this way to the bedrooms?” Well she actually laughed out loud finding my enquiring rather amusing (or because she was Dickens bored), all good flirty fun 🙂 don’t you think? You gotta at least try and make women laugh even if SHE IS thinking ‘jeeze he’s old enough to be my father!!’ 😀
3 Morning room
Catherine Dickens used this family room to arrange household matters, spend time with the children, welcome visitors and write letters. As a Dickens travelled often, much of their daily communication was in writing. Surviving letters show their happiness as a couple then.
Stepping into the second ground floor room I’m now standing in Dickens Morning room, as I said earlier I wasn’t under any illusions, there’d only be so much to actually see wandering around someone else’s home, but standing in his writing room is quite a magical experience, standing affront Charles’ writing desk reading a page written in his own hand, knowing he possibly quill penned tales of Scrooge and Tiny Tim, Oliver Twist and Fagin, Pip and Miss Havisham possibly three of the greatest tales ever written, I truly sensed the standing on hallowed ground feeling or is that a little pretentious?
That desk sits affront a window probably because rays of natural sunlight are considerably brighter than the gas lights hanging from the morning room wall, I can attest to the rooms gloominess and the reason why my photos are slightly grainy……….. Tourists are banned from using a camera’s flash!
(Descend one flight of stairs into the kitchen.)
The servants prepared the family food here, managed by Catherine Dickens, the mistress of the house. Traders came in and out with supplies. Victorian Kitchens were often low lit, home to vermin, and filled with heat and smoke from the cook’s fire.
Above 5 photos: The ‘cast iron’ cooking range, a dresser displaying china plates, looking upwards through a window onto Doughty Street, looking back through a doorway towards the Washhouse, and glass bottles standing on a shelf.
…….. and who knows what evil chemicals they contained in Victorian times?
5 & 6 Scullery and Washhouse
The maid washed clothes and dishes here, and cleaned around the house on a demanding schedule. Dickens’s sympathetic portrayal of servants endeared him to domestic staff around the country.
7 Wine cellar
Dickens wrote about both the pleasures and harmfulness of drink. At home, he kept a good cellar to lavish his guests.
8 Drawing room
As a child, Dickens improvised performances for friends and family. As an adult, he delighted in hosting amateur theatricals. In a later home, he had a rom made into what he called ‘The smallest Theatre in the World’. From the 1850s he would take his book readings to the public stage, becoming a celebrated solo performer.
9 Dickens’s study
Dickens had a strict routine, writing without distraction from breakfast to lunch. Then he might visit his Club, work on one of his charitable projects or take a long walk. He filled this room with a vast collection of books.
Below looking out upon the rear garden, and at current London property market prices helped by number 48’s provenance, I’d suggest this home is worth 2 digit £1,000,000s?
Above two notable and extremely famous artist prints hanging from a wall, to the left Dickens a middle aged man seated in a chair. To the right the Ghost of Christmas PRESENT seated upon an enormous pile of presents, clutching a lantern of Christmas spirit in one hand, and lecturing Scrooge as to the error of his ways!
….………….then again he could reminding Scrooge that phantom number three, the grim reaper incarnate follows sooon!!
Staircase (Between First floor & Second floor)
Below, photos pointing upwards to the master bedrooms & looking back into the Drawing room.
10 Mary Hogarth’s bedroom
Dickens experienced one of the most upsetting events of his life here, the death of Catherine’s’ sister Mary Hogarth. She was s 17 years old and apparently in good health. The shock devastated the family. Dickens struggled to accept the loss of someone he considered pure and good. The sentimentality of death scenes he later wrote is rooted in that traumatic even.
11 Master bedroom
While living here, Catherine Dickens gave birth to Mary and Katy. She would go on to have 10 children by 1852. Dickens separated from Catherine in1858. But when they lived here, they were largely contented and shared this bedroom.
Pictured below, and standing beside the Master bedroom four poster bed could be Catherine Dickens herself looking out the window onto Doughty Street. On the bed you see laid out garments of period clothing, whether the stockings belong to Charles or Catherine I have no idea………… but I can tell you two of their children were conceived here, yes Victorian sexual intercourse!!
(I’ve often mused ‘did Charles visit local side streets and sample the infamous Victorian ‘two penny knee trembler? Don’t be tooo shocked upstanding fine gentlemen visit brothels!)
Hmm pictures above remind me of that ghostly little book ‘A Christmas Carol’ once again, remember a frightened Scrooge sitting upon his four poster bed, the curtains drawn around to keep the three spirits at bay, no? Well why not go read this wonderful novel and see for yourself 🙂 .
Incidentally, I read ‘A Christmas Carol’ on Christmas Eve every single year.
Pictured above, is yes a reflection of myself taking a photograph towards the dressing wardrobe mirror………… alas my youthful head of hair is a ‘long ago’ distant memory!
12 Dickens dressing room
Dickens washed, shaved and dressed here. In 1840 the historian Thomas Carlyle described Dickens as clothed fashionably rather than ‘well’. This ‘fine fellow, Boz’, he wrote loftily, has ‘clear blue intelligent eyes’ and a ‘face of the most extreme mobility’ topped with a ‘loose coil of common-coloured hair’.
13 & 14 Nursery and Servants’ bedroom
The attic was the domain of the children (Charles Junior, Mary and Katy) as well as the servants, away from the more public spaces of the house.
I didn’t take any photographs of either the Dressing room, Nursery or Servants bedroom, there’s only so much culture you can ‘snap’ in one day.
(I haven’t seen Christopher Robin as of yet, I’ve heard it’s very good so I’m 🙂 sure I will)
A home Town (may be mine) every year plays host to the World Poohsticks Championships, and yes I’m rather proud even if the event is just a bit of fun. 🙂 03/06/2018 to be exact.
Btw, The Championships are taken seriously and Money is raised for Charity! (The photo below was taken a few days in advance)
Below E. H. Shepard’s original drawing of Christopher Robin and Winnie The Pooh playing Poohsticks from Pooh Bridge, the photograph of the bridge is to be found on Langel common………. incidentally bridging the River Windrush!
And yes I realise this ISN’T the true Pooh Bridge from literature, but for some reason the ‘Rotary Club’ changed location……….. possibly something to do with car parking issues?…….. No matter the day is fun packed with live music and stalls so no one minds
Now reading the banner at the entrance to the common, lol see I’m not telling fibs 😀 my Town hosts it’s very own World Championships, and I should add walking beside Langel common’s long grasses brought on a sneezing fit………… my (blank) hay fever!
Confused? Then please read on.
(As an aside I met an old friend on the day with her young Granddaughter, even at 70yrs Rosemary’s still a good looking woman, her eyes ACTUALLY sparkled in the sunlight)
Wow to think my English rural Town stages a World Championships is quite something and better still the afternoon’s event has absolutely nothing to do with a Sport involving balls now that’s impressive! On the Sunday of which I speak children descended to the common coming from miles around to play a game first written about in in 1928 by author A. A. Milne, and that children are competing in a game taken straight from children’s literature is something to be truly celebrated……….. don’t you agree?
That the day’s fun has nothing to do with action superheroes, ‘nonsense’ names in AI video games or overpaid Sportspersons and their balls should be applauded.
Now as I said, aficionados will know the game of Poohsticks was originally played on a footbridge across in Posingford Wood, but not to worry, my Town is famous for holding a World Championships and I think that’s fabulous and pretty cool.
(OK lol it’s not quite the Olympics but I DO try hard on my Blog)
Now 🙂 do I really have to explain how the game of Poohsticks is played seeing as you are all writer’s on a blogging platform, remembering Winnie The Pooh and his little band of chums is a classic book written for children? Of course not, you’ve probably read yourself as a child, read it aloud to your children or grandchildren it’s a wonderful story that’s captured imaginations for decades (and many more)…………. hmm I may even read again one day, and why not?
Ok you’ve twisted my arm, I’m at a loose end this afternoon so why not write about Winnie The Pooh without plagiarising that damned Wikipedia! (I’m probably breaking umpteen copyrights showing these pictures but I make NO money from blogging!)
The actual story can be found in the book ‘The House on Pooh Corner’.
Winnie The Pooh Christopher Robin and his friends hang over the rail of one side of the bridge……….. safely I might add!! Each or them holds a stick importantly owned only to themselves, they each drop their stick at the very same time then rush to the opposite side of the bridge, hang over and note SAFELY if you’re ever going to try, then wait and watch until the sticks come into view.
Remember I said each with a stick recognisable to themselves, well the first stick that comes into view wins! And if you yourselves play for heavens sake take care and staySAFE!
Lol aren’t you a tiny bit envious of my Town 😀 seeing as you are all writers? Only joking but the tale is still pretty cool and do you know what, I’m going to throw a stick off the bridge one day on the way to work!!
What with the dry heat rising from the heater below my carriage seat and the excitement of meeting Emily being too much for me, I’d succumbed to a deep dreamy sleep hadn’t I, and for fear of confusing we return to that scene in the carriage.
Hedgerows streaked past my carriage window now replacing the flat green moorland with its purple tipped heather. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, a shock near stopping my heart from beating, I opened my eyes and there looking down at me stood a man dressed in blue tunic with matching coloured hat. A slender moustached man he was, his hand now recoiling after having shocked my body into life, the other clasping a small metal ticket puncher reflecting sunlight now streaming through our train carriage window.
Bleary eyed I looked up at the ticket collector’s face, paused, then sideways glanced to where my young female friend was sitting. She’d gone, disappeared, from what seemed only five minutes ago I’d been chatting to a pretty young lady with chestnut brown hair and now her seat was empty.
“Where is she?” I exclaimed at the ticket collector feeling provoked, a look of disbelief across my face quickly looking back at her now vacant seat. She’d vanished. My new female friend called… umm…was nowhere to be seen.
Now wide awake, lucidly returning to the land of the living it was dawning on me the screaming pubic haired lunatic, falling out of a run away train, hitting my head and yes dying a horrible death had never happened. It was all a dream and better still my new friend is called Emily!
‘Yes the pretty lady on the train is Emily’, I smiled.
I’d been dreaming hadn’t I, five ten minutes ago a combination of warm air and carnal excitement had nudged me into a deep sleep and now looking at the train official’s face one third time, I realised my violent wretched death had all been a horrible dream.
“Sir you’re back in the land of the living”, my train official replied with a chuckle whilst handing back my ticket. Then moving away, having spotted the lady with the daughter waving her hand to catch his attention, he replied one final time and I might add blushing to.
“What I’d been meaning to tell you sir………..well how can I put this………..your wife has asked me from inside the lavatory, can you please bring her some tissues!” And now his cheeks a full crimson red…………. “our train company has messed up on consumables!”
And with that he turned and rather quickly made for the opposite end of our carriage.
“Oh my god” I said to myself again looking at the cushioned seat where Emily once sat, “this IS the strangest day of my life!”
Reaching for tissues in my pocket and rising out of my seat, excitement reinvigorating my sanity, I moved towards the open door feeling a bulge in my jeans making it uncomfortable to move, anticipating what I assumed would be sex and hoping this girl called Emily didn’t want to show me the art deco sink tap fittings!
My heart began to race again! Fresh blood making the cheeks of my face burn and my penis broaden to its full girth!
Balancing myself as I pushed that same headrest, passing through that very same door Emily had minutes earlier, I stumbled into the dimly lit space coupling two carriages together. Noticing what I assumed was a bathroom door left slightly ajar, and because as we all know ajar bathroom doors are safe to enter, I took a sharp intake of breath and decided to walk in!
Squeezing my slim body around the oak door panel, opening into a space no larger than three foot square. I looked straight ahead facing a woman resting her ass on the corner of a reflective white ceramic sink, her two hands clasping the white china to steady herself.
The woman was Emily, a dark silhouette affront a window emanating such a bright light into our dimly lit cubicle, making my eyes sting uncomfortably as they adjusted to the dark against white contrast. My shoes now glued to the spot a jolt as if on que near leapt Emily onto me, flinging her arms around my shoulders she pulled my body deep into hers.
“What took you so long” she whispered, “I take it the ticket man said I wanted tissues, hell where have you been?”
“I fell asleep didn’t I” relief in my voice and so happy I’d met her again. Squeezing Emily tight, feeling her curvaceous body against mine for the first time, a warmth of affection between us quite intoxicating a new found sexual excitement making me swallow hard!
Then with her mouth close to my ear she whispered softly,
“Andrew we’ve only fifteen minutes before Gromont Station, enough time to feel you inside me.”
“Yes” I replied. “Oh god yes…….please!…………….Emily I need to f*** you”, nuzzling my cheeks into the nape of her neck, the scent of that delicate perfume upon her skin.
“OH GOD”, words stumbling from my mouth.
An icy cold shudder flowed through my body, an omg flashed across my mind like fork lightening across blackened midnight skies. In a state of panic, you have to believe this wasn’t disappointed resignation for whatever her answer I was by now so sexually excited, my dick engorged with blood, throbbing hard and painful within my tight jean crotch, whatever her reaction I was going to f*** Emily.
I’m a kind quiet gentleman but a sexually excited male is always minutes away from animalistic copulation, a desperate need to release his creamy ejaculate urging him on, a carnal desire as old as man himself. It’s at time’s like these an excited male, however decent may not be able to stop from forcing himself inside a woman. Be honest now, how many occasions have passions overwhelmed you and you’ve f***ed without protection?
‘Protection! Damn I’ve no condom’, words no man ever wants to say.
My mind a blur, pleasure giving chemicals surging through my brain I dropped my hands to my belt unclipping the buckle, ‘you’re not going anywhere’ I thought to myself as the cubical creaked and rattled. Leaning back I admired Emily’s locks of brunette hair dancing for the train, her pelvis now trapped between cold porcelain sink and my body unable to move, arms wrapped around my neck pulling me closer, oh and a violent rape flooding my mind!
I stood tall, this bloody train was beginning to make me angry near throwing me sideways into partitioning walls. My waist no longer pressing into hers I fumbled my jeans button open, tugging the fly zipper down, at last feeling relief as my penis sprung forward no longer constrained in tight jeans, its purple tip pressed against Emily’s blue cotton denim.
Then in a moment of clarity, my dick comfortable at last, my heart still thumping I calmly said to her.
“Emily I’ve got no condom! A mixture of shock and distress in my voice.
Emily recoiled back toward the window, releasing her arms from around my neck pushing my shoulders away at the same time, two strangers facing each other less than two feet apart. She looked into my eyes our waists the only parts of our bodies touching, then raising a finger to my lips she said.
“It’s ok Andrew”……”I’m clean and I trust you”, smiling a wicked love in her eyes.
“I never f*** with a condom anyway, I only take a man if I can feel the skin of his dick inside me”, throwing her head back giggling like a sex starved girl from a single sex boarding school.
Pushing me away still farther, so forcibly, my back hit the cubicle door slamming it shut, “God that hurt” I whispered to myself, visions of a trolley dolly listening the other side, witnessing the dirty deed I was gonna inflict on this pretty girl with brunette hair.
To be continued with the final part (ending) tomorrow…….
(Anyone loyal to my tale is possibly thinking lol, ‘thank God for that!’
Fifteen or so minutes passed into our journey together and our conversations became happier and fun, giggles from her at my small talk, it takes me a while to relax but once warmed I like to think myself as an amusing guy, a turn of phrase here and there, an anecdote or two amusing her and now a quarter into our journey we are good friends.
Then Emily did something quite unexpected she ceased talking. Looked down at her map unfurling the sheets with renewed concentration to I guess see how far we’d travelled? ‘Oh shit’ I thought to myself recoiling back, elbows still resting on the tables edge, ‘what did I say wrong?’ ‘Why’s she suddenly lost interest?’ Anxiety flooded my mind I’m a sensitive soul ‘had it crossed her mind we’re becoming that little bit too familiar? A little over friendly for two complete strangers who’d only just this met?’
My heart sank. I wasn’t chatting her up most definitely not, I’m crap at that anyways. Night time in bed, hand holding my dick I’ll dream of pulling in a nightclub, ambitions to leave with a young lady and find ourselves a dark alley where she’ll lean back against a wall. Excitement engorging, I’ll lift up her dress pull down her knickers and I’ll penetrate her forgetting my condom, yes a little worse for wear but still sane enough to withdraw come the time.
Feeling deflated I watched her head drop, fingers tracing coloured lines denoting roads on her walkers map, and with a resignation I sighed an ‘Oh well the young lady’s mind’s elsewhere, oblivious and hunched over her fully unfurled paper drawing’. Then looking up, her eyes sparkling, Emily caught me watching her jiggling boobs and pointing nipples getting harder. ‘Damn’ I thought feeling my cheeks burn. It didn’t matter though, she smiled leaning forward and closer, her hands reaching out her delicate fingers now warm to the touch pulling my arm toward her, pressing my hand into the table making sure it wasn’t going anywhere.
“You are a sweetie” Emily’s whispered, head close to mine her tips of long brown hair kissing our dividing table. ‘Wow I was being seduced!’
Emily’s lips slightly parted made moist from the wetness on her tongue, and so sensually my heart literally melted. Then she spoke! Gosh her voice had changed, she’d suddenly transformed into a romancing more sexual woman. Then a thought a flashed across my mind, ‘wow she’s going to kiss me and her nipples are so large I can trace the outline of her areola beneath thin cotton’ fabric’ yum that me hard!
“Andrew”, breaking our silence her eyes childlike alive betraying a naughtiness, “you’ve been looking at my tits from ever since you climbed aboard this carriage.” Totally taken aback by her intimate and dirty phrasing, yes dirty is the word, I thought ‘what kind of lady says tits to a complete stranger she’s never laid eyes on before?’
As she spoke Emily’s finger tips walked further up my arm coming to rest on my shoulder pulling me towards her. Feeling a warm breath in my mouth, her heart rate pushing air from deep within her lungs and if you’re wondering her breath smelt pleasant, which was lovely. Leaning ever closer, her hand atop mine tight ensuring I wasn’t to be going anywhere, a delicate floral perfume breezed past my nostrils, a scent I hadn’t noticed before.
“Come on answer” she said with a girly giggle, she didn’t care in the slightest so what we’ve only just met. “So Andrew tell me why you’ve never stopped looking all journey”………..”they’re my best asset don’t you think?” Both of us now staring at two mounds beneath her thin cotton tee shirt.
Swallowing hard I replied a boyishly and quiet “because I’d love to see them”, then feeling ever more confident “because I want to suck one of those hard nipples”, whilst trying not to laugh at the same time! ‘Wow where did that brazenness come from, I deserved a slap around the cheeks, Emily crying out for the guard!
“No” Emily replied recoiling away, my face must have been a picture, mouth wide open with thoughts of ‘omg what have I gone and done now’, the pit of my stomach aching as though punched hard!
I was dumbfounded frozen in time, not a part of my body moved as I watched Emily stand from her burgundy vintage cushion, she caught my eye kissing me another one of her sweet smiles, ‘phew that was close!’ The path we tread in life is so precarious, her response could just as easily to walk away offended disgusted, don’t you think living is just luck and chance and little else?
Inching her curvy hips around the table, revealing shapely thighs inside tightest of tight blue jeans my eyes following the contour of her crotch, that oh so sexy curve of a woman’s body disappearing through her vagina bridge and what I assumed was a plump firm ass, “you’re a fine looking woman” I whispered to myself.
My attention now drawn to the outline of Emily’s frame, a gorgeous size 10 figure having risen from her seat, her left hand reaching out with fingers clasping onto the headrest beside the door frame. Held open incidentally by a stopper so as to allow refreshment carts to pass through. Pausing for moment, our carriage rhythmically swaying side to side, standing tall now balancing in the aisle between two seats Emily swayed in time to this rhythmic old carriage.
Slipping her rain coat down over her shoulders, throwing it back to the seat she’d just vacated, Emily looked the handsome young woman she actually was, taller than I first assumed her smoothed cotton tee shirt hiding a slim waist yet at the same time clinging to her curvy large breasts. Jiggling they were, gorgeously quivering in response to our train weaving itself through rain sodden northern moorland. Emily gazed into my eyes, smiled, momentarily looked toward the other end of the carriage ascertaining how many people accompany us, and for your information I was correct, a young woman and her five year old daughter sat many rows away.
Turning to face me again, with a hushed voice knowing our micro family could be listening, Emily said. “I need to pee wait five minutes then follow me” pointing at the propped open door as she moved away, catching my eye with a tiny wink.
In shock and rather exhausted I reclined into my soft vintage cushion, rubbed mist off the glass and gazed out the window watching hedgerows streak past, a new scenery replacing the monotony of purple tipped heather. ‘Wow’ I thought to myself they’d never believe this at work’ my heart rate slowing a little, ‘and now she wants me to follow her to the bathroom!’ Eagerly grinning I teased myself, ‘So Andrew are you going after her or sit here and read your book?’ Twenty minutes ago I was a tourist making my way to a Yorkshire village famous for drama’s on the telly, now I’ve just been propositioned by a hiker called Emily.
………. I hadn’t noticed the lady’s face or her bosom until a little way into our journey. The train had stopped at Gothland Railway Station, hurriedly I’d clambered aboard crossing a grubby green carpeted aisle, my legs touching brushing past her jeans on the way, making a mental note she’s wearing walking boots. ‘Hmm she’s a tourist just like me’ I’d thought to myself before taking a seat by the window. And do you know what, in the rush I really hadn’t given the lady a second glance.
Well that’s untrue, when seated I looked across for the briefest of moments, enough to see her head was bowed, an assumed concentration etched across her face reading a map. (Hold that thought) Then getting myself together I laid my belongings out on the table, sighed rather loudly and gazed out the window watching the incredible scenery pass before my eyes. Only then after a couple of minutes did I turn to look at my female companion, only then did I notice that her walker’s rain coat was unzipped open exposing two mounds of rather large breasts, all within tight navy blue tee shirt I might add! So of course my attention’s magnetically drawn to her rather prominent nipples pointing through the soft stretchy cotton, oh yes I noticed those two alright! Walking boots and an outdoor coat all indicate she was a hiker and there’s a coincidence just like me, I’m virtually dressed the same though without the hard nipples.
‘Hmm they’re rather yummy’ I smiled to myself.
The train pulled away and slowly rumbled its way through beautiful rain sodden countryside, flat damp and evergreen with only spongy heather for vegetation. Now comfortably settled with rucksack on the seat beside me, heritage train book and packed lunch an arms length away in front on the table, we rocked and rolled through a picture perfect beautiful landscape that attracts people from across the globe. Yet on cold wintry summer days such as these, a low grey cloud, a persistent deluge of heavy rain meant we were the only two souls in the carriage.
Though hold on a second, a hushed chatter from what sounded like a young woman in the distance, also muffled occasional squeals of laughter from a child in the distance, we were in fact NOT alone. One voice slightly higher pitch making the number five pop into my mind, ‘could be a girl of five years old?’ I mused. And with that I guessed a mother and daughter were seated at the very far end enjoying a day out like us two strangers.
Anyways the change in weather meant only we four travelled today in a carriage pulled by this gruff throaty diesel engine, 1960’s, preserved for tourists in search of nostalgia.
We trundled our way through rural Yorkshire me time to time glancing across our shared light coloured oak table, and looking about the rail car the whole interior’s a soft golden hew. Though being honest any fascination with historic trains was receding my mind now alive dreaming sexual possibilities with this gorgeous creature opposite. Every thirty seconds or so I’d glance across at her breasts jiggling side to side and up and down, they were large enough to notice and certainly enjoyable to watch, bouncing higher when our carriage jumped two connecting rails and making no secret this pretty young lady had boobs on the bigger side.
I thought to myself she should really be wearing a bra because they’re just that little too heavy not to be supported, in a few years when she reaches thirty they’ll drop, sag to not far above her belly button, but they’ll still look adorable pointing outwards, still look sexy as older woman’s boobs do. I nearly said to her ‘you’ll only ever get sexy cleavage again by wearing a Wonderbra’, I didn’t.
Anyways as you’ll have deduced by now my attentions are drawn to her boobs rather than spectacular scenery, then totally out of the blue she looked up from the map she’s interestedly following and beams me such a sweet smile that my lame nervous reply didn’t seem to matter. Awkwardness and silence broken we begin to chat about where we lived, occupations that employ us, partners, oh yes I managed to slip that one in!
Turns out we’re both ‘single’ and in truth I am, but a pretty young lady like Emily is NO WAY single yet she wears no wedding ring, no engagement ring and as you’re too well aware a guy always looks at a single girl’s ring finger!
Warmth flowed between us, a friendly conversation is struck up and it’s a given Emily and I liked each other, oh yes I forgot to tell you she’d let slip her name was Emily, a pretty name don’t you think? Hmm, Andrew and Emily has a nice ring to it, where was I, yes she wore no rings, maybe a woman who’s up for extra marital sex removes her band of gold, yet a girl betrothed sometimes leaves her engagement on! Confuses me so, is she single or is she not?
Returning my gaze to her red lips appearing fuller rosier in colour now, hmm that’s odd Emily wore no lipstick! Our shared carriage had been warmed by hot air blowing up from under the seats, the engine working harder pulling this great length of carriage had plumped Emily’s lips, flushed her cheeks a soft shade of pink, our heated intimate carriage space ensuring her feminine sexiness sparked alive. A wicked thought crossed my mind, doesn’t warmth inside a lady’s pelvic region make something else down there blush rosy red, make her catch a breath as she crosses her legs!
(All you really need to know is this tale was written by me, is original fiction in every respect and perhaps not the masterpiece I think it is 😀 , either way I had fun writing. A.)
“Winter’s come early”, said the young lady sitting on a cushioned seat near opposite me, her abruptness waking me out of a lonely daydream, quite a shock actually.
“Pardon Miss” I replied startled, my eyes now focused on a rather pretty face with warmth and love in her eyes. Hope I didn’t scare her but when you’ve hardly spoken to a living soul all morning, sudden questioning can be one hell of a shock!
“Winter’s come early”, she repeated pushing her arms and shoulders forward, fondly smiling, making out she was shivering and I’d guess pressing clenched hands deep into her lap. I say guess because a large wooden table between us obscured my view of her waist down.
Such a strange involuntary reaction shivering, I wonder if it really helps one warm chilled frozen stiff muscles?
The young lady continued smiling, lifting this lonely guys spirits and don’t you find the time span for a smile represents how greatly a lady likes you, what she wishes from you in return? Too short and she’s forcing herself to make small talk, too long and she’s really into you or is that soppy old me reading too much into feminine flirtations again, just be aware when a lady starts to talk to me I fall in love and this happens a lot!
I returned a smile this time going one step further and looking deep into her eyes, yet at the same time inwardly panicking having been caught off guard. So much so I nervously answered with possibly the lamest most awful reply known to man, wait for it!
“Yes but the weatherman on the radio said it’ll brighten up by this afternoon”, when really I wanted to say something very different, my eyes glancing below her chin for a split second then lower still before returning upwards and re capturing her gaze. Oh yes what I really wanted to say to this pretty lady, not beautiful as in a makeup model straight from Vogue magazine beautiful, no she was very much the pretty girl next door type, lovely delightful appealing with curly long brunette hair resting atop her shoulders.
The actual question crossing my mind as I gazed at her pretty smile, me now feeling the very end of my dick tingle and twitch the shaft hardening to the point of feeling slightly uncomfortable inside tight jeans, what I really wanted to say was.