The 21.47 from Lechlade was running a little late. This was fortunate as Marilyn was too. She had run, teetering along the station approach, clattered over the bridge, wobbled dangerously down the wrought iron steps (so tricky with stilettos) and staggered, gasping and unsteady through the doors of the carriage as they were shutting. Luckily the nearest seat was free and she collapsed into it. She was so busy getting her breath back that she failed to notice the carriage’s only other occupant.
He, however had noticed her. He noticed the precariously high heels (so flattering!) the tightness of her dress, the heaving of her bosom as she recovered herself. Strictly speaking, as he did not think in Victorian terms, he had noticed the heaving of her bosoms, which was much more in accordance with his way of thinking. It was very satisfactory. THEY were very satisfactory. He was still in full agreement with himself on this when she looked up and saw him staring.
Marilyn didn’t mind this at all. In fact she was rather glad that her efforts getting the buttons done up on the front of the dress had been worthwhile. She smiled back, and then opened her magazine, pausing now and again to settle herself into her seat, an action which involved a surprising amount of chest lifting. The man across the carriage was surprised, certainly.
She glanced at him over her magazine from time to time. He was casually dressed, young, with hair which flopped across his forehead. She noticed that: it indicated a lack of body. Indications can be deceptive though, as her next glance showed him to have plenty of body.
That very next glance also showed him to have been looking at her at the same time! She allowed a flicker of a hint of a smile to play across her lips (which were luscious, of course) like a cellist with a large instrument between his thighs, before glancing away in a manner intended to be teasing. It worked. It teased. Marilyn was good at this, and after a few more moments she reached into her bag and drew out a sandwich. The man was impressed: he had not expected her to be an artist as well.
She ate it carefully, taking tiny girlish nibbles, and licking her lips (which were, as mentioned, luscious) frequently. A crumb dropped down her front, bouncing on her frontage and from that delicious launchpad, careening down until it encountered a gap between the straining buttons. The gap engulfed it into the warm depths of her capacious cleavage. The man watched, mesmerized, entertaining hitherto unexpected dreams of life as a crumb, and all the opportunities it might offer.
These opportunities expanded as she, whilst exploring the inviting crevasse in pursuit of the crumb, suddenly exposed the buttons to stresses they were not designed to take, and the front of her dress burst open. At that moment the opportunities for a fulfilling career as a crumb were not the only thing which expanded: lo and behold the man was soon fidgeting in his seat as well.
“Oh gosh, look at me!” Exclaimed Marilyn unnecessarily. She began to try to flick off the crumb, now attached to one swelling bosom. This had the effect of seeing up a resonance frequency amongst the contents of her dress, and causing further agitation across the carriage.
“May I help you?” The man asked, in a voice which seemed surprisingly squeaky. She looked slightly surprised, but then he held out a paper tissue. Marilyn, though all ready to be outraged at his forwardness, then was immediately disappointed by his politeness. She took the tissue and began to dab at the crumb.
Suddenly, because trains have a sense of narrative and an understanding of the human condition, the carriage jolted severely, and Marilyn going herself thrown across the aisle. With only a minimum of contrivance on her part she managed to fall into the lap of the young floppy haired man opposite. Not so floppy now!
He was obliged by circumstances and inclination to steady her with both his arms, which was particularly useful as only moments later they entered a tunnel.
“Oh my goodness!” Exclaimed Marilyn, several times at intervals, and with a range of different inflections.
It was a long tunnel. Which was almost what Marilyn said after she stopped saying “Oh my goodness!” and which seemed to please the young man a great deal. In fact Marilyn herself seemed to please the young man a great deal too.
The errant crumb got lost in all this…but it was not missed. The buttons went astray too, and it was lucky Marilyn had a cardigan to wrap herself in afterwards. Her magazine ended up torn and scattered across the floor, the rest of her sandwich forgotten.
As for the young man, he found himself enjoying the experience of a tunnel. In a tunnel. He had been a railway enthusiast since boyhood, but in all his childish fantasies he had never imagined exploring sidings, touching a set of points, the pounding of pistons, the building pressure of steam, the exhilarating whistle of the express! He had never clipped a ticket like Marilyn.