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.