Home > adventure, dancing, dating, emotion, intimacy, life, lover, Morality, romance, seduction, sex, Uncategorized, writing > THE SZENTENDRE TRAIN – part 6 of 30


I was dancing with him, my mystery lover.  As the warm water caressed me, I imagined it was he.  I imagined his gentle hands caressing me all over, passing gently over my breasts, lingering tantalisingly on my erect nipples before travelling down over my belly.

Thursday morning I put the cooled goulash into the refrigerator and went to the Szentendre platform, where I was among strangers.  The young man wasn’t there, nor were most of the people I usually saw there.  The Thursday morning passengers were a different lot than the Monday morning passengers.  It didn’t matter to me, because the young man was not there, and that was all I cared about.  He was all I cared about.  He was in my mind’s eye while I shopped, cooked, gardened, bathed, and taught.  At night, he was in my bed while I slept, and his tight young body was mine to enjoy.  And enjoy it I did.  In my dreams, I was the woman he always hoped for. My orgasm woke me each time, alone in my bed, dreaming of a man twenty years my junior, to whom I’d never spoken.

I was barely able to keep my mind on my classes.  Charts of the male anatomy covered most of the wall space in my classroom.  To my fevered mind, each of them was the young man.  Charts of the female anatomy were my body and my mind continued to couple the naked bodies.  Throughout that agonising Thursday and the restless night in my city flat I felt like an addict without her drug.  My body ached for him.  My arms quivered with the desire to enfold him to my chest.  I realised the foolishness of my infatuation, and vowed to end it by dissolving the fantasy.  When finally I could speak to him, the reality of who he was and what he wanted would emerge.

Friday morning I was beside myself.  The agonising night had left me looking like Hell on the very day when I wanted to be radiant.  It was hopeless, and my spirit fell to the bottom of the barrel.  I resolved to get a hold on my emotions.  I was an intelligent woman, and I would overcome the emotional turmoil with logic.  It was beyond emotional… it was psychological.  I explained the whole scenario to myself through the day, just vaguely aware of my students.  I’m sure they must have thought I was having a breakdown.  Maybe I was, in a way.

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