In a time before the internet was ubiquitous and everyone owned a smartphone, before security cameras monitored almost every street, I was a twenty-one-year-old woman alone on a train.

It was a late afternoon in October, and I sat by the window, looking out on unfamiliar surroundings as the train made yet another stop. I was on my way home after attending the wedding of a friend. We'd been inseparable as teenagers, but while she'd moved away to attend college, I remained in our hometown, living with my parents and working as a secretary. My friend and I were steadfast pen pals, and I'd been delighted to receive a wedding invitation from her. I was also a little nervous about traveling so far from home. The wedding was to take place eight hours from where I lived. My father suggested that I travel by train. "With your horrible sense of direction, you'll never find your way there if you try to drive, Flora," he'd told me.

I'd left on a train traveling northward; it departed just after sunrise, and I arrived by early afternoon. Though my friend was engaged in a whirlwind of pre-wedding activity, I was still able to spend some time with her. I stayed overnight at her parents' house, sleeping on a cot since all the guest rooms were full of visiting family. I was relieved not to have to spend a night alone in a hotel. My friend's excitement about the wedding was contagious, and I found myself constantly grinning while I was in her presence. The wedding earlier that day had been beautiful, but I couldn't stay long at the reception before I had to call a cab to take me to the train station.

As I now waited for the train to begin moving again, I slid my hands over the fabric of my pale pink dress, smoothing out minuscule wrinkles. I hadn't been sure what to wear to the wedding. "Something modest and understated," my mother advised. "You don't want to attract any attention that should belong solely on the bride." During my rush to get out of the cab at the station a couple of hours earlier, I'd gotten an unsightly run in my pantyhose, and it seemed to grow by the minute. I ended up taking them off inside a stall in the station restroom, so my legs were now bare. Along with my small purse, I held a cardigan in my lap in case I got cold. I'd worn my shoulder-length dark hair down, and I brushed it back from my face, then moved my glasses farther up the bridge of my nose.

Looking around, I noticed the train car wasn't nearly as crowded now. We'd made stops at several major cities, and passengers steadily departed at each one. Now we were headed into a more rural stretch of the journey. I enjoyed gazing out at the countryside. The fading sunlight gave it a soft, warm glow. Just before the train began moving, someone sat in the seat next to mine. I was surprised, for there were plenty of other seats available.

With a discreet glance, I found the passenger was a man around my father's age, maybe a little younger. He was quite handsome, his wavy, dark blond hair a little long so that it brushed his collar. Though it was a Saturday, the man wore a fine suit. Later on, I wondered if it was his attire that made me so comfortable around him, so trusting when I otherwise wouldn't have been. My father wore a suit to work every day, and I associated it with authority; respectability.

When our eyes met, the man gave me a smile. His eyes were an almost startling blue. We exchanged polite greetings, and then I went back to looking out the window while he read a newspaper. No one else sat very close to us, and the train car grew fairly quiet. While I was hypervigilant at first with a stranger sitting right beside me, I soon relaxed, and my eyelids grew a bit heavy. All the excitement of the trip was catching up with me.

"Ah, look at that gorgeous maple," the man next to me murmured. I glanced at him again, then followed his gaze out the window. Immediately I spotted the tree with its fiery foliage. It had turned earlier than the others.

"It's beautiful," I agreed. The man leaned closer to me for a better look. I caught the scent of his cologne, and it stirred something inside me. Instead of recoiling from the stranger, I stayed still, feeling his suit coat brush against my bare arm.

After settling back in his seat again, the man returned his attention to the paper he'd been reading, seemingly dismissing me. As dusk fell outside, I again grew sleepy. Each time my eyes tried to close, I fought to keep them open. At some point, I dozed off, lulled by the train's gentle movement.

I immediately awakened with a start when he touched me. Looking down, I saw his hand resting on my thigh. "What are you doing?" I demanded, careful to keep my voice low. He'd put his paper away and now seemed utterly relaxed, leaning back against the seat. His touch was possessive; someone walking by might have thought we were lovers.

The man didn't answer. Instead, he slid his palm even higher. My eyes widened, and I grabbed his wrist. I'd never been in a situation like this before. As a young woman, I was rarely noticed by men. My mousy looks and quiet nature rendered me almost invisible. If a man did happen to pay attention to me, I grew painfully shy. I now looked around the train for help, but the remaining passengers were oblivious to what was occurring. "I promise I won't hurt you," the stranger whispered.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. My thoughts grew muddy from my rising panic. Part of me knew I should immediately stand up and move to another seat, yet I felt strangely paralyzed.

The man's stare took on a strange heat. "I've never done this before," he revealed, "but as soon as I saw you, I knew I had to touch you." I had no idea if he was telling the truth, but I guessed he might be because, even then, I realized most women never would have tolerated his behavior. But I was completely docile as he took my cardigan and spread it across my lap. With his hand concealed, he began lifting my dress, exposing more of my bare thigh to his touch.

"We can't. Not here," I whimpered. I turned my face from the man, staring out at the darkness.

"Relax," he urged. I'd grown cold, but his skin was warm against mine. I sucked in a breath as his hand inched upward. I heard his breathing quicken as well. "Close your eyes." Hiding behind my closed lids, I remained still when his fingers reached my panties and slipped inside. A soft moan escaped him while he explored the most intimate part of my body. "How beautiful you are," he sighed.

I trembled as the man brought his face close to mine; I could feel his breath against my cheek. It was then that he homed in on an exquisitely sensitive area between my thighs. I couldn't hold back my gasp, and my eyes flew open. With an expert touch, the man seemed to awaken a part of me I hadn't known existed. My mind reeled in bewilderment. How had he so easily discovered something that had remained hidden from me for my entire existence? Many times, I had touched myself while clumsily trying to masturbate in my bed, yet I'd never felt anything close to the pleasure his fingers were coaxing from my body now.

"What are you doing to me?" I stammered. I knew my face was growing flushed.

The man seemed to understand my helpless confusion, for his tone was reassuring. "I'm just trying to make you feel good, darling." While his hand worked between my thighs, my body surrendered to his touch. My legs, which I'd been holding painfully rigid, now parted a little more. The man laughed softly. "Oh, I am making you feel good, aren't I? You're getting nice and wet for me! You like me touching you this way, don't you?"

"Yes," I confessed. A flood of shame washed through me. As I looked around now, it wasn't for help but to make sure no one was witnessing my arousal.

The man again seemed to read my thoughts, for he said, "It's okay. I'm keeping an eye out. You're safe, so just let go." As crazy as the urge was, I wanted to laugh. How was I safe, with a stranger touching me this way? But I couldn't deny the delicious tension building within me, even as I didn't quite understand it. I was close to panting, writhing a little in the seat. A thin layer of sweat formed on my skin. The man dared to nuzzle my neck with his lips. All the while, his fingers never ceased their relentless caress. I could feel my heartbeat just beneath his touch.

"I'm feeling really... strange. Maybe we should stop," I said, my voice shaking. My body made a lie of those words when my thighs tightened around his hand as if to hold it in place.

"Not till you come," he groaned in my ear. "I have to see it!"

I released a desperate moan. "Please," I whispered. My nipples were painfully hard, and I could hear how wet I'd become. The stimulation grew almost unbearable. I felt lost, overwhelmed to the point of tears.

"You're almost there, sweetheart!" His voice was strained. "My God, you're so beautiful right now, so ready to come while I rub your swollen clit!" The words he spoke unleashed a feral desire in me. A blissful warmth settled low in my belly even as what felt like an electric current traveled along the curve of my bottom, down the length of my thighs, eventually reaching my toes and making them curl. My back arched, and I grabbed for the man, fearing I'd lost all control over my body. I clung to his forearm as my breath hitched in my chest. "Ah, that's it! Come for me, baby!" he murmured.

I quaked all over from the power of my first-ever orgasm, and as my stare met his, I opened my mouth to release a cry. He pressed his lips to mine, his kiss quieting me. I moaned while my body stiffened. He continued touching me, driving me into a frenzy. When our tongues met, I succumbed to a fresh wave of spasms.

The man broke the kiss only when he was sure I wouldn't draw attention to us. I slumped against the seat, trying to catch my breath. He was breathing just as hard, his eyes bright as he gazed at me. His touch quickly became uncomfortable, for my clitoris was now overstimulated. Even after he stopped rubbing it, that bud of flesh pulsed and quivered. He gently withdrew his hand from my panties, then pulled my dress back down over my thighs. I watched, wide-eyed, as he brought his fingers to his lips. He inhaled deeply, breathing in my scent. Then he slipped his fingers into his mouth. My face burned as I witnessed what I then considered filthy behavior, but the man seemed to relish the taste of me.

My trembling hadn't yet subsided, and he slipped an arm around my shoulders. "Thank you for letting me do that," he whispered. The man held me until I'd settled into a kind of relaxed stupor. Then he removed his suit coat and draped it across his lap. I allowed him to grasp my hand and pull it beneath the coat. "You want to make me feel good, too, don't you?" I could only nod in reply. The man pressed my hand between his thighs, and I gasped at the feel of his erection. "Feel what you do to me, darling." That primal heat had returned to his eyes, and I realized he longed for the same kind of release he'd given me.

I felt far less vulnerable pleasuring him. When an elderly lady made her slow, deliberate way down the aisle toward us, I quickly withdrew my hand, but as soon as she'd walked past, I went back to stroking the man through his pants. I explored the outline of his erection with my fingertips, acquainting myself with his length and girth. "That's so nice!" he said. Then he reached beneath the coat, and in seconds, he'd taken out his member.

My eyes widened when I felt his silky flesh covering the hardness beneath. I had no idea what to do, so he guided me with his own hand, and we worked up to a steady rhythm he enjoyed. An involuntary moan escaped me when his erection pulsed in my grasp. "You like that?" he asked with a grin. Again I nodded. My own arousal had reignited in response to his. He planted a kiss against my temple, and I couldn't help but smile at that tender gesture. I studied his face, observing each reaction. He had that same look of helplessness as his excitement grew. "You have me so worked up, I'm already getting close!" he confessed. His expression was almost pained while our hands together moved faster yet.

"Come," I dared to whisper. An insistent throb had begun deep within me. My mind might have still been somewhat innocent to what was happening, but my body knew all too well. My need was instinctual, undeniable. The man bucked his hips, and I easily heard his sharp intake of breath. He swore, then let out a groan. I felt the shudder course through him as he reached climax. Hot semen coated my skin while I kept up my fervent stroking. The man grunted and tensed, and I was rewarded with even more of his seed.

He finally had to stop my hand, his touch gentle. "That's all I can bear, sweetheart!" he said. I realized he'd grown too sensitive, just as I had after my own orgasm. Still breathing hard, the man offered me a handkerchief so I could wipe my hand clean. Once I was finished, I retrieved a pack of tissues from my purse and held it out to him.

"You might need these," I said, unable to suppress my grin.

"You angel." Beneath the coat, he cleaned himself up as well as he could, but when he excused himself to use the restroom a few moments later, I noticed he was holding the coat before him to conceal the mess we'd made. Once he returned, I went to relieve myself as well. After washing my hands, I splashed a bit of water on my flushed face. My skin remained hot, as if I had a fever.

When the man and I were both settled in our seats again, we didn't speak for several minutes. With the backs of his fingers, he caressed my thigh. Our eyes met, and he gave me a satisfied smile. I couldn't stop staring at him, still in disbelief at what we'd just done. "I'm getting off at the next stop," he finally said. "Why don't you come with me?"

I didn't entertain the thought of saying yes for even a moment. Shaking my head, I told him, "My father will be waiting to pick me up at the station later this evening. I have a few hours to go yet."

He released a sigh. "That's a pity. You're like a succulent piece of fruit, so ready to be devoured." His words sent a fierce pang of longing through me. "I envy the man who will get to fully enjoy that sweetness between your thighs."

Before departing, he gave me a last kiss. It grew hungry and demanding, and I surrendered to the force of his lips. I welcomed his tongue into my mouth. When he reluctantly pulled away, I was breathing fast again, fighting the urge to reach for him. He stroked my cheek and smiled. Then he was gone.

I sat alone for the rest of the train ride.  When I remembered the man's touch, my body pulsed in response, craving more. By the time I reached my stop, I was exhausted. After greeting me inside the station, my father's expression grew concerned. "Are you okay, Flora?"

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Just a little tired." During the drive home, I kept up a steady stream of chatter, filling him in on all the details of the wedding. It was a way to distract myself from filthy thoughts about the man on the train.

Later that night, after I'd wished my parents good night and gone to bed, I touched myself the way the man had touched me. He'd taught me well, for I quickly brought myself to orgasm. It was only the second of my life, with countless others to follow, but I would never forget my first, or the stranger who had given it to me.