Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual,
Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An annoying fellow traveller on a train journey triggers a few days of delight and abandon for an IT geek.
"Jonty? It's Dunks. Ya, Duncan Farquar-Smythe. Listen those shares. It's a goer. We need to get in now, they'll put on 80 by the weekend defs!"
"Bloody Wanking Fuckwit"
The attractive girl beside me looked up from her magazine.
"Oh. Did I say that out loud, I'm awfully sorry. I was meant to be just thinking it" My face was probably redder than her jumper.
"Don't worry about it, I was thinking the same thing ... Not the same language obviously!...
... but why people feel the need to shout down the phone is beyond me. Especially if they are phoning 'Jonty'. I'd lock myself in a toilet and talk very, very quietly if I was called 'Dunks"
I smiled, she smiled and I thought 'Think, think, come on, don't blow this you pillock, say something witty and clever and... ', I said "You going all the way?" My brain realised what was coming out moments after the words had left my tongue; 'that's it you moron, you've fucked it up again'
"I'm sorry, I meant are you going all the way to London?"
"I hoped that's what you meant. Seemed rather forward otherwise"
'listen mate', my brain said again, 'she's nice, she's forgiving, she's – yep, no ring – so possibly available. Now concentrate!'
"I'm going to London too"
She looked down at my ticket sitting on the table that clearly said Leeds to Birmingham return.
"Oh, no. I've just come from Birmingham, but I'm going to London now"
Brain again 'take a deep breath, like you did before the presentation, and slow down, stop gabbling, you've got an hour to make her think you're normal. No, half an hour for that and then half an hour to make her think you're interesting'
I took a deep breath and she looked at me.
"Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. I'm James"
"Samantha – that ... F-wit wasn't it? He's still shouting down the phone, talking to Christy now. Wonder if that's boy or girl"
"Probably neither". I have no idea what I meant either, but it made her smile again. That SMILE! It could light up the darkest night!
She continued "I think people like that should have their balls stapled together. Give them something to shout about then.
See? You've got me at it now"
My turn to smile. The ice was broken, we were talking (this amongst us geeks is 'first base' – talking to a girl. There are usually only three bases, talking to a girl, paying for a meal out, getting a vague peck on the cheek goodnight).
We chatted inconsequentially for a while. After a while I asked her what she did.
"What do you think I do?"
'Bugger. Bugger. Bugger. You stupid prat, now you're going to insult her if you say something beneath her or insult her if you say something above her (to which she'll say "so -- isn't good enough eh?" been there, done that).' Another part of my increasingly annoying brain chipped in 'just be honest, say something rather than looking like a stunned rabbit'
She hrrumphed (yes, girls can do that as well as retired majors). "You can do better than that"
I looked into her face ('don't look down, don't look down! DO NOT LOOK AT HER TITS!' said the brain again). "ummm"
"I'm a teacher"
Oh, that wasn't so bad, we started talking again. She taught primary school kids.
"Are you between jobs?"
"No? ... oh ... no, it's half term"
She carried on chatting for a while, then looking out the window, and then started idly flicking her magazine again ('quick! Get her attention!')
"What do you think I do then?"
"IT worker" she said it without even looking up. Deflated or what?
"Why would you think that?" I asked, hoping it was a joke.
"You have a laptop, not the best bag in the world so it's with work rather than your own. You have an old phone and no tablet. So you aren't interested in IT except for work which means you get enough of it at work. You're dressed in a suit but it isn't flash enough to be a well-paid financial whizzo (sorry). Oh, and you have a Linux tie on. My brother works for Simon Lofty IT – he told me all about Linux one very boring Christmas"
Ah, well, we were talking again
"Very good. You should be a detective. Or a psychologist or something. So why the trip to London?" (see what I did there? Compliment, then move away from my boring fucking job)
"No thanks, I like teaching"
She went on to explain how she didn't even know why she was going to London, or where she was staying. She'd had a row with her parents this morning. Her mother had said she was looking forward to being taken shopping at half-term, Samantha had replied maybe she had other plans, her Dad had chimed in that she never had any plans and her mother and she always went shopping, every holiday (yes, to the Aberdeen Wool Shop, M&S, Middle-Aged Fashions For Old Biddies ... And if she suggested Next or NewLook her mother always said such clothes weren't suitable for a teacher!). Samantha had said well actually she DID have plans, she was going to London for a few days and she was sure she'd mentioned it. Big row, mother stomped off ("I hope you never have such an uncaring daughter as I have!!!"), Dad put the guilt trip on ("I'll have to clear up the mess you're leaving") and she left the house with a few clothes in a rucksack and walked the 2 miles to the station because she couldn't wait for a bus and wouldn't ask for a lift (obviously).
"Why am I telling you all this?"
"Because I'm a stranger and you'll probably never see me again and you need to get it all off your ... admirable ... chest"
"Too soon ... But thank you anyway"
Oops, still, she didn't slap me. And it really was an admirable chest. I'd noticed it when she sat down, and admired it in the reflection in the window. She'd stowed her bag in the luggage compartment between the seats opposite, so I could confidently say her bottom was equally acceptable. I never dreamt I'd see it closer up, and much more plainly. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I told her about the presentation in Birmingham – I was the techy, brought in to demonstrate that we knew what we were talking about. And now I was off to London to work with the Lombard Kindeman Bank sorting out their installation which had gone horribly wrong when they entrusted it to a bunch of outsourcers. She actually seemed interested.
"If you've nowhere to stay why not try Greenwich? I often stay there, staying there this time. The hotel is nothing special, just one of a chain of cheap, modern soulless hotels –"
"- You don't do a good selling job -"
"But all you need from a hotel, or is it an hotel?, is a bed and a TV. And Greenwich is a fantastic place to stay. And the journey by boat is tremendous fun"
"And a bathroom"
"All you need from a hotel is a bed, a TV and a bathroom. The days of wandering down to the bathroom in your nightdress and waiting for the current occupant to finish are well over for me. No actually I did that yesterday at home" she laughed again "and no-one except the Queen and my mother now say AN hotel".
She agreed it sounded good and so we found ourselves on the river bus roaring under Tower Bridge. That is the most romantic journey in London. Tower Bridge is all lit up, the boat sweeps under and then on downriver. Course you have to shout to make yourself heard if you sit outside. But we didn't need to shout, we just enjoyed the view. And each other. Each other's company I mean! (what's wrong with you people? We were on a public boat with families and everything. What was going to happen?)