by Zoe Constantin
(3/22/00)

They sat under the canopy of an outdoor café, by the side of a crowded pedestrian walkway. The man was sipping from a demitasse; the woman drummed her fingers on the tabletop. The late afternoon sun had sunk below the trees, and the coppery light made the air shimmer, gilding the woman's skin where the canopy's shadow didn't cover her.

She stopped drumming a moment. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at her companion. "So answer me. Why didn't you stay last night?"

He smiled at her irritation. "Think how commonplace that would have been -- dinner, a walk by the river, ten minutes foreplay and fifteen minutes intercourse--"

"All right, all right. I get the picture."

"Don't make that face," he said. "You'd be sick with regret if we'd done that."

They spoke a mixture of German and English, changing languages as their mood shifted, or selecting the idiom that best fit their meaning. In English, her accent was faultless American, but his wandered through a variety of European rhythms.

"It's hot," said the woman, reverting to English. She twisted her thick bronze hair into a rope, lifting it to cool her neck.

"It's August. What did you expect?"

"But still..." She ran a finger along her damp neck, feeling how it marked a cool track of sweat. Despite the heat, she poured another cup of coffee, then shook the carafe. "We need more coffee. Kaffee, mein Schatz."

"That's kávé in Hungarian."

"Whatever you call it, I want more."

"You always want more." But he signaled to the waitress for another pot.

After a few moments, she lit a cigarette. "I was ready for the next step," she said quietly, gazing past him to the cluster of children that lingered by a fountain.

He lifted one eyebrow. "No, not yet. And making love in your room isn't the next step. You want something more than ordinary -- that's what you told me." He waited until the children moved on, replaced by a group of American tourists. "Now, have you picked a new name for today?"

"Not yet." She sipped her coffee.

"Yesterday you liked Katrine. A beautiful name, but a shade too exotic. Shall I call you Carol? Linda? Lilith?" He grinned wickedly. "No, too many Ls, What about Mary?"

"Too ordinary."

"Mary Magdalene was not ordinary. I'm sorry, that wasn't nice. But you should pick a name to match your personality. Fresh but proper. You need something American."

"As much as I need a lobotomy." She thought a moment. "All right, call me Theresa."

"Theresa." He too lit a cigarette, then inhaled slowly. "I like that. Proper, but with a hint of seduction. And you may call me Joseph. With a soft 'j' like the French."

"But you aren't French, are you?"

"Maybe. I will tell you that I come from a mixture of Asian and European families. Perhaps African as well, I haven't checked. But Theresa, we agreed not to ask too many questions. You said that would spoil your plan."

"Right," she said, but her face disagreed with her answer. When the waitress set a new pot of coffee on the table, Theresa poured herself a fresh cup, then returned to watching the pedestrians. Her eyes and mouth settled into cat-like angles.

Joseph ignored the coffee's arrival. Instead, he took up his cigarette and rounded his mouth, releasing the smoke in tiny puffs that turned yellow in the sunlight. After a few moments, he spoke again. "You know, Theresa, you are a very good girl."

"What does that mean?" She sliced a bite from her Apfeltorte with her fork, then shredded that into crumbs. "Is that a comment about last night?"

"Well, yes, last night was good in its own way. But I meant you, your character. You told me you wanted something different--"

"I do, but--"

"-- but you play a very predictable game." He extinguished his cigarette and lit another. "Like last night. We walked to the riverbank and kissed passionately. We acted like teenagers -- plenty of noise and energy, but no creativity." He leaned toward her, and blew a quick wisp of smoke into her face. "No danger."

Hot cinnamon breath tickled her eyes and nose. Joseph smiled, holding the bright tip of his cigarette beside their faces. She shivered inside, but held her expression steady. "I take it you have a suggestion," she said evenly, lifting one forkful of pastry to her mouth.

"Of course."

She waited for him to continue, letting the sweet confection turn liquid in her mouth. Finally, she swallowed. "Well, what is it?"

"We take a trip," he said. "On the train."

"And...?"

"And we fuck."

Two of the American tourists on the sidewalk turned and stared at them. Theresa smiled at them casually and raised her cup in a toast. "I hate it when you do that," she said quietly to Joseph. "It's so..."

"So rude?" He spoke louder than usual, so the tourists could hear. "You Americans are funny, you believe that sex is a terrible secret."

"That's not true."

"It is true, but I don't want to argue."

He moved his chair close to hers and pressed his leg against hers. "When we met, you said you wanted to break from the commonplace, to forget the world's conventions for this one vacation. I like you, I think you're pretty, so I agreed to share your fantasy. But Theresa, you've wasted three precious days with a series of conventional rebellions. If you truly want freedom, you must accept the danger."

Theresa tried to slide her chair away from him, but Joseph gripped the chair leg, his black eyes staring into hers, until she relented. "Danger can be small," he said. "Like now, my leg pressed against yours, my warmth seeping through your dress, into your skin." He released the chair leg, and rested his hand next to her leg, the thumb grazing her thigh. "Sliding up your leg to your sex, uncurling the hair, spreading through your belly."

She shifted and re-crossed her legs. "What's your suggestion?"

His mouth, now three inches from hers, coiled into a smile. "Come to the train station," he whispered, his smoky breath kissing hers. "Eight o'clock. Wear a dress, but no underthings. Nothing." His hand settled in her lap, just a hand-breadth from her sex, his eyes locked with hers.

At eight o'clock, Theresa walked across the open, concrete plaza in front of the train station. Steel arches rose like Gothic church steeples over smoked-glass doors that reflected the red twilight city behind her. A warm breeze from the street scrolled under her skirt, tickling her legs. Underneath the dark cotton dress, her bare skin rippled where the breeze touched it. She had selected this dress because she loved how the soft, draping cloth wrapped itself around her breasts, then skimmed over her hips and fell loose to her knees. She arched her back and pointed her toes in her sandals, aware of every change in the air.

Joseph waited inside with two tickets in his hand. "You are punctual," he said, kissing her lightly. "I like that. Are you excited?"

She nodded quickly. "Where are we going?"

"Stuttgart."

"Stuttgart? That doesn't sound dangerous." She read the ticket, trying to decipher his plans. "And why are we taking a D-Zug? Why not the express train?"

"Are you in a hurry?"

"No, but--"

"Trust me, you will enjoy the stops we make. Besides, the destination isn't important."

A garbled voice announced a time and platform, and the static mass of people around them separated into hurrying travelers.

"Quickly, the train is leaving. We must run to the platform."

They ran across the lobby, then down the platform, Joseph pulling the door open and lifting Theresa into the car. He swung through behind her, just as the train shuddered into motion. "This way." He turned left, toward the front of the train and the second class compartments. They passed a few passengers in the narrow corridor, until they reached the first car, where all the compartments were empty.

"No one likes this car," said Joseph. "Too close to the engine. Better for us. Ah, I almost forgot. Wait a moment."

He disappeared from the compartment. Theresa leaned against the window, watching the platform lights shutter past. Waiting, her sex tightened unbearably, and she let her body sway with the slowly rocking train, smelling her excitement fill the compartment. The train had left the station yard and had picked up speed before Joseph returned. He locked the door behind them and pulled down the corridor shades. "Now the conductor won't disturb us."

"When are you going to fuck me?"

"Right now."

He lifted the front of her dress, reaching for her aching sex. "Hmmmm. Are you always this wet?"

"Always." At his touch, she moaned, almost collapsing with that immediate, electric touch. "How can you do that?" she whispered. "How can you know just how touch me?"

"Practice." He contented himself with kissing and fondling her, his fingers probing through the damp, tangled hair of her sex, teasing her lips above and below. "I want to excite you," he said. "I want to make you come a hundred times before I fuck you."

"Now," she said. "Do it now."

"In good time." He slid his other hand to her ass, rubbing her gently, exploring the back edge of her sex, and running one finger between her cheeks. "Someday, I want to fuck your ass. Maybe tomorrow."

She pressed against him, crushing his hand between their bodies. Through his jeans, his cock swelled against her belly.

"Take your pants off," she whispered.

"Do it for me."

She unzipped his jeans awkwardly, pulling the tab too fast, until she forced herself to slow down, then carefully easing the zipper open and sliding his pants to his knees. Beneath the jeans, he was naked. She knelt and took his cock into her mouth. "Lollipop," she whispered.

Theresa rolled her tongue over and around the head. Slowly, she buried his cock in her mouth, all but withdrew it, and plunged it in again. His cock rose, insistent, blooming into her mouth. Theresa ran her lips along the underside of the shaft, until she met the balls. She bathed them with her tongue, inhaling their sharp aroma. The first drops of his pleasure fell over her shoulders.

"Greedy child. Now it's your turn." Joseph raised her to her feet, then guided her to the seat. "Sit here." He lifted her dress to expose her from the waist down. "Spread your legs," he whispered, dipping into the perfumed feast.

He licked her delicately, letting his tongue wander over her thighs before he suddenly flicked his tongue between her sex lips, so that she moaned and twisted. "Relax," he said.

"I don't want to."

"Then don't."

She arched backward, shamelessly thrusting her sex into his mouth. He swirled his tongue over and into her sex, lapping the tide of her orgasm, letting the rhythmic passage of the train rock them against each other. The dark of full night settled over them.

The train whistle blew, warning them of the coming station. "The window," said Theresa. "Close the curtains."

"Don't worry. No one can see us."

The train rattled through the station without stopping, lights from the platform flashing into the compartment. Then darkness smothered them once more.

"You see? No problem. Now, take your clothes off. I want to touch every part of you."

He unbuttoned her dress, stopping to kiss her breasts, and brush a hand over her belly and thighs. Then, reluctantly, he stepped back, his eyes touching her instead. He pushed his jeans to the floor, stepped from them, and pulled his shirt over his head.

"You're beautiful," said Theresa.

His body ran in clean, spare lines. She stood, running her hands up his back, until her lips met his. She touched his chest, his shoulders, then dropped both hands to his arching cock and caressed it. From his wet lips, she sucked the intoxicating wine of her own liquid pleasures.

"Stand this way." Joseph turned her to face the window and guided his cock between her legs. Theresa leaned forward, her face and breasts pressed against the night-cool glass, arching her flooding sex back to meet his. Joseph entered her smoothly. "You can't believe how much I've wanted you," he whispered in her ear.

Slipping one hand between her and the window, he clasped her breasts together, while he rubbed her sex with the other. Gently at first, he moved his body against hers, his cock gliding through her sex.

Theresa gripped the window. Somehow, she found the latch and pushed the window down and open. The sudden rush of air cleared her mind. "Fuck me," she whispered. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop."

"Not even if people can hear you?"

"I don't care. I want them to hear me."

He pushed deeper. "Not even if they see you?"

"I want them to," she said fiercely. "I want everyone to see me fuck." When the whistle for the next station shrieked at them, she twisted her head from side to side, and bucked against Joseph. "The train's going to stop," she cried. "Isn't it?"

"Yes, it will." Joseph let his cock slip from her, robbing her for a moment. "Everyone will see you, Theresa. Is that what you want?"

"Yes." She whimpered, pressing her eager sex against him. "Put it back inside."

"Are you still a good girl?"

"No, I'm not. Fuck me, Joseph. Fuck me until we both come. I don't care who sees me."

The brakes squealed. Theresa pressed herself against the glass, and Joseph plunged inside her, fucking her with steady hard strokes. When the train burst into the station lights, Theresa saw a scattering of people on the platform. Quickly, she realized their compartment would pull beyond the main platform, but that didn't matter. People would still see them.

Look at me, she commanded.

She saw a blur of faces above the dim platform. Most stared in shock, but others with smiling, faces bright with reflected pleasure. She was gasping, crying, howling, oblivious to those who witnessed their passion. Joseph grasped her hips and thrust as fast as he could. With shattering strokes, he exploded inside her, catapulting her into another climax.

With the train still braking, they flashed past the spectators and escaped into the covering darkness.